Dissolver Magazine

WHERE'S M. WARD? Postcard from Portland by Jordan Gutlerner \| Age: 29 Portland, OR Iíve always half-way believed and hoped that Iím the center of the universe, but I am beginning to fear that I just live near him. He goes by the name M. Ward. To be more precise, he is the center of a musical extended family that hovers around Portland, Oregon, the current place to be to see surprise guests at concerts. A few Saturdays ago, I went to the Aladdin Theatre to see My Morning Jacket, and M. Ward came out to jam for the encore. A few weeks before that, I went to the Calexico/Iron and Wine show at the Roseland, and M. Ward played some of his own songs, and then proceeded to play guitar for nearly the entirety of the Calexico/Iron and Wine set. There have been M. Ward sightings at local cafes and restaurants. I was dreaming the other night and my mother morphed into M. Ward. This guy is becoming the Waldo of the Portland scene. Everywhere you go, there you are, and so is M. Ward. Or maybe itís just that he happens to live in a kick-ass music town. Portland was previously best known for Everclear and Courtney Love, and more recently Eliot Smith, Pavement and The Dandy Warhols, but something hot is currently happening here, and Iím damn happy to be around for it. We have our home-growns such as Menomena, Helio Sequence, Quasi, Norfolk and Western, The Decemberists, and of course, M. Ward. Add to that the bands that have moved here in the last few years: Sleater Kinney, The Shins, and Modest Mouse have all made Stumptown their home base. Maybe the rain spurs on their melancholy creativity. Maybe the strong coffee helps them write lyrics late at night. Maybe they just want to live near M. Ward. Whatever the case may be, the result is that I feel some kind of foolish pride for living in a city cool enough for some of my favorite bands, but the less narcissistic effect of all this is that you start getting used to shows like the aforementioned Iron and Wine/Calexico one. Picture this: you go to a concert and an all-star game breaks out. First, Sleater Kinneyís Janet Weiss comes out and sings a duet with Calexicoís Joey Burns. Then M. Ward sings some of his own tunes with Iron and Wineís Sam Beam. Just when I am thinking this is cool enough, The Shinsí James Mercer pops up on stage to do a duet of ìSaint Simonî and ìNew Slangî with Beam. During the Iron and Wine/Calexico set, in addition to the ubiquitous M. Wardís continued appearance, Norfolk and Westernís Rachel Blumberg impresses on the drums. Overall, Beam played well, and Mercer had moments of brilliance, but the MVP goes to my man, M. Ward. Recently, Modest Mouseís Isaac Brock came out, sang some songs, and apparently got shocked at the Broken Social Scene show at the Crystal Ballroom. Weíre getting a bit spoiled with all of these guest appearances. If no one randomly materializes at the next show I go to, I might go home disappointed. To avoid that, I think Iíll just go to an M. Ward show next, but I donít think any are coming up. Huh. It just dawned on me that I really am revolving around him. Where are you when I need you, M. Ward? Perhaps if I figure out what happened to the rest of your first name, you will lose your powers and I will become the center of the universe again.

THE CYANIDE VALENTINE Let it Rot (Primary Voltage, 2005) by Jon Gorey \| Age: 29 \| Boston, MA Let me begin by saying I did not expect to enjoy this album. In fact, I was bracing myself to hate it. You see, I'm not much of a club kidó I'm a pub guy. I like Guinness, not vodka; wood and brass, not smoke and mirrors. I wear navy blue hoodies, not tight black shirts. I've never done coke or E. Above all I prefer real, acoustic instruments fervently over their electronic counterparts, and I don't much like to dance. I get a feeling I am not the Cyanide Valentine's target demographic. And yet I thoroughly enjoyed this brainchild of former Quick Fix frontman Jake Zavracky (accompanied by electrowhiz Wendy Mittelstadt). The perfect CD to play at your next party, Let it Rot is nothing if not a good time. Sure, I was a touch disappointed at the outset, when the introductory bars of an old college fight song unspun themselves into a Prodigious programmed beat, but as the gritty hooks and wicked licks piled up higher, I found myself loving this record. One of my normal problems with electronica is that it can focus too much on beats and shortchange the listener with recycled or monotonous melodies and lyrics; Let it Rot avoids these pitfalls. Whether they're reinventing New Wave with a bratty British snivel on the title track, baring fragile faults in the soft but scathing notes of "Number Four," or coooking up a delicious hook out of something resembling an electric sitar on "Deeper," the Cyanide Valentine keep it original, provocative, andó no surprise hereó addictive. "The Icarus Song" deserves mention as one of my favorites, but the real star of the album is the third track, "You Are the Focus." By itself worth whatever you paid for the CD, and with a chorus that launches the song to anthem status, it would have held its own among the greats on the Trainspotting soundtrack. And the second verse even echoes a sentiment not unlike that of the Irish pub standard "The Wild Rover": 'I ask my parents for a loan / Every time I go back home / I make the same excuses for the same abuses / And sure they think I'm full of shit / But they never mention it / And I go back guilty to the dirty city.' Maybe we're not so different after all. (The Cyanide Valentine* play the Sky Bar in Somerville on Dec. 17th.)*

PIEBALD at the Middle East Nov. 25th, 2005 by Susie Wager \| Age: 23 \| Boston, MA In an age when gas prices soar, an energy shortage looms, and the Christian right threatens to eradicate our personal liberties, thank heavens for Piebald. Back after a brief hiatus, the emo band has been driving around the country in a van fueled only by vegetable oil, stopping in major cities along the way to protect our freedom to rock. Piebaldís November 25th stop at the Middle East was one of the last on their tour, and it couldnít have been more obvious how deeply their hometown fans had felt their absence over the past year. The few times when frontman Travis Shettel introduced a song with the words: ìThis is a new one,î cries of dissent resounded throughout the crowd. Protests didnít stop Shettel from going forth with fresh material, but he was nonetheless kind enough to regale the audience with older favorites like ìGrace Kelly With Wingsî and ìRock Revolution.î It would be a platitude to say that listening to the recorded versions of songs like these just isnít the same as experiencing them live, but with Piebald the clichÈ is especially true. In large part, the reason for this resides in guitarist Aaron Stuart and bassist Andrew Bonner. There is something almost primal about the way these two invest every molecule of their bodies and spirits into each song of a sixty minute set. It becomes clear that this is not a performance; no, there is nothing phony or showy about it. Stuart and Bonner, backed by dynamic drummer Luke Garro and complementing Shettelís driven vocals, are just two guys channeling their passion for playing into a contagious energy that everyone can enjoy. I hope Piebald comes back soon. If thereís one thing I could use a little more of in my life, itís an environmentally-conscious rock band that never fails to create a frenetic atmosphere where you can discard all inhibitions and have some good old-fashioned fun.

Phil Ayoub Schoolbus Window Paper Heart (Self-Released, 2005) by Jason Holloway \| Age: 27 \| Boston, MA The opening harmonica drones of "White Feather" immediately lifted my expectations to Springsteenian levels for this debut effort from Phil Ayoub, formerly of the band Riverside Train. But instead of finding myself somewhere between Nebraska and Atlantic City, I ended up in David Gray's iPod. Schoolbus Window Paper Heart was produced by Tim Bradshaw, former guitarist and keyboardist for the British balladeer, and it pretty much sounds like it. Most of these songs could be thrown immediately into rotation on 92.9FM WBOS, which is fine, but not altogether inspiring. There's not much about this CD that stands out, save for some isolated moments like the crunchy guitars in "Cindarella and the Subway" and the deft use of electronica in "Scenes from an American Highway Rest Stop." Despite above-average songwriting, Ayoub's voice doesn't captivate and isn't particularly distinctive (although he achieves a nice John Lennon sound from the fuzzy vocal distortion in the bonus track), and his voice is mostly lost in the mix throughout. It's certainly worth a listen, just not a priority. You'll hear itóor something like itó on the radio soon enough anyway.

MALCOLM GLADWELL The Tipping Point (Little, Brown, and Company) by Jacqueline Galante \| Age: 29 \| Atlanta, GA According to Malcolm Gladwell, staff writer for The New Yorker, the tipping point is the magical moment when an idea, trend, or social behavior crosses the threshold, tips and then spreads like wildfire. Gladwell explains this phenomenon of epidemics in fascinating and festive prose and shows how it applies to a wide array of areas. He calls this book ìthe biography of an ideaî and posits that products, messages, behaviors and ideas spread just like viruses. The tipping point can be used to explain the word-of-mouth phenomenon, the transformation of an unknown book into a best seller or the rapid fall of crime rates in NYC in the early 1990ís. Gladwell easily convinces us that little things do make a big difference. Also the most integral part of the tipping point is people. He divides them into Connectors, Mavens, Salesman, and the rest of us that know them. One of my favorite examples of the word-of-mouth phenomenon is the midnight ride of Paul Revere north and west of Boston, alerting all on his path that the ìBritish are coming!î We all know that one. But most of us donít know the name of William Dawes, a fellow revolutionary who also set out that fateful night with the same message working his way toward Lexington from Boston. But Dawes didnít impact the local people that night nor has he made any sort of historical splash. What was the difference between these men and their ability to spread information? This is what Gladwell masterfully explains to us in laymen sociological terms. Page after exciting page he does a wonderful job of getting this vocabulary of understanding epidemics out into the mainstream. A kind of tipping point for The Tipping Point! Paul Revere is only one of the many captivating examples that made me inhale this 280 page book in one day. The tipping point idea provides a framework for understanding everything from the popularity and educational success of Sesame Street to a sudden rash of teen suicide rates in Micronesia. This unpretentious and exciting book is the perfect introduction to epidemiology, or the study of epidemics. The knowledge in this book properly used could have enormous potential for everyone from business magnates to political activists. If nothing else is a great book and a fabulous conversation topic.

JOE MENO Hairstyles of the Damned (Akashic Books, 2004) by Gina Favata \| Age: 26 \| Boston, MA Hairstyles of the Damned is a glimpse into the angst ridden, identity seeking, horny mind of a teenage boy. Brian Oswald is in love with his best friend Gretchen, but she is obsessed with Tony, the bad-ass older guy who drives a muscle car and treats her like shit. Brian wants to make the perfect mix tape for Gretchen, but he keeps filling them all with Guns n' Roses and Slayer songs, and Gretchen is more into bands like The Misfits. Brian thinks maybe he should be more punk, and he definitely wishes he was a rock star; but instead he has acne, his parents are splitting up, and he keeps getting unwanted boners. Author Joe Meno accurately captures the awkwardness of adolescence, the early 90s, and even how to properly dye your hair pink. Read this book if you are a teenager and are looking to find solace in the misery of others, or if you are older and are seeking to remember those painful years for a sense of nostalgia, or just to sigh in relief because itís over.

REX WEYLER Greenpeace (Raincoast Books, 2004) by Jacqueline Galante \| Age: 29 \| Atlanta, GA Sometimes superheroes donít have capes, costumes, fancy techno-gadgets, or special powers. Sometimes superheroes are just ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances trying to leave the world a little better than they found it. This is precisely the kind of people who founded what is now known as Greenpeace. Rex Weyeler, journalist and founding member of Greenpeace, takes us on a roller coaster ride filled with history, ecology, music, poetry, philosophy and the hearts and souls of the human beings who made ìSave the Whalesî a household phrase. It is an amazing literary journey and a beautiful testament of what a small group of committed and passionate people can achieve. The Greenpeace story has its roots in the atmospheric, underwater and underground nuclear testing after WWII by the U.S., French, British and other governments. Weyler does an artful job of weaving the nuclear disarmament movement, the newly born ecological movement, and the Anti-Vietnam peace movement. These three elements coalesce in late 1960ís Vancouver, British Columbia. American expatriates, student activists, local radicals, and pacifist Quakers join forces to raise global consciousness and put a stop to the nuclear testing wreaking havoc on the environment and the people that inhabit it. Beneath the fierce grassroots force runs a deep spiritual undercurrent influenced by the Beat poets, the I-Ching, Native American mythology, Zen Buddhism, and peace, love and rock and roll. This is balanced out by the stoic, logical, empirical and scientific types and colored in with every shade of human soul in between. Founder Bob Hunter (and my new favorite person to quote) calls this divided balance ìthe mystics and the mechanicsî. This crew unites in their determination and dedication to wake up the world and sail up to the Amhcitka Islands and confront the nuclear bomb. With no money, no boat and no official affiliations, a small group of people set out to make a difference. The story of the Amchitka bravery spreads and Greenpeace goes from a few people in Vancouver to an international organization in a just a few years. New ideas, new campaigns and causes are fought for around the globe. The rapid worldwide growth is overwhelming and the founders deal with the ramifications of success, continuing the fight to save the earth and the creatures on it and finding time to fix the tremendous internal conflicts within the organization. It is fascinating and heartbreaking as the personal becomes political and Greenpeace becomes far larger than any of the founders had ever imagined it could be. Gandhi once said ìyou must be the change you want to see in the world.î The founders of Greenpeace took that advice to heart and this amazing tale of gallantry is the result. Greenpeace founder and spiritual godfather Bob Hunter passed away earlier this year. May we be inspired by his example and find our own revolution to fight for. As he said many times, ìConsciousness is the citadel that needs to be stormed.î

Fighting the Fires of Hate: America and the Nazi Book Burnings at the Boston Public Library by Jason Holloway \| Age: 27 \| Boston, MA This free exhibit at the Boston Public Library evokes the same response as most relics of Nazi Germany: namely, as the late Dr. Thompson put it, fear and loathing. But as unsavory as these emotions may be, in this context, it's good to remind yourself of their existence. Upon entering the well-organized multimedia display, the dominant feature is a looped film braodcasting footage of massive book burning assemblies in 1933 Germany. It's aboslutely... well, (expletive) scary is what it is. The ferocious fervor of the leaders, the enthusiastic hordes of people chucking revered works into giant pillars of flames, the notorious ramifications of this behaviour in retrospect (not to mention the halting, angry accents you've heard in a dozen Bond movies) send chills up and down your free thinking spine. Meandering through the exhibit we learn of Germany's growing intolerance of intellectualism, which escalated in the months after Hitler was elected Chancellor, and also of American reaction to this phenomenon. Atop the exhibition boards, headlines from American news media follow the history of the movement, while the main focus points range from interesting to profound: a sadly prophetic 1923 quote by German writer Heinrich Heine reads, "Where one burns books, one will soon burn people." Wartime posters encouraging Americans to buy war bonds in support of free speech give way to later references to the Nazi book burnings in popular culture, from Field of Dreams to MASH,* to, of course, Ray Bradbury's Farenheit 451. Also disturbing is the modern manifestationsó just decades lateró of such intolerance in our own society. During McCarthy's famous paranoia-fueled interrogation of the Senate, communist books were burned. In 1973, a school in North Dakota threw Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five into the basement furnace. And frankly, is the PATRIOT Act really so different from Nazi Germany's 1933 Reichstag Fire Decree, which suspended constitutional guarantees of civil liberties in a time of national crisis? Maybe it is. But do your mind some justice and check out this thought provoking display. It's scary stuff. (This exhibition, complimented by a series of film screenings at the library, runs through January 19th.)

"Out of this ART World" The December Sale at the SMFA by Theo Cantrell \| Age: young enough \| Boston, MA I just attended the 25th Annual December Sale at The School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and came away stunned and refreshed. Stunned because of the variety and quality of the show, and because where else can you see at one show the works of Art Superstars like Ellsworth Kelly, Jim Dine, Nan Goldin, Robert Rauschenberg, Domingo Barreres, and Miroslav Antic, alongside new rising stars such as Moni Oolyonghai, Colette Bresilla, and Matthew Cleary. And in addition, new artists just starting to explore their expressive powers. Itís refreshing in a day where there is a name brand, a publicist, and an ad campaign with slick promotion attached to the creative world, where you almost feel like art is this exclusionist, invitation-only club; itís refreshing that you can go and enjoy Art, great Art, made by real artists, to be appreciated, purchased at reasonable prices, brought home, hung and collected. Art for the sake of what it was originally created for thousands of years ago. Art being for the ìsomethingî inside all of us. Go see it. Itís free. Itís easy. Itís out of this ART world. * Thursday, December 1, 12ñ8 pm (Opening Celebration: 5ñ8 pm) * Friday, December 2, 12ñ6 pm * Saturday, December 3, 12ñ6 pm * Sunday, December 4, 12ñ6 pm * Monday, December 5, 12ñ6 pm The School of the Museum of Fine Arts 230 The Fenway Boston, MA 02115 Phone: 617-267-6100

*RENT* Directed by Chris Columbus Book, music and lyrics by Jonathan Larson by Steve Brachmann \| Age: 18 \| Boston, MA Before I begin this review, I should state that I, Steven Brachmann, am a fan of musical theater. I can name more Sondheim shows than you can name members of the Brady Bunch. And, to clear up two misconceptions: no, we do not all talk like Jack McFarland, and yes, Oklahoma is worthless crap. We understand this. Stop giving us shit. Because of this, Iíve been a Rent fan long before talks of the movie even started. Iíve never seen it on stage, but Iíve listened to the cast recording at least eighty times; Iím quite aware of the story. Two things, however, caused me to be leery of this film production of the show before I even saw it. First, the movie is a musical. Rent is not a musical. It is a rock opera. The minute you make that switch, you owe the viewing public the common decency to change the title, or at least say ìbased on the rock opera of the same name." Second, it had a PG-13 rating. Let me explain something: any show that has a number where everyone in the cast is busy having sex deserves an R (the song is ìContactî for you non Rent-heads out there). Obviously, some drastic changes had been made. And, as I feared, I was right. This is close to the real thing. At times, it flirts with the real thing. But it is not the real thing, even though, as Iím sure many of you reading this realize, most of the cast is from the original Broadway production. At times, it is painfully obvious that these are stage actors; while their body motions are expressive to the point of being obnoxious, they canít make a facial expression to save themselves (Adam Pascal being a glaring example. Mute the show during ìAnother Dayî, and pretend heís asking Rosario Dawson to play chess. Same thing). Another thing thatís painfully obvious, with the exception of Idina Menzelís ìOver The Moonî, is the fact that the singing is lip-synched. You cannot do a backflip on a subway train and hit a high G, no matter who you are. Believe me, Iíve tried. One thing that will stand out to anyone whoís listened to the original cast recording even once: although the dialogue is spoken and not sung, the lines, for the most part, are still the same. And you have no idea how funny it is to hear the intro to ìYouíll Seeî or the ìDecember 24th, 9 PM, Eastern Standard Timeî monologue in almost dead monotone. Were Jonathon Larson alive today, I hope heíd be pissed. However, there were some high points to the film. Rosario Dawes does not have a stellar voice, but I enjoyed hers much more than Daphne Rubin-Vegaís, the original Broadway Mimi. The film also gets across the idea of poverty in a way that I just canít imagine a stage production would be as successful at (again, never saw a live showing). And if you arenít crying during the ìIíll Cover Youî reprise, check your soul; it might be gone. Now, do I believe that this is a shoddy production of a good show? Yes. Do I believe you should skip it? No. Rent-head or not, itís a must see, although for different reasons. If youíre a fan of the music, then itís your duty as a Rent-head to see this film, because, no matter how painful it is to sit through, you will not sleep until youíve seen this movie. You know it, I know it, the movieís producers know it and are banking on it, so go out and fund their paychecks. But, if you arenít a fan of the rock opera, I still believe you should see it because it offers up a moving display of the affects of AIDS, something I donít believe the movie industry has seen since the 1993 Tom Hanks film Philadelphia. Therefore, it is your duty as a sensible human being to sit through this two-hour ball of mediocrity and learn a little something from the whole experience. Besides, what other movie out right now shows gratuitous lesbian sex? Certainly not Pride and Prejudice.

*Pride and Prejudice* Directed by Joe Wright, starring Keira Knightly (Working Title Films, 2005) by Gina Favata \| Age: 26 \| Boston, MA I love Jane Austen, and all of her books. And Iíve previously spent 8 hours on a Sunday afternoon watching the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. That said, I went into this new adaptation with some hesitancy, and ended up liking, although not loving, this new version. The acting was quite good, and I have to say, I truly enjoyed Matthew MacFadyen as Mr. Darcy. He pulled off the mysterious, brooding guy perfectly, and the romantic tension between him and Elizabeth was palpable. I was pleasantly surprised at Keira Knightley's performance; she did a fine job playing one of my favorite literary characters of all time. However, I wasnít as impressed with the directing. Key scenes of the story were either missing or melded together, which may confuse viewers who are new to the Jane Austen storyline. In lieu of Austenís well-known witty dialogue, director Joe Wright gave us minutes-too-long, sweeping camera shots (possibly looking for an Oscar nomination) of the English countryside, or of Elizabeth twirling on an old swing in the yard. While this proved to be aesthetically pleasing, it was a bit overdone and sometimes unnecessary. Just when I thought that the movie did a decent job, I, along with the rest of the audience, was subjected to possibly the cheesiest, most schmaltzy scene on the big screen for 2005. The last few minutes of the movie were unbearable. Elizabeth and Darcyís final ìromanticî scene, which I must mention was never in the book or the other movies, caused the audience to audibly laugh at its ridiculousness, and I wondered if Austen was turning in her grave. If youíre a Jane Austen fan, itís worth the money, but if youíve never read any of her books and have a short attention span, I may advise you to stay clear.

*Requiem for a Dream* ~ On DVD Directed by Darren Aronofsky Starring Ellen Burstyn and Jared Leto by Steve Brachmann \| Age: 18 \| Boston, MA There is a very fine line between what is regarded as entertainment and what is art. John Grisham is entertainment; Charles Dickens is art. Avril Lavigne is entertainment; Bob Dylan is art, and I degrade his name by mentioning him in the same sentence as Miss Lavigne. However, I digress. Ninety-nine percent of movies are entertainment. Requiem for a Dream is art. The story focuses around the lives of four individuals and their struggles with drug addictions. Sarah Goldfarb (Ellen Burstyn), an elderly woman whose favorite pastime involves watching an infomercial which seems to be on TV all day long, is told that she has been chosen to appear on television. However, her obsession with fitting into a certain red dress leads her to take speed to lose the weight. Her son, Harry Goldfarb (Jared Leto), starts dealing drugs in order to help his girlfriend Marion (Jennifer Connelly) and her dreams of being a fashion designer. However, their drug habit, along with their close friend Tyrone (Marlon Wayans), goes from recreational to addiction, and all four characters are led through a vicious cycle of addiction and collapse. More than anything else, the directing is the best quality of the whole movie. Yes, the acting is superb. Yes, you will remember that dark, catchy music for years. But the real gem is Darren Aronofskyís vision and imagination. Whenever a character injects/swallows/etc. a drug, there is a montage of images and sound, each less than a second, showing the process (for instance, when Harry and Tyrone inject heroin, it shows them tightening the arm strap, injecting the drug, the drug going through the bloodstream, the pupils dilating, and the like). Then, as if to mirror the haziness of being on drugs, the time during which someone is high is normally fast-forwarded and the imagery is almost discombobulating. The acting, as I already stated, was also top-notch. Particularly of note is Ellen Burstyn. Her portrayal of Sarah Goldfarb was quite arguably the most heart-wrenching performance of the whole movie. Marlon Wayans proved that he could play a dramatic role instead of the comedy routines he had been doing most of his life, having gotten his start on the sketch show ìIn Living Colorî, as well as merely being a Wayans brother. Jared Leto, however, seemed to come off as a bit weak. I do believe he was well-cast, and he doesnít detract from the movie, but his emotional range appeared to go only from mild-mannered to rage, stopping nowhere in between. However, he does do a very good job portraying the pain his character is experiencing at the end of the show, although youíd have to be Keanu Reeves to not show emotion during that scene. If your idea of a good evening includes popping a Disney movie into the VCR and leaving with a smile on your face, stop now. Forget you ever read this review, and go on with your blissfully ignorant life. However, if you want a movie that will challenge you mentally and you donít mind being brutally depressed, then take a look at Requiem for a Dream. It is a masterpiece that will leave your jaw hanging by the end. Oh, and do yourself a favor: pick up the soundtrack. Youíre going to want to listen to that song again. And again. And again.

WHERE'S M. WARD? Postcard from Portland by Jordan Gutlerner \| Age: 29 Portland, OR Iíve always half-way believed and hoped that Iím the center of the universe, but I am beginning to fear that I just live near him. He goes by the name M. Ward. To be more precise, he is the center of a musical extended family that hovers around Portland, Oregon, the current place to be to see surprise guests at concerts. A few Saturdays ago, I went to the Aladdin Theatre to see My Morning Jacket, and M. Ward came out to jam for the encore. A few weeks before that, I went to the Calexico/Iron and Wine show at the Roseland, and M. Ward played some of his own songs, and then proceeded to play guitar for nearly the entirety of the Calexico/Iron and Wine set. There have been M. Ward sightings at local cafes and restaurants. I was dreaming the other night and my mother morphed into M. Ward. This guy is becoming the Waldo of the Portland scene. Everywhere you go, there you are, and so is M. Ward. Or maybe itís just that he happens to live in a kick-ass music town. Portland was previously best known for Everclear and Courtney Love, and more recently Eliot Smith, Pavement and The Dandy Warhols, but something hot is currently happening here, and Iím damn happy to be around for it. We have our home-growns such as Menomena, Helio Sequence, Quasi, Norfolk and Western, The Decemberists, and of course, M. Ward. Add to that the bands that have moved here in the last few years: Sleater Kinney, The Shins, and Modest Mouse have all made Stumptown their home base. Maybe the rain spurs on their melancholy creativity. Maybe the strong coffee helps them write lyrics late at night. Maybe they just want to live near M. Ward. Whatever the case may be, the result is that I feel some kind of foolish pride for living in a city cool enough for some of my favorite bands, but the less narcissistic effect of all this is that you start getting used to shows like the aforementioned Iron and Wine/Calexico one. Picture this: you go to a concert and an all-star game breaks out. First, Sleater Kinneyís Janet Weiss comes out and sings a duet with Calexicoís Joey Burns. Then M. Ward sings some of his own tunes with Iron and Wineís Sam Beam. Just when I am thinking this is cool enough, The Shinsí James Mercer pops up on stage to do a duet of ìSaint Simonî and ìNew Slangî with Beam. During the Iron and Wine/Calexico set, in addition to the ubiquitous M. Wardís continued appearance, Norfolk and Westernís Rachel Blumberg impresses on the drums. Overall, Beam played well, and Mercer had moments of brilliance, but the MVP goes to my man, M. Ward. Recently, Modest Mouseís Isaac Brock came out, sang some songs, and apparently got shocked at the Broken Social Scene show at the Crystal Ballroom. Weíre getting a bit spoiled with all of these guest appearances. If no one randomly materializes at the next show I go to, I might go home disappointed. To avoid that, I think Iíll just go to an M. Ward show next, but I donít think any are coming up. Huh. It just dawned on me that I really am revolving around him. Where are you when I need you, M. Ward? Perhaps if I figure out what happened to the rest of your first name, you will lose your powers and I will become the center of the universe again.

THE CYANIDE VALENTINE Let it Rot (Primary Voltage, 2005) by Jon Gorey \| Age: 29 \| Boston, MA Let me begin by saying I did not expect to enjoy this album. In fact, I was bracing myself to hate it. You see, I'm not much of a club kidó I'm a pub guy. I like Guinness, not vodka; wood and brass, not smoke and mirrors. I wear navy blue hoodies, not tight black shirts. I've never done coke or E. Above all I prefer real, acoustic instruments fervently over their electronic counterparts, and I don't much like to dance. I get a feeling I am not the Cyanide Valentine's target demographic. And yet I thoroughly enjoyed this brainchild of former Quick Fix frontman Jake Zavracky (accompanied by electrowhiz Wendy Mittelstadt). The perfect CD to play at your next party, Let it Rot is nothing if not a good time. Sure, I was a touch disappointed at the outset, when the introductory bars of an old college fight song unspun themselves into a Prodigious programmed beat, but as the gritty hooks and wicked licks piled up higher, I found myself loving this record. One of my normal problems with electronica is that it can focus too much on beats and shortchange the listener with recycled or monotonous melodies and lyrics; Let it Rot avoids these pitfalls. Whether they're reinventing New Wave with a bratty British snivel on the title track, baring fragile faults in the soft but scathing notes of "Number Four," or coooking up a delicious hook out of something resembling an electric sitar on "Deeper," the Cyanide Valentine keep it original, provocative, andó no surprise hereó addictive. "The Icarus Song" deserves mention as one of my favorites, but the real star of the album is the third track, "You Are the Focus." By itself worth whatever you paid for the CD, and with a chorus that launches the song to anthem status, it would have held its own among the greats on the Trainspotting soundtrack. And the second verse even echoes a sentiment not unlike that of the Irish pub standard "The Wild Rover": 'I ask my parents for a loan / Every time I go back home / I make the same excuses for the same abuses / And sure they think I'm full of shit / But they never mention it / And I go back guilty to the dirty city.' Maybe we're not so different after all. (The Cyanide Valentine* play the Sky Bar in Somerville on Dec. 17th.)*

PIEBALD at the Middle East Nov. 25th, 2005 by Susie Wager \| Age: 23 \| Boston, MA In an age when gas prices soar, an energy shortage looms, and the Christian right threatens to eradicate our personal liberties, thank heavens for Piebald. Back after a brief hiatus, the emo band has been driving around the country in a van fueled only by vegetable oil, stopping in major cities along the way to protect our freedom to rock. Piebaldís November 25th stop at the Middle East was one of the last on their tour, and it couldnít have been more obvious how deeply their hometown fans had felt their absence over the past year. The few times when frontman Travis Shettel introduced a song with the words: ìThis is a new one,î cries of dissent resounded throughout the crowd. Protests didnít stop Shettel from going forth with fresh material, but he was nonetheless kind enough to regale the audience with older favorites like ìGrace Kelly With Wingsî and ìRock Revolution.î It would be a platitude to say that listening to the recorded versions of songs like these just isnít the same as experiencing them live, but with Piebald the clichÈ is especially true. In large part, the reason for this resides in guitarist Aaron Stuart and bassist Andrew Bonner. There is something almost primal about the way these two invest every molecule of their bodies and spirits into each song of a sixty minute set. It becomes clear that this is not a performance; no, there is nothing phony or showy about it. Stuart and Bonner, backed by dynamic drummer Luke Garro and complementing Shettelís driven vocals, are just two guys channeling their passion for playing into a contagious energy that everyone can enjoy. I hope Piebald comes back soon. If thereís one thing I could use a little more of in my life, itís an environmentally-conscious rock band that never fails to create a frenetic atmosphere where you can discard all inhibitions and have some good old-fashioned fun.

Phil Ayoub Schoolbus Window Paper Heart (Self-Released, 2005) by Jason Holloway \| Age: 27 \| Boston, MA The opening harmonica drones of "White Feather" immediately lifted my expectations to Springsteenian levels for this debut effort from Phil Ayoub, formerly of the band Riverside Train. But instead of finding myself somewhere between Nebraska and Atlantic City, I ended up in David Gray's iPod. Schoolbus Window Paper Heart was produced by Tim Bradshaw, former guitarist and keyboardist for the British balladeer, and it pretty much sounds like it. Most of these songs could be thrown immediately into rotation on 92.9FM WBOS, which is fine, but not altogether inspiring. There's not much about this CD that stands out, save for some isolated moments like the crunchy guitars in "Cindarella and the Subway" and the deft use of electronica in "Scenes from an American Highway Rest Stop." Despite above-average songwriting, Ayoub's voice doesn't captivate and isn't particularly distinctive (although he achieves a nice John Lennon sound from the fuzzy vocal distortion in the bonus track), and his voice is mostly lost in the mix throughout. It's certainly worth a listen, just not a priority. You'll hear itóor something like itó on the radio soon enough anyway.

MALCOLM GLADWELL The Tipping Point (Little, Brown, and Company) by Jacqueline Galante \| Age: 29 \| Atlanta, GA According to Malcolm Gladwell, staff writer for The New Yorker, the tipping point is the magical moment when an idea, trend, or social behavior crosses the threshold, tips and then spreads like wildfire. Gladwell explains this phenomenon of epidemics in fascinating and festive prose and shows how it applies to a wide array of areas. He calls this book ìthe biography of an ideaî and posits that products, messages, behaviors and ideas spread just like viruses. The tipping point can be used to explain the word-of-mouth phenomenon, the transformation of an unknown book into a best seller or the rapid fall of crime rates in NYC in the early 1990ís. Gladwell easily convinces us that little things do make a big difference. Also the most integral part of the tipping point is people. He divides them into Connectors, Mavens, Salesman, and the rest of us that know them. One of my favorite examples of the word-of-mouth phenomenon is the midnight ride of Paul Revere north and west of Boston, alerting all on his path that the ìBritish are coming!î We all know that one. But most of us donít know the name of William Dawes, a fellow revolutionary who also set out that fateful night with the same message working his way toward Lexington from Boston. But Dawes didnít impact the local people that night nor has he made any sort of historical splash. What was the difference between these men and their ability to spread information? This is what Gladwell masterfully explains to us in laymen sociological terms. Page after exciting page he does a wonderful job of getting this vocabulary of understanding epidemics out into the mainstream. A kind of tipping point for The Tipping Point! Paul Revere is only one of the many captivating examples that made me inhale this 280 page book in one day. The tipping point idea provides a framework for understanding everything from the popularity and educational success of Sesame Street to a sudden rash of teen suicide rates in Micronesia. This unpretentious and exciting book is the perfect introduction to epidemiology, or the study of epidemics. The knowledge in this book properly used could have enormous potential for everyone from business magnates to political activists. If nothing else is a great book and a fabulous conversation topic.

JOE MENO Hairstyles of the Damned (Akashic Books, 2004) by Gina Favata \| Age: 26 \| Boston, MA Hairstyles of the Damned is a glimpse into the angst ridden, identity seeking, horny mind of a teenage boy. Brian Oswald is in love with his best friend Gretchen, but she is obsessed with Tony, the bad-ass older guy who drives a muscle car and treats her like shit. Brian wants to make the perfect mix tape for Gretchen, but he keeps filling them all with Guns n' Roses and Slayer songs, and Gretchen is more into bands like The Misfits. Brian thinks maybe he should be more punk, and he definitely wishes he was a rock star; but instead he has acne, his parents are splitting up, and he keeps getting unwanted boners. Author Joe Meno accurately captures the awkwardness of adolescence, the early 90s, and even how to properly dye your hair pink. Read this book if you are a teenager and are looking to find solace in the misery of others, or if you are older and are seeking to remember those painful years for a sense of nostalgia, or just to sigh in relief because itís over.

REX WEYLER Greenpeace (Raincoast Books, 2004) by Jacqueline Galante \| Age: 29 \| Atlanta, GA Sometimes superheroes donít have capes, costumes, fancy techno-gadgets, or special powers. Sometimes superheroes are just ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances trying to leave the world a little better than they found it. This is precisely the kind of people who founded what is now known as Greenpeace. Rex Weyeler, journalist and founding member of Greenpeace, takes us on a roller coaster ride filled with history, ecology, music, poetry, philosophy and the hearts and souls of the human beings who made ìSave the Whalesî a household phrase. It is an amazing literary journey and a beautiful testament of what a small group of committed and passionate people can achieve. The Greenpeace story has its roots in the atmospheric, underwater and underground nuclear testing after WWII by the U.S., French, British and other governments. Weyler does an artful job of weaving the nuclear disarmament movement, the newly born ecological movement, and the Anti-Vietnam peace movement. These three elements coalesce in late 1960ís Vancouver, British Columbia. American expatriates, student activists, local radicals, and pacifist Quakers join forces to raise global consciousness and put a stop to the nuclear testing wreaking havoc on the environment and the people that inhabit it. Beneath the fierce grassroots force runs a deep spiritual undercurrent influenced by the Beat poets, the I-Ching, Native American mythology, Zen Buddhism, and peace, love and rock and roll. This is balanced out by the stoic, logical, empirical and scientific types and colored in with every shade of human soul in between. Founder Bob Hunter (and my new favorite person to quote) calls this divided balance ìthe mystics and the mechanicsî. This crew unites in their determination and dedication to wake up the world and sail up to the Amhcitka Islands and confront the nuclear bomb. With no money, no boat and no official affiliations, a small group of people set out to make a difference. The story of the Amchitka bravery spreads and Greenpeace goes from a few people in Vancouver to an international organization in a just a few years. New ideas, new campaigns and causes are fought for around the globe. The rapid worldwide growth is overwhelming and the founders deal with the ramifications of success, continuing the fight to save the earth and the creatures on it and finding time to fix the tremendous internal conflicts within the organization. It is fascinating and heartbreaking as the personal becomes political and Greenpeace becomes far larger than any of the founders had ever imagined it could be. Gandhi once said ìyou must be the change you want to see in the world.î The founders of Greenpeace took that advice to heart and this amazing tale of gallantry is the result. Greenpeace founder and spiritual godfather Bob Hunter passed away earlier this year. May we be inspired by his example and find our own revolution to fight for. As he said many times, ìConsciousness is the citadel that needs to be stormed.î

Fighting the Fires of Hate: America and the Nazi Book Burnings at the Boston Public Library by Jason Holloway \| Age: 27 \| Boston, MA This free exhibit at the Boston Public Library evokes the same response as most relics of Nazi Germany: namely, as the late Dr. Thompson put it, fear and loathing. But as unsavory as these emotions may be, in this context, it's good to remind yourself of their existence. Upon entering the well-organized multimedia display, the dominant feature is a looped film braodcasting footage of massive book burning assemblies in 1933 Germany. It's aboslutely... well, (expletive) scary is what it is. The ferocious fervor of the leaders, the enthusiastic hordes of people chucking revered works into giant pillars of flames, the notorious ramifications of this behaviour in retrospect (not to mention the halting, angry accents you've heard in a dozen Bond movies) send chills up and down your free thinking spine. Meandering through the exhibit we learn of Germany's growing intolerance of intellectualism, which escalated in the months after Hitler was elected Chancellor, and also of American reaction to this phenomenon. Atop the exhibition boards, headlines from American news media follow the history of the movement, while the main focus points range from interesting to profound: a sadly prophetic 1923 quote by German writer Heinrich Heine reads, "Where one burns books, one will soon burn people." Wartime posters encouraging Americans to buy war bonds in support of free speech give way to later references to the Nazi book burnings in popular culture, from Field of Dreams to MASH,* to, of course, Ray Bradbury's Farenheit 451. Also disturbing is the modern manifestationsó just decades lateró of such intolerance in our own society. During McCarthy's famous paranoia-fueled interrogation of the Senate, communist books were burned. In 1973, a school in North Dakota threw Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five into the basement furnace. And frankly, is the PATRIOT Act really so different from Nazi Germany's 1933 Reichstag Fire Decree, which suspended constitutional guarantees of civil liberties in a time of national crisis? Maybe it is. But do your mind some justice and check out this thought provoking display. It's scary stuff. (This exhibition, complimented by a series of film screenings at the library, runs through January 19th.)

"Out of this ART World" The December Sale at the SMFA by Theo Cantrell \| Age: young enough \| Boston, MA I just attended the 25th Annual December Sale at The School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and came away stunned and refreshed. Stunned because of the variety and quality of the show, and because where else can you see at one show the works of Art Superstars like Ellsworth Kelly, Jim Dine, Nan Goldin, Robert Rauschenberg, Domingo Barreres, and Miroslav Antic, alongside new rising stars such as Moni Oolyonghai, Colette Bresilla, and Matthew Cleary. And in addition, new artists just starting to explore their expressive powers. Itís refreshing in a day where there is a name brand, a publicist, and an ad campaign with slick promotion attached to the creative world, where you almost feel like art is this exclusionist, invitation-only club; itís refreshing that you can go and enjoy Art, great Art, made by real artists, to be appreciated, purchased at reasonable prices, brought home, hung and collected. Art for the sake of what it was originally created for thousands of years ago. Art being for the ìsomethingî inside all of us. Go see it. Itís free. Itís easy. Itís out of this ART world. * Thursday, December 1, 12ñ8 pm (Opening Celebration: 5ñ8 pm) * Friday, December 2, 12ñ6 pm * Saturday, December 3, 12ñ6 pm * Sunday, December 4, 12ñ6 pm * Monday, December 5, 12ñ6 pm The School of the Museum of Fine Arts 230 The Fenway Boston, MA 02115 Phone: 617-267-6100

*RENT* Directed by Chris Columbus Book, music and lyrics by Jonathan Larson by Steve Brachmann \| Age: 18 \| Boston, MA Before I begin this review, I should state that I, Steven Brachmann, am a fan of musical theater. I can name more Sondheim shows than you can name members of the Brady Bunch. And, to clear up two misconceptions: no, we do not all talk like Jack McFarland, and yes, Oklahoma is worthless crap. We understand this. Stop giving us shit. Because of this, Iíve been a Rent fan long before talks of the movie even started. Iíve never seen it on stage, but Iíve listened to the cast recording at least eighty times; Iím quite aware of the story. Two things, however, caused me to be leery of this film production of the show before I even saw it. First, the movie is a musical. Rent is not a musical. It is a rock opera. The minute you make that switch, you owe the viewing public the common decency to change the title, or at least say ìbased on the rock opera of the same name." Second, it had a PG-13 rating. Let me explain something: any show that has a number where everyone in the cast is busy having sex deserves an R (the song is ìContactî for you non Rent-heads out there). Obviously, some drastic changes had been made. And, as I feared, I was right. This is close to the real thing. At times, it flirts with the real thing. But it is not the real thing, even though, as Iím sure many of you reading this realize, most of the cast is from the original Broadway production. At times, it is painfully obvious that these are stage actors; while their body motions are expressive to the point of being obnoxious, they canít make a facial expression to save themselves (Adam Pascal being a glaring example. Mute the show during ìAnother Dayî, and pretend heís asking Rosario Dawson to play chess. Same thing). Another thing thatís painfully obvious, with the exception of Idina Menzelís ìOver The Moonî, is the fact that the singing is lip-synched. You cannot do a backflip on a subway train and hit a high G, no matter who you are. Believe me, Iíve tried. One thing that will stand out to anyone whoís listened to the original cast recording even once: although the dialogue is spoken and not sung, the lines, for the most part, are still the same. And you have no idea how funny it is to hear the intro to ìYouíll Seeî or the ìDecember 24th, 9 PM, Eastern Standard Timeî monologue in almost dead monotone. Were Jonathon Larson alive today, I hope heíd be pissed. However, there were some high points to the film. Rosario Dawes does not have a stellar voice, but I enjoyed hers much more than Daphne Rubin-Vegaís, the original Broadway Mimi. The film also gets across the idea of poverty in a way that I just canít imagine a stage production would be as successful at (again, never saw a live showing). And if you arenít crying during the ìIíll Cover Youî reprise, check your soul; it might be gone. Now, do I believe that this is a shoddy production of a good show? Yes. Do I believe you should skip it? No. Rent-head or not, itís a must see, although for different reasons. If youíre a fan of the music, then itís your duty as a Rent-head to see this film, because, no matter how painful it is to sit through, you will not sleep until youíve seen this movie. You know it, I know it, the movieís producers know it and are banking on it, so go out and fund their paychecks. But, if you arenít a fan of the rock opera, I still believe you should see it because it offers up a moving display of the affects of AIDS, something I donít believe the movie industry has seen since the 1993 Tom Hanks film Philadelphia. Therefore, it is your duty as a sensible human being to sit through this two-hour ball of mediocrity and learn a little something from the whole experience. Besides, what other movie out right now shows gratuitous lesbian sex? Certainly not Pride and Prejudice.

*Pride and Prejudice* Directed by Joe Wright, starring Keira Knightly (Working Title Films, 2005) by Gina Favata \| Age: 26 \| Boston, MA I love Jane Austen, and all of her books. And Iíve previously spent 8 hours on a Sunday afternoon watching the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. That said, I went into this new adaptation with some hesitancy, and ended up liking, although not loving, this new version. The acting was quite good, and I have to say, I truly enjoyed Matthew MacFadyen as Mr. Darcy. He pulled off the mysterious, brooding guy perfectly, and the romantic tension between him and Elizabeth was palpable. I was pleasantly surprised at Keira Knightley's performance; she did a fine job playing one of my favorite literary characters of all time. However, I wasnít as impressed with the directing. Key scenes of the story were either missing or melded together, which may confuse viewers who are new to the Jane Austen storyline. In lieu of Austenís well-known witty dialogue, director Joe Wright gave us minutes-too-long, sweeping camera shots (possibly looking for an Oscar nomination) of the English countryside, or of Elizabeth twirling on an old swing in the yard. While this proved to be aesthetically pleasing, it was a bit overdone and sometimes unnecessary. Just when I thought that the movie did a decent job, I, along with the rest of the audience, was subjected to possibly the cheesiest, most schmaltzy scene on the big screen for 2005. The last few minutes of the movie were unbearable. Elizabeth and Darcyís final ìromanticî scene, which I must mention was never in the book or the other movies, caused the audience to audibly laugh at its ridiculousness, and I wondered if Austen was turning in her grave. If youíre a Jane Austen fan, itís worth the money, but if youíve never read any of her books and have a short attention span, I may advise you to stay clear.

*Requiem for a Dream* ~ On DVD Directed by Darren Aronofsky Starring Ellen Burstyn and Jared Leto by Steve Brachmann \| Age: 18 \| Boston, MA There is a very fine line between what is regarded as entertainment and what is art. John Grisham is entertainment; Charles Dickens is art. Avril Lavigne is entertainment; Bob Dylan is art, and I degrade his name by mentioning him in the same sentence as Miss Lavigne. However, I digress. Ninety-nine percent of movies are entertainment. Requiem for a Dream is art. The story focuses around the lives of four individuals and their struggles with drug addictions. Sarah Goldfarb (Ellen Burstyn), an elderly woman whose favorite pastime involves watching an infomercial which seems to be on TV all day long, is told that she has been chosen to appear on television. However, her obsession with fitting into a certain red dress leads her to take speed to lose the weight. Her son, Harry Goldfarb (Jared Leto), starts dealing drugs in order to help his girlfriend Marion (Jennifer Connelly) and her dreams of being a fashion designer. However, their drug habit, along with their close friend Tyrone (Marlon Wayans), goes from recreational to addiction, and all four characters are led through a vicious cycle of addiction and collapse. More than anything else, the directing is the best quality of the whole movie. Yes, the acting is superb. Yes, you will remember that dark, catchy music for years. But the real gem is Darren Aronofskyís vision and imagination. Whenever a character injects/swallows/etc. a drug, there is a montage of images and sound, each less than a second, showing the process (for instance, when Harry and Tyrone inject heroin, it shows them tightening the arm strap, injecting the drug, the drug going through the bloodstream, the pupils dilating, and the like). Then, as if to mirror the haziness of being on drugs, the time during which someone is high is normally fast-forwarded and the imagery is almost discombobulating. The acting, as I already stated, was also top-notch. Particularly of note is Ellen Burstyn. Her portrayal of Sarah Goldfarb was quite arguably the most heart-wrenching performance of the whole movie. Marlon Wayans proved that he could play a dramatic role instead of the comedy routines he had been doing most of his life, having gotten his start on the sketch show ìIn Living Colorî, as well as merely being a Wayans brother. Jared Leto, however, seemed to come off as a bit weak. I do believe he was well-cast, and he doesnít detract from the movie, but his emotional range appeared to go only from mild-mannered to rage, stopping nowhere in between. However, he does do a very good job portraying the pain his character is experiencing at the end of the show, although youíd have to be Keanu Reeves to not show emotion during that scene. If your idea of a good evening includes popping a Disney movie into the VCR and leaving with a smile on your face, stop now. Forget you ever read this review, and go on with your blissfully ignorant life. However, if you want a movie that will challenge you mentally and you donít mind being brutally depressed, then take a look at Requiem for a Dream. It is a masterpiece that will leave your jaw hanging by the end. Oh, and do yourself a favor: pick up the soundtrack. Youíre going to want to listen to that song again. And again. And again.