Track Review: Patti Smith – “Gimme Shelter”

Much like any self-respecting female music enthusiast, I have a thing for Patti Smith. The woman howls like a wolf, growls like a drunken sailor, and rages and storms through a set with more energy and joy than most modern musicians half her age. And her recent cover of “Gimme Shelter” – from the forthcoming covers record Twelve – reminds her fans that Patti’s still got it. In fact, my only complaint about the track is that it’s so produced that any of the eerie “rock band from the gates of hell” feel from the Stones’ 1969 original is lost in this new, cleaner cut. It’s just a little too safe. And come on folks; if anyone still has the guts and strength to both make you move and make you worry that Satan’s just around the corner, it should be Patti Smith.

- Megan Giddings

Listen to It
Pre-Order Twelve (out April 17)

Zodiac

Late one Friday night, when I was around eleven years old, I was flipping through TV channels when I came upon a show about serial killers. One of the only images I can remember from that show was a man wearing all black, with the sign of the Zodiac emblazoned upon his chest. I only remember hearing that this man had never been caught. From then on I was always petrified of Zodiac, a cold-blooded murderer who terrorized the San Francisco area in the late 1960s. Even to this day, when I think of serial killers, he’s the first that comes to my mind.

So fast forward to 2007, and imagine my surprise when I hear that Zodiac is being turned into a film, starring none other than Jake Gyllenhaal. Right from the start I wanted to see the film, if only so I could at least put a story and face to my subconscious fear of the Zodiac Killer.

The movie begins July 4, 1969 in a small California town. Two teenagers are driving down a deserted road in order to “get closer.” Throughout the scene, “Hurdy Gurdy Man” by Donovan plays on the radio. At first the song merely adds to the ambience of the era, reminding the viewer that he is indeed in the late 1960s, but it soon becomes a stark contrast to the visuals as the two young people are shot to death by a faceless man. The murder scenes in Zodiac are graphic; director David Fincher leaves nothing to the imagination as far as blood and gore go. Every gunshot is heard and every splatter of blood is seen as the murders are reenacted from start to finish.

The most disturbing scene of the movie was the second murder. A man wearing all black with a white zodiac sign emblem emblazoned upon his chest approaches two young adults in a state park; he robs them at gunpoint, forces them to tie each others’ hands and then repeatedly stabs the two. The movie was so gruesome at this point (along with the many other murder scenes) that I had to close my eyes.

Despite the graphic murder scenes described above, however, Zodiac is not just blood, guts and gore. Much of the movie follows the story of the detectives and reporters hunting down the Zodiac killer. Through the use of music, set decoration and period clothing (bell bottoms and cowboy shirts), Zodiac recreates the world of ’60s and ’70s California in brilliant fashion.

After each of his crimes, Zodiac sends letters to the San Francisco Chronicle detailing what he has done. His descriptions are dramatized in the form of voiceovers in which Zodiac’s words, calm and remorseless, are juxtaposed over shots of police inspectors at the murder scenes. It gives an eerie sensation; Zodiac sounds proud of what he had done. Robert Downey Jr. plays the reporter assigned to the Zodiac case; haunted by continuous threats from the killer, he eventually retires his post. Perhaps a typecast role, Downey’s character falls into trouble with hard drugs and alcohol.

Jake Gyllenhaal, meanwhile, plays a cartoonist who begins work on a book after the case has gone cold to see if he can turn up any missing clues. As his life is consumed by the search for Zodiac, Gyllenhall’s character begins receiving anonymous late night phone calls from a person whose only characteristic is portrayed by deep, spine-chilling breathing: Zodiac. Finally, Mark Ruffalo plays one of the lead detectives on the Zodiac case. He too is consumed by the hunt for the killer. Every time he tries to put it behind him, the Zodiac case always seems to come back to haunt him.

As you might have already guessed, even after two and a half hours and countless segues of “two days/months/years later,” no justice comes about for Zodiac’s victims. No one is ever arrested, no one is tried; however, the detectives have reason to believe that certain suspects may have been responsible. It’s infuriating to watch so many innocent people murdered and not see anyone punished for it. But in an age when so many crime dramas (this means you, CSI!) have happy endings, Zodiac reminds us that in real life crimes aren’t always solved, and they don’t always end justly. The viewer leaves the film with a stronger grip on reality, and a bit of a haunting sensation to watch his or her back.

- Cole Merkel

Zodiac Official Site
IMDb Listing

The Cult of the Label: 50 Years of Stax Records

What’s in a label? Or more specifically, what’s in a record label – a great one, one which transcends its utilitarian function as industrial distributor and commodifier of recorded music to become a superlative artistic entity unto itself? Certainly for many music listeners, the name and logo on an album sleeve can take on a significance which almost rivals the music etched into the vinyl itself. Connoisseurs of Elvis Presley, for instance, have been fetishizing his work for the legendary Memphis imprint Sun for so long and with such intensity that it has become a byword for everything raw and untamed about “The Hillbilly Cat” pre-Ed Sullivan Show, to the exclusion of his equally seminal early recordings for RCA, and despite the fact that the entirety of his Sun sessions can be fit easily onto two compact discs, alternate takes and all.

The cult of the label, in this sense, is the mark of a true record geek: one who consumes not only music but the physical media on which it is recorded, to the point where the medium achieves an almost ritualistic significance, superseding content and authorship alike. In their deepest, darkest unconscious desires, people like these (okay, I’ll admit, us) don’t just want the major label reissue of Elvis’ Sun sides; we want the genuine article, the sides themselves, on original plastic with the original dust and with “SUN RECORDS” emblazoned boldly across the original label. Remember in Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity, when prototypical record geek Rob Fleming fantasized about having his apartment walls painted with the logos for classic labels such as Stax, Sun, Chess and Trojan, mere hours after his longtime live-in girlfriend dumped him? Not only does this moment violate every law of break-up propriety and interior decorating taste in existence, but it demonstrates most eloquently the iconic power of a great label in the mind of the fanatic consumer.

Yet it is undeniable that there is something more to a great label than mere totemic significance; more than the fetish-object substitute for that artistic “aura” whose loss in the face of mass industry Walter Benjamin observed in his 1936 essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” After all, what “aura” would a mere record label possess were it not for their musical signatures, a kind of industrial authorship akin to (but not nearly as hegemonic or restrictive as) the studio system of Classical Hollywood? And what’s a record label without the very human forces which drive it, defining for better or for worse the nature of its output? Thanks to the legendary blunder of A&R man Dick Rowe, the British company Decca was marked indelibly in my mind as the Label That Turned Down the Beatles for many of my formative years as a music listener. And on a more positive note, as the recently-released box set Forever Changing: The Golden Age of Elektra 1963-73 proves, classic labels needn’t necessarily possess a trademark sound when they’re guided by a person of vision; Elektra founder Jac Holzman signed artists as diverse as Phil Ochs, Nico, the Doors and the Stooges, with the only criterion for inclusion being the appeal of the music. The result, though without a “sound” as homogenized as those of Stax, Sun or Motown, was one of the most impressive rosters of its era.

All of this is key to interpreting the 50th anniversary of Stax Records, a label whose significance in the invention and refinement of soul music is second only to its Northern cousin/rival Motown, and whose musical worth, at least in my highly subjective opinion, might just have the edge. Founded in 1957 by Memphis, Tennessean siblings Jim Stewart and Estelle Axton (then under the name Satellite Records), Stax and its later subsidiary Volt represented the gold standard in raw Southern soul for roughly 15 years: from the summer 1960 release of breakthrough single “‘Cause I Love You” by Rufus and Carla Thomas until its mid-’70s decline and eventual bankruptcy in December of 1975. The prestige of Stax/Volt with regard to ’60s soul, as well as its persisting influence to this day, is simply undeniable; it is a label amongst labels, one of the very small handful in history which are every bit as important to popular music as the artists they recorded and released. For this reason it is on a certain level refreshing that Concord Music Group, the current rightsholders to the Stax name, have announced plans to reactivate the label – the fact that Concord recognizes the pedigree of the Stax name enough to resurrect it as an active producer of new music suggests a respect for music history which is rare in the current industry.

But to suggest that the “new Stax” is a true extension of the original, literally picking up where the label left off in 1975, would be more than a little ingenuous. As mentioned above, one of the key components of a great record label are the great men or women behind it, and Stax had at least two: founder Jim Stewart, whose vision took a small-time pop, country and rockabilly imprint and transformed it into one of the most crucial forces in Black music, and sales director-cum-driving force Al Bell, who was responsible both for bringing Stax’s rootsy Deep South sound to an urban audience in the North and for diversifying its sound in the wake of star singer Otis Redding’s 1968 death. It is difficult, if not impossible, to imagine Stax Records without at least one of these two men at the helm.

Perhaps even more importantly, the elements that make a great label great often have less to do with the personnel involved, however capable, and more to do with the musical zeitgeist, an ineffable and unpredictable quality which cannot be captured by something as simple as the resurrection of a name and a logo. Every record geek worth his salt knows what a “Sub Pop” record sounds like; chances are, however, that they think it sounds a lot more like Bleach or Superfuzz Bigmuff than the Shins or Iron & Wine. Is this the fault of the label, its owners, or its A&R personnel? Hardly; it’s just that nobody’s making records in the “classic” Sub Pop vein anymore, and chances are that nobody ever will. That time has past.

Ironically, the document which best proves the inimitable quality of Stax/Volt’s “Golden Age” is the same compilation with which Concord has chosen to launch its “new age”: Stax 50th Anniversary Celebration, a two-disc set packed to the brims with 50 tracks that demonstrate, as eloquently and succinctly as can do the subject justice, just how amazing Stax Records was. It’s a nigh-essential purchase for the neophyte, the perfect sampler for any number of classic artists from Johnnie Taylor to the Staple Singers, and a great listen to boot. But as a starting point for new Stax music, it shoots itself in the foot; one listen to these songs and it’s impossible not to ask oneself whether such dizzying heights can ever truly be replicated.

Beginning with Carla Thomas’ crystalline “Gee Whiz (Look at His Eyes)” (though inexplicably leaving off her breakout duet with Daddy Rufus, despite the fact that it is mentioned in the liner notes) and ending with the label’s last big hit (Shirley Brown’s “Woman to Woman”), Stax 50th represents a near-faultless compressed history, admittedly not as definitive as 2000’s four-disc Stax Story or as exhaustive as the complete Stax/Volt singles boxes, but arguably a more inviting listen for casual fans or newcomers than either. It’s all here, or at least most of it: “Green Onions,” “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long (To Stop Now),” “Knock on Wood,” “Soul Man.” And in those inevitable cases where an essential track has been left off the list (Otis’ “Try a Little Tenderness” and Sam & Dave’s “I Thank You” are both conspicuous in their absences, for starters), well, I for one am willing to guess that most listeners’ interests have been sufficiently piqued to invest in a disc or two by the individual artists.

Perhaps this collection’s greatest accomplishment, however, is that in compressing so many epochal sides into just over two hours, it provides a concise blueprint for just what made Stax so special: a combination of savvy entrepreneurship, geography, and some of the most impressive talent in music history. Just as Berry Gordy of Motown took inspiration from the assembly lines of Detroit to forge one of pop music’s greatest “hit factories,” so Stewart and Bell drew on Memphis’ rich heritage of gospel and rhythm-and-blues performance for the ultimate “live” aesthetic. Few session crews in soul music were as exciting as the Stax “house band,” otherwise known as Booker T. & The M.G.’s; but even after their 1971 departure following squabbles with new owner Bell over musical direction, the “Stax sound” was above all raw, untamed and impossibly funky, as evidenced by the Bar-Kays, something of a replacement for Booker, Cropper and company in the 1970s, whose performance of “Son of Shaft” in the 1973 film Wattstax (unfortunately not included here, though the studio version makes a decent replacement) makes a case for that incarnation of the band as a criminally underlooked nexus of Hendrix-esque rock, nascent funk and full-throttle R&B.

Indeed, those who know Stax only from “Knock on Wood” and its ilk will find Stax 50th’s second disc something of a revelation. The single edit of Isaac Hayes’ “Walk on By” will make anyone with ears want to spring for the twelve-minute version on Hot Buttered Soul, the Staple Singers’ “Respect Yourself” and “I’ll Take You There” are evergreen despite their near-ubiquity, and relative obscurities from the Dramatics (“Whatcha See is Whatcha Get”) and the Emotions (the heavenly “So I Can Love You”) amply demonstrate the dichotomy between hard-edged funk and pop bliss that was post-’68 Stax. The first disc is no slouch in that department either, with gems like Mable John’s spellbinding “Your Good Thing (Is About to End)” and Linda Lyndell’s “What a Man” (best known for its inferior ’90s update by Salt-N-Pepa with En Vogue) justifying the collection’s price tag alone. Granted, the general standard of quality does begin to drop by the end: “Woman to Woman,” despite its historical importance as the label’s last hit before collapsing, is a fairly run-of-the-mill, cheeseball ballad, certainly not up to the standards of opener “Gee Whiz.” But overall, Stax 50th makes a very convincing case not only for its heavy hitters, but for the bridesmaids and bridesgrooms who have fallen through the cracks; there’s a lot to discover here, and not just for those who have never heard of Rufus Thomas before.

The question now, of course, is whether the Stax Records of 2007 and (presumably) beyond will truly be able to live up to its past. I don’t begrudge them for trying – and I’ll admit that signing Isaac Hayes to the label which he helped revolutionize, both as a songwriter and as a performer, was a very nice touch – but I’m not optimistic. Lightning doesn’t strike twice, and when the lightning in question is premium-grade Tennessee white lightning, well, you can only guess. But hey, why not give the new Stax a shot? After all, even if the Otis Reddings and Booker T.’s of the world seem decidedly thin on the ground these days, we’ll always have the music. And what glorious music it is.

- Zach Hoskins

Stax Records Official Site (Concord Music Group)
Stax Museum of American Soul Music
“The Stax Site”
Buy Stax 50th Anniversary Celebration from Amazon

Anticipating “The Deathly Hallows”

With a release date set for July 21, 2007, many, including myself, are anxiously awaiting Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows to see what J.K. Rowling has in store for the end of her series. There are many theories: maybe Ginny will die, maybe Voldemort will take over the world, or maybe Harry will have to sacrifice himself for the greater good. All are good theories and all have their place. But I’m not here to discuss what I think might happen in the book. I’m here to talk about Harry Potter as a fan and only a fan.

Growing up in the late 1990s, I was swept away by Harry Potter mania. I stayed up late to get the newest books on release night, I went to the midnight film premieres, and I saw many a kid dressed up in black robes and glasses for Halloween every year. It’s cliche, and I know that it has been said before, but J.K. Rowling pulled an entire age group away from the Nintendo 64 and into a world of magic and fantasy.

Harry Potter was my generation’s Star Wars, James Bond or Chronicles of Narnia. In essence, we grew up with Rowling’s characters. I was 11 years old when I read the first book, the same age as Harry, Ron and Hermione. Each of the books has been released in such an order that I am always within one or two years of the characters’ age. In turn, Rowling’s writing grew up with me, delving into deeper themes and harsher elements with each book. She put the characters through situations that so many teens go through, albeit in a magical boarding school context: first love, problems with parents, not knowing one’s self, trying to find a sense of belonging. Rowling’s writing has changed so dramatically over the course of the series that I sometimes wonder if future generations of twelve-year-olds will be able to pick up Potter and read the series straight though. The books become very serious very fast, to the point where even my seventeen-year-old self was crying at the conclusion of Book Six. I don’t know if the twelve-year-olds of tomorrow will be able to extract anything out of Rowling’s constant themes of death, destruction and torture. Will it just go over their heads?

But however the next era of Potter readers will react is not important right now. Generations will come and go, but Rowling’s writing will forever stay as a mark of my age. I can guarantee you that I will be at the bookstore at midnight on July 21st to buy my final Harry Potter novel. No matter how the series turns out, Rowling has already proven herself as much a visionary as a classic of our time.

- Cole Merkel

J.K. Rowling’s Official Site
Pre-Order Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows from Amazon

Reno 911!: Miami

If I ever decide to be a small-time crook, no question about it, I’m moving to Reno: the cops there are so out of the loop that I could get away with anything I wanted. Of course, when I talk about Reno cops, I mean the ones from Comedy Central’s Reno 911. The show has been a hit in the past couple of years as the rag tag team takes to the streets, trying to conquer crime in one of Nevada’s roughest cities. And now they are on the big screen, in what is one of the funniest adaptations I’ve seen of a TV show in a long time.

Reno 911!: Miami is vulgar, over the top, and absolutely hilarious. It begins with the crew signing up to attend a national police conference and expo in Miami. Unfortunately for them, after a four-day bus trip, none of the expo coordinators can seem to find their paperwork. So, they are instead sent to a dumpy motel. After a night of clubbing (during which each member of the police force is caught masturbating) the team wakes up trying to figure out what they did the night before. Perhaps the one member with the most to ask is deputy Clementine Johnson (Wendi McLendon-Covey) who spends the rest of the film trying to figure out the identity of the mysterious man who she has tattooed to her bosom.

As they return to the conference, the crew realizes that a deadly bio-terrorism attack has infected the 2000 officers inside. As the only trained police officers in Miami who aren’t under quarantine (obviously), it becomes their mission for the rest of the movie not only to patrol the streets of Miami and keep them crime-free, but to try and find an antidote and save the infected police officers. Along the way, the officers encounter everything from a dead whale on the beach, to an alligator wreaking havoc in a private pool, to a Colombian drug lord who believes that the troopers are following him. Each of these plotlines has elements which make them laugh your ass off funny.

Even given all of the comedy it contains, Reno 911!: Miami has little substance. But it does have nudity! That’s the kind of attitude you need to go into the theater with if you decide to see this movie. Erase any preconceptions you may have about what makes a good film and just prepare to laugh your ass off. You’re not going to walk away from it with much intellectually, but you will have a smile on your face.

- Cole Merkel

Reno 911!: Miami Official Site
IMDb Listing