First off I want to say how sick I am of being flooded with overused terminology and the majority of reasons for both justification or disapproval. People on one side use the term "closure" - which makes no sense to me as friends and family members have been removed permanently from the earth prematurely. On the other side, the argument "two wrongs don't make a right" is often spoken, but that's a pretty empty statement when just tossed around like the tired old proverb it is.
The death penalty is wrong: as we owe an intangible knowledge our families, our children and future generations, to closely examine people who have been produced by our own society. We need to be responsible for our own products, our own actions, our own people, and find out what needs to change in order to raise our children to benefit the world they are a part of. It's a shame sociologists, psychologists, biologists and other scientists will not have McVeigh as a specimen to poke, prod, pick at for years, use for research and learn from. The man was willing to die from the beginning, knowing full well what he was in for. He met the fate he chose six years ago this past Monday. He chose his destiny and they gave him what he wanted. He was not punished, we all were.
The group of four begun quiet with shimmering three-guitar melodies which cut through the night. This is one of those bands any musician just sits back and watches with their lower jaw on the floor wondering "why can't I come up with melodies like this?" The group continued and with a style not entirely unlike Mogwai or Godspeed, the levels and energy built, higher and higher and higher. Taking steps back between songs, the motion of the night never ceased, with a blaring ending as their drummer loses his sticks, uses his fists and collapses over the entire set.
Baltimore-based Sonna headlined the night and in a similar fashion was a instrumental act with four amazingly skilled musicians who observedly have an uncanny ability to pay perfect attention to everybody else. The writing style of Sonna could very well be much more skilled and original than Explosions but the energy and drive of the Austin boys more than made up for any of those differences. Fans of godspeed, Mogwai or Tarentel shouldn't avoid this show - tour dates are posted at www.temporaryresidence.com.
Amazingly in Planet K things were even more perfectly apocalyptic. The stage is bare, as if swept clean of life, but there's a massive headcleaning electric crackle resonating across the space as blue white rectangles flicker where performers are missing. The hum seems a logical stripping of Killing Joke to its essential wired core - Coleman's overloading synth. Occasional deep bass pulses shake the foundations at too slow a pace to register timing. Kevin Drumm is perched behind a laptop at the sound desk and is responsible for this overpowering purging noise.
This being Manchester, home of Buzzcocks, it could've been time to crack a bad Boredom pun about the Drumm hum but Mike Ladd wasn't allowing us any downtime. The band ambled on and launched as the Drumm fizzled out.
Was this the new dawn after the nuclear storm?
After Drumm's precise tones the sound was relatively muddy for the full on four piece with drums, raps, guitar/computer and turntables. Mike Ladd has a T-shirt emblazoned with the legend Afro Punk and gives us some spiel about his inspirations Bad Brains, Black Flag and Fishbone. Why do Americans in Europe eat at Pizza Hut? There are bigger questions but this between song joke exemplified the imperialist cloak of the 'free' market before Ladd scratched and funked his mark as an infesticon (opposed to majesticon).
It was a shame that Drumm didn't get another set before Tortoise did their thing. They did a professional set with much instrument swapping and it didn't really take off until the second half. I think they launched into what seemed like a freeform jam in the middle of TNT (or was it another track its hard to tell with all this lack of words) and Herndon was really giving it some at the drums. It was neat the way they almost seemed to lose control there...
The last trio of songs nailed it. A silence still at their instruments then BLAM! Senceca unleashed that dual guitar duel and the fire and fury was in their eyes and hearts. If only they could make a whole album like that first two minutes of free falling two turning pluck'n'strum'n'drum! Then the much requested Djed was an eye opener that faded like the setting sun as McEntire and Herndon decelerated their vibraphone runs.
Where Drumm had sparked off a cleansing fire and Ladd had the diatribes and plans and notions to free nations, Tortoise were embracing visions of post-apocalyptic utopianism - a new dawn after the flood that will wash away the masters and leave the servants what is left of the world. Ladd was back with a vision to take into the night as the final bars of the Tortoise European leg faded into the smoke.
The meek shall inherit the mirth.
Don't burn the flag, lets burn the Bush.
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To use a word commonly
used by my friend Jeremy, I would call this one "Crap-tacular!" While
this film showed promise with a plot based on the mysterious filming of
the classic "Nosferatu" and a cast including Eddie Izzard, Willem Dafoe
and Udo Kier, it started off bad and got worse. The accents were
terrible and disgustingly mismatched, both American and English actors
clumsily fumbled through the German tongue, John Malkovich being the
biggest offender, slipping in and out of his accent faster than you can
say "Robin Hood." The continuity problems were an eyesore, with
different typings of "Orlock," a seeminly endless ladder walk and
mismatched cigarette positions. Most important of all, the story was
shit, leaving holes everywhere in the plot. The warning signs were all
here however. First off: Executive Producer Nicolas Cage—they must have
shopped this one around quite a bit before landing on somebody as rich
and inexperienced as Cage. Next up was the single preview syndrome—if
you only see one preview over and over again then even the promotions
team couldn't find any better clips to show. (I did want to spank
everybody who laughed at the "I'll eat her later" line, since
everybody's heard it a million times by now.) And finally: director
Edmund Elias Merhige. While he may have been praised for 1991's
"Begotten" for his stylish imitation of classic black-and-white film,
he hasn't directed anything else, automatically qualifying him for the
"discount director" award. Stay far away or go rent Ed Wood.