The purists and the hip-hop heads will hate Kanye West's new album. Let's just be honest about it. It's a big departure from his past work and honestly, I wouldn't even class it as a hip-hop album. The closest he comes to actual rapping is on "Heartless" and there are two guest spots from Young Jeezy and Lil' Wayne (neither is very impressive). Instead, he sings through an Auto-Tune on every single track. I actually had to double check that T-Pain wasn't guesting on any of the songs. So yes, some major changes in sound for Mr. West.

I'll need to give it a few more listens before I can say whether I like the album or whether it's just okay. I do like a few of the tracks quite a bit: "Love Lockdown," "Heartless," "Paranoid," and "Say You Will." But just know that it is going to sound different than what you'd expect from Kanye and go into it with open ears and an open mind.

One of the things that struck me most about the album is the contrast. Much of Kanye's fame is based on his swagger, the braggadocio confidence that he's the best and no critic can tell him otherwise. That idea was the central theme of his amazing "Glow In The Dark" show. He's a star and he knows it. He's never had any qualms about saying exactly what's on his mind. But while the honesty I think is still there on 808s, it's rife with insecurities. From the jittery electronica beats to the simplified pop lyrics to that damn Auto-Tune, much of the album sounds nervous, edgy, uncertain.

The title doesn't lie: it's an album about heartbreak. No political tracks. No rap game and fame. No shout outs or attacks. Love never really featured prominently in past albums. Sex yes. Family yes. Love...no tracks immediately come to mind. In the past year, Kanye's mother died and another review of 808s said that he also had a bad split with his fiance. That's some heavy shit to go through, and it would be impossible for that not to come out in his music. I remember my initial reaction to Lupe Fiasco's "The Cool" was similar, a very dark album after the death of his father and imprisonment of his mentor and friend. It's a new direction for Kanye, and it gives some encouragement that there really is a heart and feeling behind the reputation he's created for himself.

I actually liked a lot of the music. Kanye's a great producer and he has a strong ear. A lot of the tracks have retro-sounding synth vamps matched with broad, slow hip-hop beats. And I really do appreciate when an artist is willing to try something so utterly out in left field. He ran the college/fuzzy bear arc for as long as it needed to go, and he's too creative to continue in the same vein just because it's worked in the past. Kanye never really settled for traditional-sounding hip-hop tracks, so I give him full props for coming up with a new sound that fits the album's changed, sadder subject matter.

However. For a man who has spit some of the sharpest, wittiest lines I've heard, the writing really suffered here. And I feel bad saying that, because I do think that Kanye's usual honesty is still in full force here. I would believe that he is not in a good place right now and that he means every word he says. But the way he phrased a lot of the songs just doesn't sound original. Who knows, maybe heartbreak is just too universal to be expressed in a new way? Doubtful. "RoboCop" especially didn't sit well with me lyrically, but the "Pinocchio Story" track I think had some of the most interesting writing. It's also a bad sign that I just finished listening to the whole album, and other than the two songs I'd already heard, I couldn't sing back a single memorable line.

Despite my mixed feelings about the album, one of the things I like about Kanye is that he's never boring. He always has something to say, he has brilliant ideas, and he's a master showman. If 808s ends up being an aberration in his catalogue and he goes back into traditional hip-hop, then you can bet it's going to be a good listen. If he carries on in this vein, maybe finding a way to blend his old flow with his new sound, I would be on board with that too. But, and I'm surprised to be saying this, I do hope he gets some swagger back.

Things are nutty as ever at work, but I'm finding small things to keep me sane. One of them is eating zucchini muffins (seriously, they could end wars they're so good). Here are three more things:

"Raising Sand" - Robert Plant and Allison Krauss
Yes, that Robert Plant and that Allison Krauss. For those of you who did not grow up in a classic rock household, Robert Plant was the singer of Led Zeppelin. For those of you who ignore anything that might be remotely like country music, Allison Krauss is a popular bluegrass artist. This album is such an unexpected delight. Despite the chasms separating the two singers in age and genre, they make a really good team. It is a bluegrass/folk album and almost all of the songs have the timeless feel that I associate with the blues, like they've been sung by countless people and in countless versions, but they're still so gosh darn good. There's so much potential in a simple melody and honest lyrics. I actually don't know if any of these songs are really old-school blues tunes, but that's the atmosphere they've created and I just love it. I'd only heard Allison Krauss's solo work indirectly, in friends' rooms at my old dorm. I remember finding it pleasant, but not especially memorable. She really is a good vocalist, though, and she's got more bite in her than I thought. Robert Plant is still pretty badass, and his lead on "Fortune Teller" is one of my favorites. Amazingly, the pair sounds fantastic harmonizing together. Their cover of "Gone Gone Gone" and the duet "Through the Morning, Through the Night" are two more highlights. Seriously, it's worth a listen just to hear what the man behind "Stairway to Heaven" is doing with his life.

"Aquemini" - Outkast
I approached Outkast backwards. 2003's double release "Speakerboxxx/The Love Below" was the first album of theirs I heard (and I still really like both halves), followed by "Stankonia" from 2000. "Aquemini" was their third release (1998) and the third I heard, and it's interesting to hear their progression in reverse. This middle album seems to have the best balance so far between substance in the rhymes and an off-kilter feel in the production, sounding original without being completely wackadoo. I'm very curious to get my hands on "ATLiens" and "Southernplaylisticadillacmuzik" and hear the earliest roots of the group. Highlight tracks for me: "Rosa Parks," "Skew it on the Bar-B," "Aquemini," and "Da Art of Storytellin," but they're all pretty good. As a rule, I protest the presence of skits and dialogue in rap cds, but Outkast always manages to throw in a couple that really make me laugh, particularly the brief exchange at the end of the title track. And that's always been Outkast's charm. Not only are they whip-smart with great ears, they're also damn funny. It's a golden combination in hip-hop. I'm sorry to see that the duo seems to have called it quits in favor of film pursuits (has anyone actually seen "Idylwild?" I heard it was mediocre, but I still want to watch it), but at least they left us with plenty of quality work to feel nostalgic about.

"Late Registration" - Kanye West
Speaking of going backwards, it is my humble opinion that Kanye's albums have gotten worse. Not that any of them are bad (and I actually haven't listened to "Graduation" straight, although I've heard all of the individual tracks - thank you, youtube!), but for me "College Dropout" had the most brashness, swagger, and originality not to mention the highest ratio of good songs to annoying skits. But lately it's been Kanye West's sophomore release that's getting me through the work day. I mostly blame "Touch the Sky" for that. Kanye closed his Glow in the Dark tour with it, a great encore for a great show. I'd somehow forgotten what an awesome track it is, so now it's perpetually in my head as penance. Can we just take a moment to give "Move On Up" props for being a really frickin' awesome song and being sampled/reused in brilliant ways? Thanks. It's not just the Curtis Mayfield sampling that's keeping me listening, though. There's also a great one-two punch of "Drive Slow," a semi-biographic track with a beautiful sax line, followed by "My Way Home," a short, sad Common feature where Kanye doesn't rap or sing at all. He's still got plenty to say, though. I mean, this is Kanye West. Echoes of the military-gospel sound from "Jesus Walks" come through in the incisive "Crack Music." The oddly creepy ramble of "Addiction" touches on the darker side of fame. There are two cuts of politically-charged "Diamonds from the Sierra Leone," one with a Jay-Z guest spot and one without. Two of the women in Kanye's life get songs in their honor: "Hey Mama" for his late mother and "Roses" for his grandmother. It's a very different sound from "College Dropout," but what he says is never boring.

On a semi-related note, I heard Grandmaster Flash do an interview and a brief DJ set on the radio this afternoon. What did you do for lunch today?

I saw the Sex and the City movie last night with some friends. I went just to ogle the clothes and I figured I wouldn't like the storylines they used. I have a lot of thoughts, but I shall put them under a cut for anyone who hasn't seen it yet.

 Let me preface this by saying that my only experience with the White Stripes is "Seven Nation Army." I never really felt the need to listen to them. I'd heard of his side project the Raconteurs, but didn't know what style they played or who else was in it. I think I'd maybe heard one acoustic song of theirs in a friend's room at college. I also exist in a music time warp and very rarely listen to an album within the same year of its release, much less the same week. I heard about the magic trick of keeping their new record "Consolers of the Lonely" so tightly under wraps and then producing the physical album in lightning speed and when they were so positive about them, my curiosity was piqued. Clearly the stars were aligned for me to hear this record. And I liked it quite a lot. 

As a recent convert to country music, I found the blend of rock and blues very appealing. The closing track, "Carolina Drama," is a rambling tragedy of a white trash family from guess where. "Rich Kid Blues" puts its genre right out there with a nice twist of irony and a very catchy riff. Sometimes, particularly in the first few tracks, they will mix it up within a single song, and while that was occasionally disruptive, I applaud the crossing-over attempts. When it works, it really works. And I found myself really trying to listen to the lyrics, again something I don't often get on a first listen. I really like how the writing style matches the music style: sharp, economical, and energetic. Tunes like "Attention" pair a snappy chorus with snappy chords to great effect. A lot of it sounds retro, and strongly reminds me of hits by the Kinks. Very concise and classic. It's a rockin' album, and I bet it would kill live.

In any case, I think one of the best things you can think at the end of an album is, "Man, I want to listen to that again." Which was my reaction. I'll probably have more things to say once I have heard it again, preferably when not sitting at my desk at work...


 

When even I have heard of a classical pianist, you know they must be pretty famous. I recognized not only Mitsuko Uchida's name on the Chicago Symphony calendar, but also her face. I have no idea where or when I read about her, because I know I never heard her perform before. So when a chance came for me to hear her play two Mozart concertos with the CSO, you can imagine I jumped. The program consisted of his concertos in C Major and A Major, with the Divertimento for Strings in D Major and an intermission in between.

She came onstage wearing, I kid you not, what looked like pijamas: gray velveteen pants, a teal tank top and a sheer teal shirt three sizes too big. At one point I even wondered if she was wearing shoes. (She was.) But whatever Ms. Uchida may lack in fashion sense, she more than makes up for in musical style. Her playing has a lightness and delicacy that perfectly fits the Wunderkind's concertos. Even in the solo piano sections and hesitating cadenza melodies, every note had movement. Whisper-fine, but movement nonetheless. The sound filled Symphony Center, but just barely. She pulled out the power and drama on a few chromatic runs, but for the most part the music doesn't require any sort of additional fireworks.

I think Mozart wrote some of the most joyous and elegant classical music. It's so gosh darn pleasant. For anyone looking to begin your journey into the instrumental world, I would highly recommend his orchestral work and concertos as your starting point. There's almost a pop sensibility to his compositions: he found a winning formula and stuck to it. Having a little experience performing Mozart myself, I could hear when the final trills for a cadence were approaching, when the orchestra would come gliding in with the main melody, when the tune would be passed from section to section, and when the modulation was happening. To hear an orchestra of the CSO's caliber performing this music is aural paradise.

That leads me to the additional dimension of Ms. Uchida's performance. She not only soloed, but also conducted the orchestra. Again, having played a concerto before, I do know that every nuance of that piece is so ingrained in a performer's ears, fingers, and mind that they really might be able to play in it their sleep. Knowing the music is one thing. Leading the orchestra is another. It takes intense concentration to put the artistry and personal interpretation into a song as the soloist, and a very different concentration to convey those thoughts to the other musicians onstage as well as the audience.

The moment her hands released the final notes and rebounded off the keyboard, someone immediately cried "Brava!" A three-bow standing ovation followed. Ms. Uchida first stood and spoke to the orchestra. When she turned to acknowledge the applause, her face beamed with sincere thanks. She even hugged the concertmaster, which I have never seen an artist do. She bowed deeply, nodded, and touched her heart. I love when musicians look happy after their performance. It was especially touching tonight since Ms. Uchida seems to me to have a natually sad expression: a thin, long face with downturned mouth and eyes. But after such a brilliant performance, she was all smiles.

                I want to quote the last line of James Joyce’s story “The Dead.” I want to share it with someone, to praise the beauty of its realization. I want to say it out loud so you can appreciate the perfect balance of the words, of the sounds that compose those words. But I realize that to just throw some text on the screen in front of you, without letting you experience the whole story before reading those final words, would be criminal. So I’ll tell you about them instead.

                I read Dubliners for a class on James Joyce in the final quarter of my senior year at college. The reading list included that book of short stories, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, and Ulysses. It was my first exposure to Joyce’s work. Like a true nerd, I was very excited, mostly about reading what many have called the greatest book ever written. But we began with the less experimental short stories.

                The instructor for the class was a visiting professor from Ohio: Morris Beja, a Joyce scholar. He didn’t strike me as a teacher. He was a short, old man, dressed in a suit and glasses every day. He had a raspy New York voice that revealed a smoker’s past, and in my mind he would chase down each cigarette with a tumbler of whisky. Everything about him reminded me of a cop out of a movie from the thirties, something with Humphrey Bogart. But instead of talking about crooks and guns and dames, he spoke about literature.

                After the first session of class I knew that I was going to enjoy this one. I dove into Dubliners that night. It took me only a few days to finish the whole thing. One of my favorite things about being an English major was that when you had a good professor and a good reading list, your homework never felt like work.

                I enjoyed many of the stories, but the one that left the strongest impression on me was definitely the last. It started, like the rest of them, with an unremarkable setting: a party. The more pages I turned, though, the more complex it became. It would be a grave injustice to try to do a mere recap of the plot. But when I read the last story, the last paragraph, the last line, my reaction was “Wow.” Ineloquent amazement. I turned back a page and reread a bit of it, marveling at how simple yet profound it was, a perfect narrowing from beginning to ultimate end. It’s…oh just go read it yourself.

                It fits in with Joyce’s plan for all of the Dubliners stories. They were written as a tribute to his beloved city (in case you couldn’t tell from the title). He almost published the collection without that final tale, but thankfully decided that he hadn’t quite conveyed to his liking the concept of Irish hospitality. This idea plays no small part in the story, but it is so much more than just a portrait of a city’s citizens. All of these stories are epiphanies for the characters.

I specify ‘for the characters’ because several of these stories have infuriatingly open-ended conclusions. I found this was particularly true in the beginning, where the first four stories ended and I knew that something had clicked, something was revealed to the character in question. I didn’t know what it was, but the character did somehow, even though they couldn’t express it. The rest of the collection varies in the subject and depth of final revelations. Some are about marriage, politics, religion, or wealth. Some are small sighs of resignation; others are life-changing blazes that might purify or consume.           

Under Professor Beja’s guidance we drew out the themes of the stories. If you didn't love the book on your own, this gruff old man's enthusiasm would have done it. Every day, listening to him talk, I wondered how he came to devote his life and his scholarship to one author. He showed us slides from his own trips to Dublin and told us stories from Joyce conventions. (Yes, apparently those are quite popular with the lit professor set.) The class revolved more around his lectures than student discussion; I was more than happy to listen to him talk. He knew everything about those three books. As I look over my notes now from the two weeks we devoted to Dubliners, two words that keep cropping up are escape and loneliness. We talked about these as themes that tied together the stories even though very few characters and plots overlap. In fact, my dad once told me that Dubliners is one of his favorite books for just that reason: the stories stand alone and as parts of an overarching whole. Again, I don’t think it’s fair to lecture you on a book you’ve never read, but it’s interesting to note that escape and loneliness should be cornerstones in a book about a city, about people. And maybe that’s why “The Dead” makes such an impact as the coda of this collection. On the level of pure technique, it is the most masterful. In the realm of the spiritual, it is the most profound epiphany.

I returned to "The Dead" on the train this morning and finished it on my lunch break. That's when I noticed how amazing that last line was, which then led me down this twisted path of piecemeal memories. And that reaction is just as much of a tribute to the power of a good story as it is for me to swoon over it in writing of my own. When faced with something so overwhelming, sometimes the most expressive reaction is just, “Wow.”

I have come to the conclusion that I don't like Wes Anderson's movies. Granted, I've only seen two - The Royal Tenenbaums and just finished Rushmore - but I've gotten a pretty good idea of his style and it drives me insane. It's probably a bad sign when the best thing I can say about a film is "Well, I liked the soundtrack."

His visual style is certainly distinct. He's got a thing for using paintings and big block print, and there seems to be a strange yellow glow over each scene. I'm not a huge fan of text in film, but I did like when Rushmore went through all of Max's many extracurriculars, although now that I think about it, there was a similar sequence in The Royal Tenenbaums that showed all the places Gwyneth Paltrow's character cheated on her husband.  I guess the biggest thing that bothers me is the way he writes. It's too glib, like he's tried so hard to make them sound real but wants every line to be saturated with some deeper meaning. Or maybe I feel like I should be reading more into the script because I get nothing on the surface, just detached banter. In one of my writing classes, a girl said in workshop that she thought every line of dialogue should work to advance plot. I hold a much looser view of what it can or should accomplish, but the Anderson's scripts don't do much for character either. It's just so...fake.

I apologize if I'm maligning your favorite writer/director, but I take my dialogue pretty seriously. I write a lot of it. Most of my stories start out as conversations in my head, and once I'm rolling on a scene, I tend to play out everything that the characters say to each other and have to go back later and add in whatever might be happening around them. It's a little different though when that conversation is happening in your mind's eye and isn't a concrete presence on the screen. You don't need to sketch out a character or add in a note about their quirks; you see them live. And that's what I like in movies, seeing a real spark between real people (or at least real people playing imagined ones).

There was one scene in Rushmore that I really liked: the kite-flying, when Margaret Yang comes up to him and says that she faked the results of her science project. "Why?" Max asks her. "Because it didn't work," she answers. That was the best character connection, when you could see why he finally gave her a chance. Finally I was okay with just a silent shot of Jason Schwartzman's face, because finally I knew what he was thinking. But for both this movie and The Royal Tenenbaums, I find that as the final credits roll, my overall reaction is just, "Huh? Why do people like this?" My friend Amanda had lent me Rushmore, saying that she was so excited to be writing about it for a class on film and childhood, and I know I've heard other people mention Wes Anderson's movies as their favorites. It's just not my cup of tea, I guess.