Cooper Long
Assistant ANDY Editor

It is probably unreasonable to expect major change from a TV show once it has been on the air for several decades. After all, the producers are not going to add a laugh track to National Geographic, or a rapping grandmother to Meet the Press.

Nevertheless, it seemed possible that the recent season premiere of Saturday Night Live could mark a meaningful shakeup in the show’s 39 year history. Three of SNL’s most popular and long-running players (Bill Hader, Jason Sudeikis, and Fred Armisen) departed at the end of last season, and Seth Meyers relinquished the head writing position that he has held since 2006.

Unfortunately, any hopes for a reinvention were dashed even before the first obligatory game show parody. SNL remains as stubbornly mediocre as ever.

First of all, the cast still doesn’t look representative of the people you would expect to see walking down the street outside SNL’s New York studio. To replenish his ensemble, series-creator and executive producer Lorne Michaels hired five virtually indistinguishable white guys and one woman. Of course, new cast members should be hired based on their abilities, not their race. It just seems hard to believe that Michaels’ nationwide talent search yielded five performers who can only be told apart by their haircuts.

The musical performances on the premiere were also typically thin sounding and poorly mixed. Arcade Fire debuted a hypnotic new track from their upcoming album, Reflektor. Yet, it sometimes seemed as if all the instruments were being played from inside the same glass booth where band member Régine Chassagne was briefly imprisoned.

Even the sequencing of sketches felt particularly routine. Jay Pharoah played President Obama in the customary ripped-from-the-headlines cold open, before disappearing for the remainder of the episode (another example of the show’s diversity problem). Then, as usual, all the strangest sketches got dumped after 12:30 AM, by which time the writers must assume most of the audience is asleep.

Despite all these flaws and missed opportunities, however, I still plan on watching SNL regularly this season, as I have for many years. Most weeks I find SNL disappointing. But I will always love the idea of SNL.

To me, there is something irresistibly compelling and romantic about the very notion of a live sketch series. I love the idea that every week there is a madcap team of writers crammed in a room together, feverishly pitching taxidermy jokes and arguing about whether they can say “toe blasting” on television. Indeed, this concept is so appealing that it served as the basic premise of 30 Rock for seven seasons. Saturday after Saturday, my fantasy about the fun and excitement involved in making SNL overwhelms my frustrations with the actual content of each episode.

Michaels himself even hinted at this appeal in a recent New York Times interview. “I think there’s something about what it’s trying to be,” he said. Even though, he admitted, “It will never get there.”

I am not merely trying to justify a guilty pleasure. Indeed, I think that this same distinction between concept and execution can be applied to all entertainment. It is possible to savour the idea and creative process behind a piece of pop culture, even if the final form falls short of that potential.

It may take SNL another 39 seasons before the sketches match the brilliance and promise of the show’s concept. Even so, I will keep staying up late on Saturday night until they do.

Perhaps it is fitting that the first TV program to be revived through Kickstarter would be a detective show. Certainly, the implications of crowdfunding the continuation of a cult series, like Veronica Mars, are somewhat mysterious. Veronica Mars devotees are understandably enthused that, thanks to their communal effort, Veronica has not cracked her last case. Yet, I think it is important for fans to act as private investigators themselves and think critically about the potential consequences of this fundraising model.

Presumably, the precedent set by Veronica Mars will encourage crowdfunded sequels to other fan-favourite series. Indeed, this week, Friday Night Lights actress Adrianne Palicki hinted at a forthcoming Kickstarter campaign, while Pushing Daisies creator Bryan Fuller has contacted Veronica Mars showrunner Rob Thomas about the process.
It seems possible, however, that this omnipresent hope of a crowdfunded revival may deprive many brilliant-but-cancelled shows of a sense of completeness. Worse, Kickstarter may discourage the writers of currently airing shows from giving their work a definitive conclusion in the event of a cancellation.

Moreover, for those few series that do regain life through Kickstarter, a worthy new installment is not guaranteed. Certainly, many lackluster revivals and sequels that have diminished, rather than honoured, their forerunner. Most TV fans surely have their own pet disappointments; I am still in disbelief at the letdown that was The X-Files: I Want to Believe.

Unfortunately, crowdfunding may increase the likelihood of such unsatisfactory sequels. Although Rob Thomas was involved in his brainchild’s Kickstarter campaign and had an idea for a feature film version, this may not be the scenario for other series. Suppose that fans of a certain show launch a crowdfunding initiative without the creator’s participation. That creator may feel pressured to resurrect the series in the absence of a worthwhile storyline.

On the subject of storytelling, Veronica Mars was critically acclaimed for its originality when first broadcast. The continuation of cancelled series through Kickstarter, however, seems more consistent with the backward-looking “sequel-itis” for which contemporary Hollywood cinema is frequently faulted. Furthermore, it could potentially deter creators from experimentation and the pursuit of new projects. Imagine if Joss Whedon never went on to develop Firefly because fans kept throwing money at new installments of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Admittedly, some of these misgivings pertain to reviving cancelled series in general, rather than the use of crowdfunding for this purpose. Certainly, the Kickstarter formula presents certain unique concerns.

Firstly, this model seems to annul the implicit contract in the film industry, wherein studios bankroll the creation of entertainment and filmgoers pay for its consumption. With crowdfunding, this responsibility for financing content is also transferred to the public. Fans are thereby compelled to invest twice. They must pay to have a project greenlit, and then again to experience the completed product. And you thought popcorn prices were exploitative.

It should also be recognized that not all of these fan-made donations end up onscreen. Indeed, Kickstarter is a for-profit enterprise and taxes the funds its campaigns generate. It is possible that, rather than circumventing the studio system, fans are simply substituting one corporate authority for another.

Given these reservations, I think it is only appropriate to approach Kickstarter campaigns with a skepticism and independent-mindedness befitting Veronica herself. Evidently, the impact of crowdfunding on cult TV is not an open and shut case.

By: Cooper Long

Watching the opening moments of Zero Dark Thirty at Westdale Theatre is a somewhat surreal experience. Just as you are settling in amidst the mini-movie palace’s warm décor, you are confronted with the authentic sounds of shearing metal, licking flames, and anguished cries for help. Director Kathryn Bigelow begins the film with a horrific collage of phone calls from 9/11 that suddenly makes eating popcorn seem in poor taste.

Zero Dark Thirty is being marketed as “the story of history’s greatest manhunt,” and this opening sequence vividly conveys what is driving the hunters. The film follows the American operatives who pursued Osama bin Laden after the September 2001 attacks. This elite team’s most relentless member is Maya (Jessica Chastain), whose methods soon propel the film into perilous moral territory.

We watch as Maya and her allies humiliate and brutalize their prisoners. Unsurprisingly, Zero Dark Thirty has sustained heavy criticism for glorifying torture and this controversy has clouded the film’s Oscar fortunes. In an essay recently published in the LA Times, Bigelow defended her work, claiming to “support all protests against the use of torture” and that “depiction is not endorsement.”

I remain unconvinced.

During the early waterboarding sequences, my mind kept turning to a different essay: Christopher Hitchens’ “Believe Me, It’s Torture.” For this 2008 piece in Vanity Fair, Hitchens deliberately subjected himself to waterboarding by Special Forces veterans. Bigelow conveys none of the unendurable agony that Hitchens describes. Moreover, the film completely abdicates the moral outrage underlying Hitchens’ final wish that “my experience were the only way in which the words ‘waterboard’ and ‘American’ could be mentioned in the same (gasping and sobbing) sentence.” Indeed, aside from a moment when Maya is warned not to be caught with a captive in a dog collar under the Obama administration, the film almost entirely sidesteps the ethical debate over “enhanced interrogation.”

Perhaps Bigelow is right that the film cannot be conclusively said to endorse torture. But it is certainly true that Zero Dark Thirty does not decry it either. To me, that seems almost as unnerving.

I was similarly troubled by the film’s Islamophobic undertones. With the exception of one translator, virtually all of the Middle-Eastern characters onscreen are fanatical, foolish, or corrupt.

Despite these intellectual objections, however, it is impossible to deny that Zero Dark Thirty is viscerally exciting. In the script by Mark Boal, there is much discussion of “tradecraft,” the advanced skills that are used by spies on all sides. Bigelow has evidently mastered the director’s “tradecraft” and, as in 2009’s The Hurt Locker, she builds scenes of incredible suspense. The climactic raid on bin Laden’s hideout, partially seen through the emerald glow of night-vision goggles, is particularly tension-filled.

Bigelow’s development of character, by contrast, is much less meticulous. Although we watch Maya become consumed by an Ahab-like fixation on bin Laden, we receive only fleeting glimpses of her true inner life.

Moreover, it is often ambiguous how the filmmakers intend the audience to feel towards their protagonist. Is she a hero, who defies the patriarchy and bureaucracy of the intelligence community, or is she a pathetic figure, who has been warped and exploited by this same system? Many viewers will presumably cheer Maya’s zealousness and the unrelenting pressure she places on her skeptical supervisors. I, however, felt grateful that such oversight existed to constrain Maya’s reckless, single-minded fury.

Near the end of the film, one of Maya’s foot-dragging fellow agents explains that the CIA deals in probabilities, rather than absolutes. This same sense of uncertainty pervades Zero Dark Thirty. In this respect, then, the audience’s role is similar to that of an intelligence analyst like Maya. The viewer must sort through a deluge of information, while struggling to draw tricky conclusions about torture and counter-terrorism.

When Oscar voters offer their verdict in three weeks, I know that I will be watching.

By: Cooper Long

Last year, music journalists everywhere seemed to agree that rock music had received a shot of adrenaline. “Rock Gets Loud Again, Finally” exclaimed Exclaim!, while The Atlantic declared it “The Year Punk Rock Broke Back,” in an article that celebrated the sweaty vitality of bands like Cloud Nothings, Japandroids, and Swearin’. Although each of these groups released sturdy records in 2012, New Jersey’s Titus Andronicus perhaps best channeled the visceral, life-affirming power of rock.

Local Business followed 2010’s Civil War-themed The Monitor and was criticized for lacking its predecessor’s grandiosity. In fairness, however, it’s difficult to go much bigger than an album that begins with Abraham Lincoln howling, “As a nation of free men, we will live forever, or die by suicide!” The themes of Local Business are admittedly more mundane. The dramatic catalyst of “Upon Viewing Oregon’s Landscape with the Flood of Detritus,” for instance, is a traffic jam. Yet, triumphant multi-guitar riffs and, in particular, front man Patrick Stickles’ delivery, invest such humdrum subject matter with life-or-death stakes.

This is not to suggest that Local Business is a bleak record. Titus Andronicus leavens the angst that often grates in indie rock with a vicious wit. For every cry that “Everything is inherently worthless/ And there’s nothing in the universe/ With any kind of objective purpose,” a comedic kicker is not far behind. Take, for example, a track with the dual choruses “COLD PISS!” and “HOT DEUCE!”

That song, “Still Life with Hot Deuce on Silver Platter,” contains a moment that pretty much crystallizes Local Business’ charm. In a thrilling, half-timey coda, Stickles rhymes “lesbian” and “bovine estrogen” with “mescaline” and “Mexicans.” It’s ridiculous and messy, but coming from blown speakers it sounds like a revelation. These are the ingredients of stirring rock music, in 2012 or any year.

Cooper Long


1978 witnessed debut albums from such future rock heavyweights as Dire Straits, Van Halen and The Cars, not to mention each of the four original members of Kiss. Yet, the year also marked a musical milestone for the city of Hamilton: the opening of Cheapies Records and Tapes on King Street East.

Owner Brian Jasson had only recently graduated high school at the time, making him younger than most of the artists that his store would soon be stocking. “I started working in a record shop in 1977 after completing Grade 13,” Jasson recalled. “I was offered my own store by the owner of a small chain in Burlington, which I opened in 1978. My second store opened shortly after in Hamilton.”

More than thirty years later, classic records from this era fill teeming used bins at Cheapies, alongside an immense selection of newer and older releases across several formats. Indeed, Jasson notes that Cheapies has withstood decades of flux in the recording industry, with music moving “from 8-track to cassette to CD to free, with vinyl surviving all.” Today, the store also stocks video games, movies and collectibles. The sight of discounted, previously owned Blu-Ray discs further testifies to how rapidly entertainment formats come and go.

Despite changes in the listening habits of its customers, however, Cheapies has always refused to turn its back on the turntable. “Vinyl has never left Cheapies,” said Jasson, “and yet it has been a steadily increasing percentage of sales since 2005 after bottoming in the mid-‘90s.” While few young music enthusiasts start record shops these days, as Jasson did in 1978, they do buy a lot of vinyl. Jasson credits “kids between 18 and 25” with having the biggest impact on vinyl sales.

While vinyl records kept turning in Cheapies over the years, so did the world outside. The store’s neighbourhood, near the intersection of King and John, is markedly different today than it was in the late 1970s. In Jasson’s words, “it’s gone from suit and tie to crack heads, from Woolworths to bingo.”

This blunt assessment reflects the pragmatism with which Cheapies operates. It is easy to romanticize the importance of independent record retailers to their communities. Such stores are sometimes idealized as buzzing, Bohemian hangouts for members of the local music scene to come together and collaborate, whether they are actually buying records or not.

Jasson removes these rose-coloured glasses and runs Cheapies with a more matter-of-fact philosophy. “If you don’t have the stuff people want to buy at the price they are willing to pay for it, you are out of business, and the ‘community’ doesn’t care,” he explained. His words make the idea of a community-based record store sound as sentimental as all the Christmas albums currently on display at Cheapies’ entrance.

Despite Jasson’s claim not to “understand connecting with the community,” however, Cheapies does make some attempts to extend itself beyond its doors. In the summer months, there are regular sidewalk sales. Employees also manage an active Twitter account that fields constant questions about whether certain items are in stock

These efforts reflect the personal touch and knowledgeable staff that Jasson believes keep people coming back to Cheapies in the iTunes age. “There is something about coming home, being comfortable, touching the product and having 60-plus years experience anytime during the day,” he said.

Given the transformation that the recording industry has undergone since 1978, it is difficult to imagine how people will be listening to music three decades from now. Yet, whether Hamilton music fans of the future use iPods or direct line-ins to the brainstem, it seems likely that Cheapies will be around to meet their needs. If so, the store’s continued success will surely be based on ordinary business savvy, just as much as nebulous notions of “community.”

 

 

Cooper Long,

Halcyon 

Ellie Goulding

In 2010, Ellie Goulding burst onto the indie pop scene with her debut album Lights. Garnering both critical and commercial success, she was heralded as one of Britain’s greatest exports. Attempting to surpass a successful first album can be difficult, but Ellie Goulding has met this challenge with expert skill. Halcyon improves on where Lights left off and further cements Goulding’s distinct style.

Halcyon is carefully produced, utilizing orchestral instruments and a bevy of back-up singers. These new elements add tremendous depth and subtlety to the record’s tracks. In just two years it seems that Goulding has matured both technically and emotionally as an artist. With a perfect jumble of electro and techno beats, Halcyon is bursting with catchy tunes. “Figure 8” will prove to be a massive club hit while “Explosions” will have you reaching for a box of tissues. And with the help of Calvin Harris, “I Need Your Love” is one of the record’s most successful songs.

Although Halcyon is distinctly pop, it will be sure to gain approval in both the mainstream and alternative music worlds - a feat that few records have been able to achieve.

By: Tina Cody

Local Business

Titus Andronicus

The most obvious point of comparison for Local Business is undoubtedly The Monitor, Titus Andronicus’ Civil-War themed 2010 LP that somehow found the punk-rock ethos in the writings of Abraham Lincoln. Local Business sees the New Jersey rockers reining in this ambitiousness somewhat, as they forsake both an overarching concept and bagpipe breakdowns.

An even more fitting counterpart for Local Business, however, might be Japandroids’ Celebration Rock from earlier this summer. This album caused a blogosphere sensation with its blitzkrieg riffage and post-adolescent rebelliousness, making it a lock for upcoming best-of-the-year lists. Hopefully Local Business is also so recognized, however, because it surpasses the thematically and sonically similar Celebration Rock in several regards.

While Japandroids’ only dynamics are faster and louder, Titus Andronicus craft epics like “Still Life with Hot Deuce on Silver Platter,” with three-guitars and even more choruses. Moreover, while Japandroids repeat the same fist-pumping slogans, Titus Andronicus lead vocalist Patrick Stickles channels a similar youthful swagger with rap-battle-level wit and wordplay. Celebration Rock gets the blood pumping, but when the best rock albums of 2012 are chosen don’t forget to support your Local Business.

By: Cooper Long

Daughter of Cloud

Of Montreal

Of Montreal is one of those strange new-wave bands, showcasing an amalgam of musical styles that sometimes doesn’t even make sense. Generally speaking, their albums sound like something David Bowie and Prince might come up with if they dropped acid together in the middle of a carnival. Daughter of Cloud, a compilation of rare recordings from 2009-12, is no exception.
I’m going to be honest, I don’t even know what I think of the band, and this is the third album of theirs I’ve listened to. The elements of funk are well placed, and the dreampop feel of the production is nice, but the frequent mid-song genre changes always throw me off. Highlights include the Sgt Pepper-esque “Tender Fax,” the falsetto-powered “Georgie’s Lamnets,” and the lyrically gorgeous “Psychotic Feeling.”

The rest of the songs all have these tiny, 8-bar gems of super tight production and dynamic melody, but the illusion is shattered when – seemingly without cue – the song recedes into atmospheric background music while frontman Kevin Barnes rants about erections (not joking, listen to the hilariously titled “Jan Doesn’t Like It”).  Too bad I can’t rate this album “question mark” out of five.

By: Brody Weld

The Soul Station Vol. 1: The Songs of Sam Cooke - A Tribute

Jarvis Church

Jarvis Church is a soul singer! The former frontman for the Philosopher Kings (as Gerald Eaton) has done some outstanding work as a producer for Nellie Furtado but his passion is behind the mic, not the board. Unlike his 2009 release The Long Way Home where he explores his personal musical roots, here he’s channeling Sam Cooke – right down to the tight suit and look.

The release of this CD is very timely. It’s been almost 50 years since the passing of Sam Cooke (Dec. 11, 1964), but his songs are timeless. In fact, Barack Obama used the lead track on this CD, “A Change is Gonna Come” as his theme song in the 2008 election campaign (Seal had a hit with it then). Perhaps Church will get a sales burst this time.

The music was recorded “live and off the floor,” which means that all the musicians played the songs as though they were performing them live – no overdubs or studio tricks. Church has surrounded himself with some fantastic musicians, notably Michael Kaeshammer (who’s worth the price of admission in concert himself).

All-in-all a cool CD, the first in a series that commemorates the soul greats (Otis Redding next?). It’s mainly covers, but the three new songs fit in well, especially “She Keeps Me Up All Night.” If you want to learn more about Sam Cooke, check out the book “Dream Boogie” by Peter Guralnick. I’ll loan you my copy. Meanwhile, check out The Soul Station.

By: Phil Wood

I may not have swallowed veritaserum, but I have a confession to make: I never finished reading the Harry Potter series. In fact, that reference was supplied by a friend who, like apparently most of my generation, adores J. K. Rowling’s boy wizard. Yet, somehow I was never so spellbound.

When I steel myself and admit this to fans of the series, the response is typically shock, followed by genuine sympathy. To an extent, I share in this puzzlement. As a closeted Trekkie, I grasp the appeal of well-developed characters set loose in an expansive fantasy universe. Indeed, I have fond memories of reading the first four Potter installments in elementary school.

I can’t explain precisely why I abandoned the books after this point, just as they were beginning to test the tensile strength of bookshelves worldwide. I swear it was not an act of cultural snobbery. Although I recognize that there is certainly a phony elitism associated with avoiding something popular, just as there is with coveting something obscure.

Yet, even watching some of the later Potter films in high school did not send me searching for the source material. I suppose it didn’t help that my favourite element of the movies, the sumptuous art direction, does not directly translate to the books. Admittedly this is a somewhat grim comment on my own powers of imagination.

My disinterest may follow from the fact that my last drink of the Potter series came from The Goblet of Fire. I am told that this fourth volume marks a turning point. Supposedly it is here that the series became weightier in its themes, as well as its page count. This transition apparently underlies what my friends mean when they claim that they “grew up with the series.”

Their connection to the books surpasses simple nostalgia. They remember not just the simple thrills of Harry’s adventures, but also the larger experience of maturing alongside the characters. For many, the seven volumes became a shared journey through adolescence. As the students of Hogwarts grappled with the escalating non-magical trials of romantic frustration, stormy friendships, and intimidating new responsibilities, so did a generation of readers.

I think that most people have had this experience of discovering a work of art that perfectly captures their inner life. Whether this connection is made through the flick of a wand or the strum of a guitar, art can powerfully echo our deepest hopes and anxieties. Moreover, this bond is often profoundly linked to a particular stage in our lives; if the work had come along slightly earlier or later it would not have spoken with the same power.

Perhaps I have never returned to the Potter books because I am concerned that this key element of their appeal, the opportunity to come of age alongside the characters, is now closed to me. This is not to suggest that I am entirely mature or that the books do not have other wonderful merits. Indeed, I fully expect that if I read the books I would enjoy them, but for now they remain low on my “to-read” list.

This reluctance should not offend those fans that grew up with the series. Rather they should feel even more fortunate that they came across the books at an ideal moment. Indeed, my generation’s devotion to Harry Potter affirms the extraordinary power of literature to speak to us profoundly at a particular and fleeting stage of our lives. Forget veritaserum, this connection between art and audience, is true magic.

- Cooper Long

Cooper Long

Radiohead’s exalted 1997 album OK Computer explores the themes of distrust of technology, alienation in a mechanized society and the emptiness of consumerism. Unfortunately, these are also some of the feelings that the ordeal of buying Radiohead tickets can bring about.

I was ecstatic when the band expanded its tour two weeks ago to include a performance at Toronto’s Downsview Park. However, the method by which tickets were sold soon tempered my enthusiasm.

There were two rounds of sales: an allotment was released through an official fan site before the remainder became available from Ticketmaster the following day. The pre-sale was evidently intended as a favour to loyal fans, but in this regard, it backfired immensely.

The start time for the pre-sale was kept secret, forcing myself and other fanatics to sacrifice sleep in order to avoid missing out. Beginning at 5 a.m., I reset my alarm every half hour so that I could frantically refresh the site. Buzzing online message boards informed me that I was not alone in my obsession. After several heart-stopping page loads, I claimed victory six hours later from the back of my physics class. As widely expected, the pre-sale sold out within hours.

Sadly, my sense of triumph was equally short-lived for several reasons. Ticketmaster’s supply lasted for many more days. Moreover, Ticketmaster extended the pre-sale discount to all Rogers wireless customers and offered an otherwise unavailable VIP option. Rather than rewarding its most faithful followers with the pre-sale, Radiohead inadvertently subjected them to much confusion, sleeplessness and aggravation for little benefit.

This miscalculation highlights the madness that often accompanies scoring tickets for the biggest and most buzzed-about performers. The digital age has made buying music simpler than ever, but getting concert tickets can still be a trial. Many McMaster students recently experienced the problem firsthand when a TwelvEighty show by The Weeknd sold out within hours. It is a disappointing reality that as an artist’s popularity rises, it can become more difficult to appreciate their work in person.

Ticket sellers routinely exploit the resulting desperation of fans. It is not surprising that Radiohead would try to circumvent Ticketmaster with its pre-sale, as the company has been widely criticized for its monopolistic business practices and excessive markups.

Ticketmaster is the exclusive ticket provider for most large venues and charges service fees that typically amount to a sizable percentage of a ticket’s face value. In 1994, Pearl Jam famously sued to lower these fees. The band subsequently cancelled its tour when the U.S. Department of Justice decided in Ticketmaster’s favour.

More than a decade later, buying high-demand tickets remains troublesome. However, there are some possible solutions. Influential bands should follow the examples of Radiohead and Pearl Jam by working around Ticketmaster and experimenting with alternative sales strategies. Still, such approaches must serve the interests of fans and provide an obvious advantage over the status quo, which Radiohead’s pre-sale approach certainly did not.

Meanwhile, live music lovers should explore their local scene. Take the opportunity to see up-and-coming bands now before they explode and purchasing tickets for their shows becomes a nightmare.

Once Radiohead launches into their set, I highly doubt that the Downsview Park crowd will be contemplating the hassles they experienced buying tickets. Nevertheless, Radiohead won its devoted following with innovative, high-quality albums. Music fans deserve a system for buying concert tickets with these same features.

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