The Dead Weather – Horehound

Reviewed by: Paul Davis

Supergroups. While exceptions do happen, such as Broken Social Scene and The Good, The Bad & The Queen, supergroups typically illicit a negative reaction from fans.  This is because there are bands like The Transplants, with members that really shouldn’t be working together in the first place who clearly have divergent opinions of where their group should fit, musically speaking.  I for one, as a huge Jack White fan, was sincerely hoping that The Dead Weather’s Horehound would be a success.  I felt a great deal of optimism, as everything that White touches turns out to be at least solidly listenable, and The Kills, Alison Mosshart’s full-time gig, are fantastic.

Opener “60 Feet Tall” proved my optimism wasn’t misplaced.  Riding in on a clattering rattlesnake of percussion and a distant sounding guitar, the production leaves a lot of space and echo.  A huge, stomping rhythm picks up from here, dominating the song with Mosshart’s vocals.  A solo emerges, sounding like it came straight from the gut.  The apocalyptic riffage of the late meltdown is also fantastic.

With its strutting drumbeats, cocksure guitars, and spacious Jack White production, Horehound sounds like it rode out of the desert as dusk fell to sleaze it up in the saloon.  “Hang You From The Heavens” keeps the momentum up, with another swaggering rhythm laid down by White.  With its huge guitar firepower, it’s a violent song, both in its sonics and lyrics.  “I Cut Like a Buffalo” is the only track on the album written solely by White, and it comes through with his trademark cheeky but catchy simplicity.  When White asks, “is that you choking’?” I sure hope not, because you’ll find no help.  The Dead Weather would sooner spit on you and mosey on their way.

After the more relaxed “So Far From Your Weapon,” which resembles Mosshart’s other group, The Kills, more closely than past tracks (she does get sole writing credit for it), “Treat Me Like Your Mother” pummels its way to the top of your playlist.  Riding on a clanging cymbal, the choruses ooze style and confidence, as the verses strut the ground between.  An amazing breakdown in the mid section ramps up the intensity before a solo cuts it off only too quickly.  White’s vocals on the track sound almost like rapping, further revealing his depth as a performer and his willingness to explore.

“Rocking Horse” exhibits an effortlessly pulled-off throwback vibe.  Tex-Mex guitars drenched in reverb and tremolo dominate a bizarre duet between White and Mosshart.  “New Pony,” a stomping Bob Dylan cover, showcases Mosshart’s talent, as her vocal literally owns the track.  She brings the sneer and attitude that help make Horehound such a success.  Tracks like this are what dispel the mere thought of them being a supergroup, as they gel together and create something unique and cohesive.

Drum machines and synths kick off “Bone House,” which with Mosshart’s voice, give it more of a Kills flavour at first.  A texture-laden solo bleeds for a while until the song knocks itself out.  “3 Birds” revels in being borderline absurd and schizophrenic.  A slew of disparate elements and timbres surface throughout, making it an interesting instrumental diversion.  “No Hassle Night” begins by shocking the listener out of the complacency induced by “3 Birds” with an enormous crashing intro before settling into an evil, foreboding place, dominated by the smooth talking guitar and bass.

“Will There Be Enough Water?” ends things with a distinctly rootsy sound.  An understated shuffle paired with a nimble acoustic guitar form the foundation for an exasperated and resigned vocal duet.  As the album comes to its conclusion, it’s safe to say that The Dead Weather’s supergroup status is far from the listener’s mind.

Horehound is a spacious, echoing, strutting, fantastic piece of work.  It rewards repeated listens by revealing more of the nuances of Jack White’s production, and exudes confidence and experience in the form of consistently high quality writing and musicianship.  The four members of The Dead Weather, while coming from different places (The White Stripes, The Kills, The Raconteurs, Queens of the Stone Age) gel together into an honest-to-goodness band. They achieve a delightful cohesive sound, strutting right over the trap of becoming an ego war zone.

As a final note, if you like this album, do yourself a favour and check out Mosshart’s full-time gig, The Kills.  They’ve got three excellent albums, and you owe it to yourself to give them a spin.

Overall: Excellent

According to Alan Cross, the story behind the creation of Jack White’s new project, The Dead Weather, goes something like this.  The Kills were opening for White’s other, other band, The Raconteurs, when Alison Mosshart took over some of the vocals for White when he got sick.  He was so impressed that they got drunk together one night, and then bussed it back to Nashville to record immediately at White’s studio.  Good stuff.

A smug and literary discussion of the film The Hangover

The Hangover
Directed by: Todd Phillips
Warner Bros, 2009

A recent professor of mine made our class break the habit of writing in the first person. He argued that it makes for weak writing; if the writing is good and well-argued, you shouldn’t need to insert yourself into it. I agree, and I’m trying my best to pull myself out of my reviews. It’s difficult, but it ultimately makes for a more objective review.

That being said, sometimes writing in the first person is just more…fun. There are some films that don’t deserve the fancy-pants academic review (if you can even call my reviews those).

With this in mind, I declare the following: I didn’t like The Hangover.

Yeah, I said it. The lone dissenter against one of this summer’s biggest surprise hits. And before accusing me of being contrary for contrary’s sake, let me say that I really wanted to like it.

Maybe it’s the fact that everybody in the known universe saw it before I did, and made a point to tell me how “amazing,” “hilarious,” and “incredible” it was, causing a maelstrom of unreachably high expectations.

But that’s not right, because my expectations weren’t that high – I just wanted to be proven wrong.  I waited this long only because I didn’t really want to see it in the first place. What I saw in the unrelenting marketing for this film was comedy fare that’s been done before, from a director whose films have a few good moments in them but ultimately cater to a dominantly (although not entirely) frat-boy audience – an audience who can appreciate the experience of the drunken night before and the nostalgic, epic tales follow. A hangover, if you will. A phenomenon which this author doesn’t fully identify with, because his interests and ideas of fun are more akin to that of a 57-year-old retiree.

So maybe why I didn’t like it is that the central premise, a memory-erasing night of debauchery in Las Vegas, just didn’t appeal to me, despite the presence of both Ed Helms and Zach Galifianakis (who, like Will Ferrell in Old School, exists outside of the film as the guy who is way funnier and way smarter than the script because he’s simply doing his own thing).

But that’s not fair, either. My own personal biases can’t factor into what I think of a film – what sort of reviewer would I be? Maybe…just maybe… it’s that in a golden age of Arrested Development, Ricky Gervais and 30 Rock, I’m spoiled and just expect more from comedy. I expect more than Asians who swear a lot in exaggerated accents. I expect more than a generic and 2-year-old-stale rock soundtrack. I expect more than another cameo from another sports icon from yesteryear. I expect more than the same cover band that Todd Phillips insists on featuring in all of his movies, doing the same joke – singing dirty songs as lounge singers.  I expect more than jokes involving the word ‘faggot.’ I expect more than bitter, shrill examples of women who exist only to hold back the men in these movies from having a good time, that is, going to Vegas to get drunk and marry strippers, because this is just what men do. And I certainly expect more than an ending that proves to be the comedic equivalent of “it was all a dream!”

Maybe that’s why I didn’t like it.

Reviews in Brief: Away We Go/Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

Away We Go
Directed by: Sam Mendes
Focus Features, 2009

It’s perhaps no coincidence that Sam Mendes chose a road-trip movie as his next project, as the director takes a completely different direction into unfamiliar territory. After the claustrophobic and soul-crushing Revolutionary Road, it’s clear the man needed to get out and breathe a little – and we’re oh so glad he did.

Away We Go stars The Office’s John Krasinski and SNL-alum Maya Rudolph as expecting parents who embark on a cross-country trip to learn where to – and how to – best raise their soon-to-be family.  Burt and Verona encounter a variety of parenting styles and stereotypes, most of which are played with almost parodic intensity. Case in point: Maggie Gyllenhaal’s stroller-hating, New-Age mother named LN (read it out loud), and Allison Janney’s brash and obnoxious beliefs that children are who they are, so no use trying to change them. The laughs are deep and often, because underneath the exaggeration of these characters are people we all know – a credit to real-life husband and wife writing team Dave Eggers and Vendela Vida, who drew from their own experiences as expecting parents to craft the script. The familiar cast is also superb, especially Krasinski who clearly demonstrates his comedic timing goes deeper than knowing smirks at the camera. Rudolph is also a surprise, playing Verona as toned-down and collected, almost to a fault. The look on her face throughout most of the movie often implies she is bored with everything happening around her.

The laughs don’t last as some of the more serious aspects of parenthood are explored – a flaw of the film is its checklist of parenting styles and trials – but the movie makes a clear break between the two tones, rather than springing back and forth. Eggers and Vida’s script toes the line of indie-film quirkiness but still resounds as genuine, despite a clunker of a last line. Those going in expecting a typical Mendes film will be disappointed (it’s hard to see any of his traits in the direction), but remove that from your mind and you’ll likely enjoy the trip.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Directed by: David Yates
Warner Bros, 2009

As the Harry Potter film adaptations approach the end, the fun and magical whimsy gets increasingly stripped away in favour of bleak atmosphere and morose, adult themes – but what’s left is a much more human and weighty world. By now though, Harry and his friends are used to such a heavy life, and so are audiences. The series no longer caters to those who haven’t already read the books or seen the other films, and graciously skips over explaining bits of information and reactions that fans already know. This does, however, turn some major plot points into throwaway lines. One especially is frustrating considering it involves the title of the movie.

Half-Blood Prince is surprisingly slow in its pacing considering the enormous portions of the book it leaves on the page, but it’s really just here as a set-up for the final chapter (of which we’ll see two films a few months apart).  Of course, certain characters needed to appear, and Jim Broadbent’s Horace Slughorn follows in the series tradition of respected British actors and actresses lending credibility and excellence to the performances. He steals every scene he’s in.

Half-Blood Prince has already garnered comparison to Empire Strikes Back, which begins badly and finishes worse, and they’re not far off – the exception being that the main villain, Lord Voldemort, is sadly absent from the film, replaced by his team of Death-Eaters who wreak havoc on the film’s heroes (ineffectively, at that; most of their evil seems to be vandalism before they simply fly away again).  Fans of the series will enjoy this film just as much as the last few, but on repeat viewings it probably won’t stand well on its own as it focuses on moving everything into place for the grand finale. Director David Yates has proven himself capable with these last two installments, and if he ratchets up the pacing a bit, there’s no reason to believe he won’t stick the landing.