Coldplay – Ghost Stories
Typically artists are awake when they recorded music. With Coldplay’s latest endeavor ‘Ghost Stories’ that appears to patently untrue. For the entire duration of ‘Ghost Stories’ Coldplay takes a nap and lets electronic murmurs take over. What results is potentially the most boring thing to play on radio stations across the United Kingdom and even the world. In spite of Coldplay’s more than lackluster discography ‘Ghost Stories’ searches for the bottom. Ambien has a producing credit.
Beach Sloth would like to take a moment to sympathize with all those unfortunate souls who will encounter this personality-less endeavor. This is the kind of music that will be everywhere because it is completely non-offensive. Out of countless shopping mall speakers, clothing stores, banks, offices, and more this bland morass will ooze out. Unfortunately there will be no escape. What is particularly fascinating is despite how widespread it will be nobody will remember it because it is completely unmemorable.
Coldplay is a British band that decided music no longer requires soul. Rather what Coldplay seems to believe is by putting down their instruments and letting the machines do the talking there will be something relevant said at some point. Even electronic music, which usually pushes the boundaries of sound, is pretty ashamed. The origins of electronic music are majestic ones like those experiments from Stockhausen, Xenakis, and more. Yet if any of those electronic pioneers were alive to see what had happened to their gleeful experiments they’d be sorely disappointed.
Without any external help Coldplay has scooped out the heart, soul, and brains of music. ‘Ghost Stories’ will sell millions of copies and become a worldwide hit.
1. the sad one
2. the really sad one
3. the clever one
4. the cute one
5. the angry one
6. the distraught one
7. the meaningful one
8. the interesting one
9. the ninth one
10. the only kinda sad one
Anyone paying attention has noticed that the lines between between mainstream and underground culture have continuously dissolved over the last decade. I’ve been an active proponent of this, in fact; there’s nothing more grating than trying to find people who you can connect with, only to be faced with scene elitism and ideological stagnation.
Unfortunately, this also means that it’s become even harder to connect—that person you see on the street dressed like you might have absolutely nothing in common with your interests outside of a shared aesthetic. That’s also boring, and it kind of shits on the struggle that so many young kids trying to find their place in the world went through. The dudes who would have kicked my ass in school for the way I looked are now throwing on the same kind of stuff because they saw it on Tumblr or whatever. It’s a complicated situation which doesn’t really have any answers….
A bit pretentious and ‘hip for the sake of it’ in others, but at least he has a point.
Perc - Dumpster
Federico Fellini, 8½, 1963.
|—||Federico Fellini (via meganmarx)|
Nadia Hourihan reviews Spike Jonze’s “Her”
“Her” is the story of emotionally reticent Theodore Twombley, who tumbles into a relationship with an advanced Operating System called Samantha. What could have been a culturally resonant condemnation of technology or a moral exploration of artificial intelligence interweaves both, only to drift into insipid territory and obnoxious contradiction. And NOTHING proves so mood droopingly frustrating as prodigal promise.
I want to kick Joaquin Phoenix in the face.
Clinging to the weary fibres of my subconcious are his beaky shnozzler and toothbrush ‘stache. The screen is simply asphyxiated by borderline solipsistic shots of Theodore Twombley’s visage. Yes, our technology entrenched culture is brutally contoured in isolation, we get it. But please don’t default on the cleverness of dialogue demanded by this visual gamble.
Hoyte van Hoytema’s cinematography applies gloopy brushstrokes of creamy colours onto Jonze’s vision, but the atmosphere often clashes with the mood of the drama itself. It’s dissatisfying; the blinking palette of a futuristic LA is pretty - and pretty one dimensional. Exasperation deflates me. The rare moments of wholesome artistry are reserved for subsidiary themes. Stickily romanticised past relationships are deftly dissected; Light soaked images are muted to mould the malleability of memory in which we are all enmeshed. There’s a smarting truth to “the past is just a story we tell ourselves”.
Alas, there ends the engaging film making.
“Her” eschews a committed stance towards society’s infatuation with Siri and her siblings, but doesn’t allow the dust of artistic ambiguity to settle. Vapid style (shackled to an overreliance on one face) bullies philosophical consistency off Spike Jonze’s list of priorities. In another exhibition of how-to-irritate-the-critic the movie flits between aggressively flagging the “Samantha has feelings too” card, and the “Theo can’t handle real relationships” alternative. The conviction, admittedly capricious, is too viciously bland to be written off as a reflection of meandering thought processes.
The writing reeks of underdevelopment, and the buds of satire are beheaded early on, as the acerbic take on societal disconnect nudged into view by the protagonist’s profession (he’s the go-to guy for writing your personal letters) is bartered for schmaltz and a sense of humour agonizing in its reflection of “The Big Bang Theory”. This sloppiness is infectious. The music purist sitting beside me, groaned at the score, dubbing Arcade Fire’s contribution as Coldplay-esque. Does this not pain you?
However, the performances are undeniably strong from Joaquin Phoenix, Amy Adams and Rooney Mara. Yet Samantha will haunt me. Not due to Scarlett Johansson’s performance, whose undeniably sultry voice failed to impart emotional gravitas, but rather because of…well, the awkward sex scenes. And I sat through ”Blue is the Warmest Colour”.
Guys, just rewatch 2001: A Space Odyssey.
"The music purist sitting beside me, groaned at the score, dubbing Arcade Fire’s contribution as Coldplay-esque" hehehe my feelings exactly.
In all seriousness though, you know we’re in bad times when you have Arcade Fire (I’m still reeling from their disgusting attempt at disco last year) sounding like Coldplay, who in turn released a shameless Bon Iver rip off with accompanying 'look I've just discovered how to filter a camera’ music video and have Spike Jonez making 'I have indie cred so it's still art-y and critics love me' shit soppy love flicks.
Anderson and Von Trier: Redeem them of their sins, please.
(Oh and excellent review as always Nuds)