Sunday's Playlist: 8-21-11

Jawbox – “Absenter / Cornflake Girl”
Les Savy Fav – “Appetites”
Edith Piaf – “La Vie En Rose”
TV on the Radio – “Golden Age”
Miles Davis – “Ah-Leu-Cha”
Public Enemy – “Prophets of Rage”
Echo & the Bunnymen – “I Want to Be There (When You Come)”
Marvin Gaye – “Sixties Medley”
James Murphy – “People”
The Drums – “We Tried”
Len – “Steal My Sunshine”
Suede – “Dead Leg (Beautiful Ones) (Demo)”
The Black Angels – “Entrance Song”
The Dears – “Omega Dog”
Mew – “Special”
Stevie Wonder – “Keep On Running”
Dexys Midnight Runners – “Reminisce Pt 1”
Gruff Rhys – “Vitamin K”
Sleeper – “Sale of the Century”
Band of Skulls – “Death by Diamonds and Pearls”
Ramin Djawadi – “The Pointy End”
Hothouse Flowers – “The Older We Get”
Billy Squier – “It Keeps You Rockin’”
Bon Iver – “Skinny Love”
Mogwai – “Tracy”
The Books – “We Bought the Flood”
Gang Gang Dance – “Glass Jar”
Ministry – “Dream Song”
Daniel Martin Moore – “All Ye Tenderhearted”
Jeff Beck – “Hi Ho Silver Lining”
Robyn – “Include Me Out”
Fonda – “My Heart is Dancing”
Fountains of Wayne – “You Curse at Girls”
The Korgis – “Everybody’s Got To Learn Sometime”
Journey – “Only the Young”
REO Speedwagon – “In Your Letter”
Stockholm Monsters – “All at Once”
The Cure – “Fascination Street (Live)”
Big Daddy Kane – “Give a Demonstration”
Howard Jones – “Pearl in the Shell”
Genesis – “Abacab”
OMD – “New Holy Ground”
Belle & Sebastian – “Read the Blessed Pages”

Films of the 60s, Part 11: They Like Their Water Hot

“Samurai like their water hot. Very brave.” – Oingo Boingo, “Reptiles and Samurai"



Sanjūrō (1961, Akira Kurosawa)

Akira Kurosawa pretty much wrote the book on samurai films, called “chanbara” (sword-fighting movies) and “jidaigeki” (period dramas) in Japan. Most of his signature films were made in the 50s, but the 60s was another fruitful decade for Kurosawa in the samurai realm, specifically the connected films, Yojimbo and Sanjūrō. I’ll eventually get to writing about Yojimbo, but I decided to be a little unconventional and start with the “sequel.” For Sanjūrō, once again Kurosawa is reunited with his actor of choice, Toshirō Mifune, who plays the unnamed ronin / samurai. "Sanjūrō" is the only name he offers, but that literally translates into “thirty-ish,” further giving a longer name, Tsubaki Sanjūrō, which means “thirty year-old Camellia tree.” As is usual for these samurai films, it is set at the end of the Tokugawa shogunate, a time when samurai protection and employment was coming to an end, finding samurai as ronin, clanless warriors wandering around Japan either looking for the odd “free agent” gig or a new master to serve. Generally, Kurosawa and Mifune’s vision of the ronin is one who doesn’t brag, only shows his skills when necessary, and is, for the most part, reserved and quiet, much like their Western counterparts, the Clint Eastwood type cowboys.

The film begins with “Sanjūrō” overhearing nine desperate samurai who are fighting corruption in their village. He ends up advising them, proving his wisdom in predicting the actions of their adversaries. He, of course, is able drive them off singlehandedly. He continues to help them in their mission to rid the village of corruption, including a rescue mission to liberate the lord chamberlain’s wife and daughter. These two women end up to be curious characters indeed, acting somewhat as the conscience of the film, giving Sanjūrō pause, making him think somewhat existentially, pondering his own nature and place in the world. “Killing people is a bad habit,” says the wife (with a mouth full of black teeth, which was considered a standard of beauty at the time). The palace manners displayed by the two women make it frustrating for the ten samurai to enact any kind of covert rescue. They seem detached from reality, as if this is a world of play to match the charade of shogunate etiquette, and not one of brutal violence and real imminent danger. She also tells Sanjūrō that he is a “glittering sword,” but that “the best sword stays in its scabbard,” which becomes a foreshadowing event.

Sanjūrō has ended up to be one of my favorite films from the 60s, story-wise, visually, and through its great use of music. Kurosawa’s choice of shots continued to impress more and more as he matured as a director, leading all the way to his glorious films, Ran and Dreams. Shooting from underneath the cart that Mifune lies on, composing tableaus of the ten samurai, all different, yet all incredibly and meticulously arranged (such as the one above), and the final gusher of blood that comes with the final battle are all prominent examples of Kurosawa’s indelible imagery. The music that plays during the rescue mission is terribly exciting, contrasting with the crazy jazz-pop music that plays during a celebratory scene. The writing is both realistic and superb. One perfect example is Sanjūrō asking the nine samurai, after a foolhardy and premature jump into the fray, “Aren’t you tired of being stupid?” But, other than the gusher of blood scene, this film will probably most be known for the Camellia signal scene, in which the ronin comes up with a clever plan involving sending Camellia flowers down the stream as a provocation to attack. In the end, Sanjūrō is once again on his own, having instilled valuable lessons in the minds of the nine samurai, but with the realization, after a brutal duel, that he is indeed as the woman said, a sword without a scabbard, a naked sword, a man with a violent nature who cannot change.



Harakiri (1962, Masaki Kobayashi)

Harakiri is set at the beginning of the Tokugawa shogunate, specifically in 1630, telling another story of a ronin, a masterless samurai. This tale, however, is perhaps more historically based as the rule of the day was that samurai who lost their masters were supposed to take their own lives. The samurai, named Hanshiro Tsugumo, arrives at the house of a feudal lord in Edo to ask permission to commit the deed at the lord’s house. The lord and his court are dubious of Tsugumo’s intentions as there has been a rash of samurais becoming employed or receiving alms as a result of other feudal lords showing mercy in the face of such requests. As such, the lord decides to tell Tsugumo the story of what happened to Motome Chijiwa, a samurai who had made the same request some three months’ prior. The lord, rather than giving up alms, decides to take the samurai at his word, even cruelly mocking him for having a cheap bamboo sword, then maliciously forcing him to commit the deed with that sword, making it a terribly long, painful, agonizing affair.

It turns out that Tsugumo has a story of his own, revealing that Chijiwa was his friend’s son, who eventually became his own son-in-law when he urged Chijiwa to marry his daughter, Miho. But, the couple was poor, left looking for odd jobs after the fall of the lord’s house. Chijiwa was forced to attempt the gambit of “alms for seppuku,” meeting his end at the hands of this lord and his cadre of samurai. What follows is a masterfully told tale of revenge, with Tsugumo requesting the aid of the samurai who were complicit in Chijiwa’s death to act as his “second,” someone who would put him out of his misery once the act had been carried out. Each samurai he requests ends up being absent, due to “illness,” but in reality, Tsugumo has already humiliated each of them by severing their top-knots. The resulting battle, initiated by the now furious lord, is magnificently choreographed, shot, and acted.

That battle is just one aspect of Harakiri with wonderful cinematography. It is shot mostly with low camera angles mirroring the Japanese tradition of sitting on the floor. Director Masaki Kobayashi also has a way with presenting space, whether in the lord’s courtyard or the inner rooms and hallways of the lord’s house. As such, the story unfolds like a play, limited to certain areas, with most of the action taking place in the same location, but in different times. It is ultimately a story of the hypocrisy of honor, with the lord continually invoking the idea of honor, despite the inanity and uselessness of it, with his greed and violent tendencies the real reason for his acceptance of the samurais’ requests. The lord also spreads the story that his own samurai, who had been humiliated, had died due to illness, therefore showing even more hypocrisy in his concept of honor. I think there is something else here at play in this film, with the brutal imagery of Chijiwa’s slow death and the use of guns by the lord’s men, I think it becomes significant that the revenging Tsugumo is from Hiroshima. In a way, he is also rebelling against changing military technologies, which would eventually result in the horrific bombings, and violence itself, seeking redress for the incredible overreaction to the request from the poor samurai, which would be echoed in the same future bombings. Or, maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I doubt it. As a side note, Harakiri has one of the best opening credit sequences I've ever seen.



The Sword of Doom (1966, Kihachi Okamoto)

While both Sanjūrō and Tsugumo are noble samurai characters, quiet, honorable, and brave, The Sword of Doom presented another type of samurai in Ryunosuke Tsukue, as played by the great Tatsuya Nakadai. Ryu, just to shorten his name for this capsule review, is amoral, emotionless, and cold. We first meet him when he comes across a Buddhist pilgrim and his granddaughter. When she goes off to fetch water, the old man prays for death in order so that she will not have to continue life as a pilgrim. Overhearing his prayer, Ryu kills him without compassion. We later learn that Ryu has an unorthodox and unbeatable sword style, one that is considered abnormally cruel, making his opponents believe he is off guard, and then killing them as they lunge forward. While that may be ingenious, it was certainly not considered an honorable way to fight.

Ryu is challenged to a duel, and before doing so, beds his opponent’s wife in exchange for mercy. The husband learns of this deception, divorces his wife, and decides to cheat in the duel, lunging at Ryu after the judge called a draw. Ryu takes him out with ease, then tells the judge that his killing move was justified, but the townspeople rebel and go after him, again being dispatched with ease. Ryu is run out of town along with the ex-wife. Ryu ends up taking a job as a sort of secret policeman / assassin, is nearly the victim of the widow, who lives with him, and is sought after by the duel victim’s brother, Hyoma. Of course, he has all of this coming to him, but he manages to avoid death, at least for a while. The only time that Ryu starts to doubt himself is when he sees another samurai, played by Toshirō Mifune, who shows skill that surpasses his own.

Everything comes full circle when Hyoma comes to seek his revenge and is aided by a young courtesan who ends up to be the granddaughter from the beginning of the film. Rather than a straightforward duel, however, Ryu becomes haunted by the images of all the people he has mercilessly slain over the years, shot masterfully with the employment of clever shadows and ghostly voices, which causes him to go mad, slashing wildly at the walls of the room. Ryu hears the voice of the samurai played by Mifune, who tells him, “An evil sword marks an evil soul.” Real opponents begin to join the apparitions and we then see one of the famous and most captivating samurai battles in cinematic history. This seven-minute scene is breathtaking, with the samurai fighting from room to room, while the geisha house burns around them. The film ends in mid-action, and thus we are not sure what happens to Ryu, but we know it can’t come to any good end. After all, he is an evil sword, thus an evil soul, and the title is Sword of Doom, so it’s not going to end with lollipops and sunshine. Although, originally, this was supposed to be the first film in a trilogy, following the historical novel by Kaizan Nakazato, so I could be wrong. Either way, this is one great film.

Highlights from My Vinyl Collection, Part 14

This is the fourteenth installment of "Highlights from My Vinyl Collection," an appreciation of great music, not necessarily rare finds or expensive imports. This is not about "deleted Smiths singles and original, not rereleased - underlined - Frank Zappa albums," as Rob Gordon so eloquently put it, though a small few select gems might appear every now and again.



Tears for Fears - The Hurting

Most of my peers were likely to own Tears for Fears' sophomore release, Songs from the Big Chair. It was a huge mass audience breakthrough for the duo of Curt Smith and Roland Orzabal, spawning two #1 hit singles in the US, as well as another in the top 3. And, as much as I truly love that album, I am definitely more of a fan of their debut, The Hurting. For this look at a record in my collection, I will try to avoid repeating my Treblezine review, but that might be somewhat difficult. History definitely looks kindly now on this album, at least outside the UK, where the album hit #1 on the charts and produced four singles, three of which hit top 5 status. In other words, in TFF's home turf, they knew what a gem they had on their hands from the very beginning. Those three singles, "Mad World" (now made famous by the cover version in Donnie Darko), "Pale Shelter," and "Change" are three of my favorite songs from the entire decade. The first time I heard "Change," seeing the video on MTV, I was immediately hooked. I had to hear more. So, it was quite a day for me when I found this vinyl copy of the album (with the above pictured cover, which happens to be the "international" version, whatever that means) for $5.99, slightly more expensive than most of my great finds, but well worth it. Tears for Fears has long been my audio therapy and now it will continue to be, just in a warmer format.

Great Songs from My Favorite Year in Music: 1985, Part 55

Sting - "Fortress Around Your Heart"



(Single Release: October 1985)
I've had inner conflict about Sting for years. Having been a fan of the Police, I was on board immediately in 1985 for Sting's solo debut, The Dream of the Blue Turtles. With its jazz-centric sound, complete with a band fronted by Branford Marsalis, it was yet another bridge between my dad's fusion jazz leanings and the kids' popular fare. For that reason, I have fond memories of the album. Plus, I actually liked the music. I bought Sting albums up until 1993's Ten Summoner's Tales, but after that, the devils on my shoulder have outshouted my better angels, inciting my anti-Sting sentiments. Hearing this song again, some 25+ years later, I was reminded again of what I liked about it. But, the accompanying video reminded of the larger-than-life persona of the performer, and what has turned me off to the concept of Sting in recent years. This video is ludicrous, especially for a well-written song about divorce. For some reason, an unseen woman sends out a suited envoy to approach Sting and his Hobbit-like assistant in an abandoned warehouse / factory. They are there to supposedly buy a song from this renegade, ronin songwriter, but Sting asserts, "One song...and I'll choose it." HA-RUMPH! I've heard that this filmic representation of Sting's egotism is not too far from the mark, including an apocryphal story in which Sting goes to a restaurant and stops the maitre'd from seating him until all of the patrons turned in his direction to recognize him. Ozzy Osbourne famously said on his MTV show, after reciting a litany of horrible things he's done and experienced, "It could have been worse. I could have been Sting." However, despite my recent dislike of what Sting has become, I still like a lot of those early tracks. "Fortress Around Your Heart" is probably my favorite single from the debut album and thus certainly merits a spot on this list.

Great Songs from My Favorite Year in Music: 1985, Part 54

The Alarm - "Strength"



(Single Release: 1985)
The Alarm has been unfairly bashed as a U2 knockoff, but in reality, or to complete the reference, in absolute reality, they paralleled U2's career. Yet while U2's rise was meteoric, The Alarm's was anemic, at least in the States. Yet, they had a hardcore fanbase that loved them every bit as much, if not more, than their Irish counterparts. I don't know which band I like more. I don't know that I have even compared them as much as others do. But, I must admit, "Strength" is probably one of the band's more U2-like compositions, at least sonically. Yet, though The Alarm shared U2's big arena sound and political themes, found in such songs as "68 Guns," "Blaze of Glory," "Marching On," and "Unsafe Building," this song, that possibly sounded most like U2, was a plea for company, for companionship, for rescue from a world of loneliness. I suppose if one were trying to find the political meaning in everything, one could find a message of socialism, but I doubt that's what's happening here. Instead, this is an open-hearted plea for love, in which our narrator lets us know that he is emotional, can cry, is terribly lonely, and is looking for a way out. And yet, it is sung with so much fire and passion that one could easily make a mistake of misinterpretation, merely based on the sound and the title. The same could be said for other songs, such as "The Spirit of '76," a song in which Mike Peters, the lead singer, remembers the friends of his past. In other words, it is more like "The Summer of 69" than a song about rebellion. After all, The Alarm is made up of two Englishmen and two Welshmen. What would they care about America's battle for independence, other than to present a differing side? Even that is a stretch at this point in history. Anyway, I got a chance to see The Alarm play in 1988, a year after the release of their album, Eye of the Hurricane. It was held in the small gymnasium of a private college in San Diego and was thus somewhat of an intimate affair. It is a show I will always remember, and the performance of "Strength" a particular strong memory.

Great Songs from My Favorite Year in Music: 1985, Part 53

Duran Duran - "A View to a Kill"



(Single Release: May 1985)
Yesterday, I wrote about "19" by Paul Hardcastle, the song that would keep Duran Duran's foray into the Bond franchise from reaching number one. Today, I cover the latter, the also-ran. This is the song that could have been the quintet's last hurrah, one last score before splintering off into Power Station and Arcadia. Luckily for us, they got back together and gave us "Notorious," "I Don't Want Your Love," and "Ordinary World." The first and last in that list being used to great effect in Donnie Darko ("I question your commitment to SparkleMotion") and Layer Cake respectively. The partnership between Duran squared and the Bond franchise has dubious beginnings. Apparently, John Taylor, always my sister's favorite, somewhat drunkenly, snobbishly, and obnoxiously approached Cubby Broccoli and asked when someone decent was going to do a Bond theme. Ahem. I guess he thinks Shirley Bassey, Paul McCartney, Tom Jones, Nancy Sinatra, and Louis Armstrong aren't decent. Well, though the song isn't my favorite Bond theme, it is a good one. In fact, I was surprised to learn that the Internet community looked far more favorably on it than I do, but that might be young nostalgia and the trick of recent memory at play. I won't get into the film as that could take me forever. I won't even get into the video, which is ridiculousness in itself. I will merely say that I am a fan of Duran Duran, have owned a lot of their albums (some in cassette form, growing up), and also love the Bond films, so this was a nice marriage. I have one more pet peeve with this song and it has little to do with the song itself and more to do with the population at large in relation to it. Just as some keep misnaming "How Soon is Now" as "I Am Human," and "Good Riddance" as "The Time of Your Life," (and yes, I know that is the subtitle for the latter), people keep misnaming "A View to a Kill" as "Dance Into the Fire." Sure, it's a catchy phrase, but it's not the title. Sigh. Why must I be overburdened with such snobbery? Maybe John Taylor and I would get along better than I thought.

Great Songs from My Favorite Year in Music: 1985, Part 52

Paul Hardcastle - "19"



(Single Release: February 1985)
Michael Stipe once claimed, "I don't think music and politics mix" (Segal, 2003). I guess that depends on how you define politics, as R.E.M. is arguably one of the most politically bent bands out there. I don't agree with his sentiments. I think art and politics have been inextricably intertwined for millennia and it's not likely to stop, nor would I want it to. Paul Hardcastle's anti-war song, "19," is just such an example, combining energetic dance music with samples of Vietnam documentaries and news footage / audio. The premise behind the song is simple, displaying the horrors of war, all the while pointing out that, as the song says, "In World War II, the average age of the combat soldier was 26, in Vietnam he was 19." I remember hearing this song for the first time and being amazed on three successive fronts: one, how infectious the music was, two, how shocked I was at that statistic, and three, how a pop song could be so informative. Of course, it was more than just informative, it was rebellious. By juxtaposing the horrors of the Vietnam War, and thus all modern wars, with popular music, Hardcastle provided an anti-war message for the masses that would resonate. It certainly did with me. Because Hardcastle is mostly known as a synth composer, usually found in classical sections of music stores, for this to be his one breakout hit is extraordinary and meaningful. This is not a novelty song. This is serious business. Of course, not everything that resulted from this song's popularity was good. Hardcastle's manager was Simon Fuller who, because of the success of this song, was able to start his own company and later go on to create American Idol. Who says music and politics don't mix?

Segal, D. (2003). "Count Me Out: Why Rock and Politics Don't Mix." bnet: The CBS Interactive Business Network. Retrieved from http://www.findarticles.com