superscientifical

The people that assembled at the Wellington Opera House on Saturday looked to be much the same crowd that gathered at the band’s farewell performance five years ago as part of a fundraiser for tsunami relief. Trinity Roots recorded their third LP, Music is Choice, that night, and following a long hiatus, it has finally been released.

 Though their two previous efforts, True and Home Land and Sea are beautiful records in their own right, neither were able to replicate the wairua that seems to envelop the place when the live band is in full swing. Trinity Roots is a band that is best experienced live.

 Arranged simply on stage with clear sightlines between the three, it is hard to comprehend how such a rich sound of so many layers and textures can emanate from so few players. And from the very first moment it was clear that Warren, Rio, and Riki were among friends. As the band made their way through their catalogue the crowd’s enthusiasm never waned, even after almost three hours. It was a welcome return from a band that many were so sad to see separate. Despite the long break it was clear that little had been lost in the way of chemistry as the three seamlessly moved between songs, each taking their turn to shine.

Something that never came through on the studio recordings of Trinity Roots was the complex patterns and sheer energy that drummer Riki Gooch contributes to the music. The sheer physicality of it is impressive in itself.

Two weeks ago Gooch’s other band, Eru Dangerspiel, filled the Town Hall. A far more theatrical venture, With a horn section, choir, two-and-a-half drum sets, the Town Hall’s own pipe organ, Eru Dangerspiel filled the stage with thirty-plus caped, masked, and costumed characters. Gooch himself played the architect, conducting the machine from the front, occasionally taking a seat at his own abbreviated drum set to bring the group to crescendo. 

 The highlights of that night included Electric Wire Hustle’s soulful Mara TK and the phenomenal Whirimako Black’s voices intertwining during her brief appearance. Excellent as well was King Kapisi, providing rap free vocals, and displaying a great singing voice that he so seldom allows to appear on his own solo material. Guitar player Ned Ngatai, and vocalists Ria Hall, and Isaac Aesili appeared on stage at both shows.

 

Edgar Wright’s previous two films, 2004’s Shaun of The Dead and 2007’s Hot Fuzz, sucessfully poked fun at the conventions of the genres that they satire, while similtaneously showing a genuine affection for them. Scott Pilgrim Vs The World, however, is a departure from parody, and Wright has created something entirely new that sits outside of any established type. Though it bears some similarity to the superhero genre, visually, it owes just as much to video games, music videos, and graphic novels. Right from the very beginning we are bombarded with exciting light and sound (thanks Beck), and while for me it is everything that is right with modern cinema, I imagine that equally, for others, it might illustrate everything that is wrong.

Based on the graphic novels of Bryan Lee O’Malley, the film follows Scott Pilgrim (Michael Cera) as he is forced to battle seven evil exes in order to date the girl of his dreams. Cera may be criticised for playing only slight variations of the same character throughout his career, and though he doesn’t entirely abandon the awkwardness that has made him famous, his perfomance as Scott Pilgrim is great and his action scenes are as impressive as they are surprising.

Though the film may not pass the Bechdel Test (http://bechdeltest.com) and Pilgrim’s extra-relationship trysts seem to escape judgement or consequence one can’t help but be swept up in the pure excitement, inventiveness, and kinetic nature of the film.

Opening with the seemingly mundane scene of young protagonist Joshua ‘Jay’ Cody passively watching a television game show with his mother, we soon realise that his mother has not nodded off, but has in fact died from a heroin overdose. As the paramedics enter and try to revive her, Jay seems emotionally unmoved, glancing back at the television to catch the end of the program he had been watching. And so, we are introduced to one of the main themes running through David Michod’s Animal Kingdom (2010); the casualness with which tragedy and suburban banality can coexist.

Forced to move in with his grandmother, the seemingly sweet matriarch known as Smurf, we quickly become privy to the murky world of crime inhabited by his estranged family. His uncles; cool-headed Barry, quick-tempered Craig, fearful youngster Darren, and paranoid Pope are bank robbers, drug dealers, and thieves.  As Jay finds himself among the animals, we wonder whether he can survive. The brothers have tasted criminal success, but their careers are becoming untenable when police begin to hunt them in the most literal way. After the death of Barry at the hands of police, the remaining brothers enlist Jay’s help in retaliating. After the murder of two young police officers, a factual event on which this film is inspired, Jay’s is forced to choose between staying with his increasingly irrational and volatile family, or turning to the equally predatory police.

As the title card suggests, this suburban world of the Cody family is an wolfish existence in which the strong survive, the weak are sacrificed, and mothers sometimes eat their young. As the film progresses we see the depth which each character will plumb in order to ensure their own safety, whether it be deception, murder, or mere inaction in the face of wickedness.

Jacki Weaver as the alpha female of the clan is impressive as she oscillates between doting mother, pacifying and calming, and moments later, cold hearted, calculating, and self serving. Ben Mendelsohn’s Pope is terrifying in his quiet lunacy, as he grows more and more irrational and desperate to eliminate anything tying him to the police murders.  With a taut script , tense atmosphere and superb musical score, the film’s tension is drawn so tightly that on exiting the cinema, you cannot help but feel relieved, emotionally and physically, that it is all over. 

1996 was an interesting time for popular hip hop. On one hand, you had the shiny suited commercialism of Puff Daddy and the rise of the Bad Boy label, the party and bullshit of ill fated Biggie Smalls, the sensitive thug messiah theatrics of equally doomed Tupac Shakur, and the rise of the Mafioso incarnation of Jay-Z. Conversely, there was still a pocket of popular artists who were pushing the envelope of conventional hip hop; The Roots’ star was beginning to rise, Outkast were continuing to get weirder, and The Fugees grabbed a couple of grammys. 

Amidst this, New Zealand outfit Dam Native released their debut (and so far, sadly, only) album, Kaupapa Driven Rhymes Uplifted. Despite being almost 15 years old, somehow this album remains relevant, and its age is barely visible – an extraordinary achievement in this particular genre. Led by MCs Daniel Haimona, and to a lesser extent Bennet Pomana, the album covers distinctly local topics, such as Maori sovereignty, the Americanising of local culture, political activism, and independence.

The album standout is the lead single, Behold My Kool Style. The album opener announces the group’s agenda loud and clear. Self assured and confident over haunting strings,  we told in no uncertain terms that even though they are politically conscious, this is still rap music, and they are better than everyone else. The next track, Extermities, with production reminiscent of Souls of Mischief classic’ 93’ til Infinity, chronicles the Haimona’s attraction to music, growth in tikanga, and his dedication to his craft.

Another highlight of the album, The Horrified One, features Teremoana Rapley on the chorus, and a kinetic beat of looped horns, piano, and flute. The songfunctions as a history lesson on Maori-European contact and conflict. Music critic Tony Mitchell suggests that this song also functions as an attempt to reclaim the racial slur “hori” in the spirit of  NWA’s reclaiming of a similar word.

Haimona possesses the gift of addressing political topics without coming across as preachy of divisive, and his delivery varies from almost singing to more conventional rapping. The album is littered with Maori language references to events throughout New Zealand’s turbulent history.  Despite this, the album avoids the pitfall of self-righteousness that Te Kupu of Upper Hutt Posse,  an obvious predecessor, falls into so easily. Local slang replaces hackneyed hip hop platitudes, and we are more likely to hear boasts about the lethality of Haimona’s patu than a gun.  The use of Maori language and historical touchstones such as reference to the Rainbow Warrior, Bastion Point, and Parihaka set this album apart not only from foreign product, but also from other local artists who choose more international allusions.

The production of the album is one of the reasons it has stood up to the test of time so well. Largely handled by Urban Disturbance member (and later international tastemaker) Zane Lowe, the production of the album is sample based, and draws equal influence from the downbeat contemporary DJ Shadow, and  hip hop beat maker DJ Premier.

The unique subject matter, production, and cohesive nature album all add up to release that still remains fresh, so many years after its release. It is a disappointment, then, that the group has yet to release a follow-up. Despite this, Kaupapa Driven Rhymes Uplifted will maintain a special place in the history of New Zealand hip hop, as an uncompromisingly authentic and distinctly local effort.

Tim Burton’s Big Fish (2003) divided critics on its release. While some applauded Burton’s departure from his usual style and themes, others hailed it as a new leaf for the well known director. While Burton’s films usually range in tone from dark to very dark, Big Fish appeared to tread new ground for the director, with a sunnier, more optimistic tone,while still maintaining the film maker’s reoccurring themes of alienation, loneliness and love.

The film revolves around Edward Bloom, a man of tales so tall and fantastic that his compulsion for exaggerating has estranged him from his son. But now on his deathbed, Bloom senior and Bloom junior make one last effort to reconcile. Contrasting with the dark and drab interior scenes of Edward’s house, our storyteller seizes the opportunity to unravel his stories once more for the pleasure of his new daughter-in-law. Through these technicolour flashbacks we discover the amazing life of Edward Bloom, from his prodigious childhood, through his many careers as soldier, travelling salesman, and inadvertent bank robber.

 Burton peppers the story with a fine selection of odd ball and archetypical characters, including giants, witches, Siamese twins, and circus performers. One cannot help but speculate that in showing us a film about a storyteller, we may find a glimpse into the mind of the director himself. Indeed, it is Bloom’s extraordinary perspective on seemingly ordinary events that make the film what it is. Bloom’s life could easily be described as a tragic existence; a largely bedridden childhood, ostracised from his hometown, separated from his sweetheart and forced into warfare, and worse, becoming a door-to-door salesman. Yet with his optimistic view and whimsical charm, we become enraptured by his life story.

Though in many ways very different from previous films, Burton still allows himself to speak out for the alienated and disaffected, for instance the misunderstood giant that has terrorized Bloom’s hometown, the lycanthropic ringmaster with the heart of gold, or even Edward Bloom himself, a man who uses his wit and charm to avoid genuine emotional involvement.

The film climaxes with Edward’s dying wish, for his son Will to take on the mantle of storyteller, and Will finds that he has more than a little of his father’s gift for stretching the truth. Throughout the film we are posed the question of whether the quality of a story is dependent on its veracity. More implicitly, we are asked if the quality of a person’s life depends on its verifiable facts, or can we choose our own interpretations of the sum part of our years. Perhaps our stories say more about us than the facts ever could.