Thoughts on listening to Burzum

The fifth song on “Sol Austan, Mani Vestan,” Burzum’s 10^th album is so breathtaking and angelic, it’s hard to fathom the guy who wrote it is deranged and delusional. How could someone so vile create such beauty?

Varg Vikernes, the sole member of the black metal band Burzum, is a murderer and church-burner, a racist and paranoid man who shouldn’t be idolized, and yet I can listen to his music and be so swept up in its emotionality I sometimes forget it’s the music of a disturbed individual. This central conflict, the man versus the music, is tough for me to wander through. Burzum brings me emotional releases I’ve never felt before, and does so in ways I haven’t gotten from similar bands. I know people who won’t listen to Burzum, who don’t want to support a violent and anti-Semitic individual. Which makes perfect sense. I agree with this view, and I respect people who avoid listening to Burzum on these grounds. Yet I can’t bring myself to actually turn the music off.

A presupposition I’ve accepted as a fan of Burzum is this, to put it simply: VARG VIKERNES  IS A FUCKED UP, AWFUL HUMAN BEING WHO DESERVES NO SYMPATHY BECAUSE HE IS A MONSTER. Clear enough? I’m not writing in defense of Varg (who I honestly believe has severe mental health issues that have aided in his atrocities), I’m writing more so to understand with why I can’t turn the music off.

I can vividly remember the moment when I first listened to Burzum. I had just finished watching “Until the Light Takes Us,” a fascinating documentary on the Norwegian black metal scene of the early 1990s. The title itself is an English translation of Burzum’s third album, “Hvis lyset tar oss,” which Varg explains in the film to mean being sucked up and ensnared by Christian society (the “light,” in this case). Varg would rather embrace the dark, where he sees true freedom and spirituality to be. (Note: Varg’s also very anti-Christian. He burned churches because he believes Christianity uprooted the ancient Norse culture that existed before Christianity reached Scandinavia. He thinks his actions are therefore symbolic. I think he’s full of shit and that church-burning is disgusting).

Since the documentary took its name from that album, I chose it as my starting point for delving into Burzum. I had never liked black metal before that point, as it seemed to me as nothing more than semi-organized noise. Lo-fi production, cringe-worthy vocals, with nothing memorable about it. Yet when the drums kicked in at the 2:48 mark, I found myself in a whole new world. That drumming pattern may likely be permanently engrained into my memory. The following riffs and overlain synths built up with incredible atmosphere of despair and angst. Soon the vocals follow, screeching, animalistic, incomprehensible howls. Pure, unfiltered, unrestrained, raw, bare. The essence of ennui.

This was strange and new to me. I dug more into Burzum’s discography, with the same results. Burmum’s black metal has impacted me more than any other BM band (though that could change as the blackgaze scene continues to develop). With the exception of “the “Aske” EP and half the songs off “Daudi Baldrs,” I don’t think Burzum has a single bad album (note: I haven’t listened to “From the Depths of Darkness,” because he just re-recorded old, pre-imprisonment songs that I don’t think need to be re-recorded). “Sol Austan, Mani Vestan” is another triumph, in my eyes. A bit long and repetitive, but its quiet minimalism relative to those charging drums and shrieks (SAMV is, like Burzum’s two other ambient works, an instrumental album) of “Hvis lyset tar oss” is a part of that.

Ambient music (specifically dark ambient) has been a part of Burzum since it began. Moody synthesizers fill the background of most Burzum songs, and there are a handful of entirely ambient songs sprinkled throughout most of the pre-prison album. “Daudi Baldrs” was the first attempt at a complete dark ambient album (though at that point he’s recorded enough ambient material for his pre-prison work to fill up a whole record), and given that recording whilst imprisoned is probably going to make the process quite challenging, it was pretty hit or (a very wide) miss with each song. “Hlidskjalf,” the second prison-made dark ambient album, was, on the other hand, a masterpiece.

“Sol Austan, Mani Vestan,” is another haunting, dark ambient masterpiece. This time recorded post-prison, the album quietly yet strongly evokes images and feelings of walking slowing through bare trees in a snowy wood, the moon overhead, with the silence of the chill air wrapped around you. There’s so much emptiness in the scene: the plants have died along with the leaves, all the birds have gone south, and the stillness from the lack of anything alive is baiting, But it quickly fills up with wonder about how there’s still so much beauty left, despite being bereft of life. It’s strange to feel so comfortable in such a place. This is the essence of what I emotionally achieve from the music of Burzum.

I can identify with the ennui/angst Varg no doubt feels, but not their causes. Am I allowed to do that? Is it ok to twist and reinterpret his music to suit my own wants? Is it immoral to listen to Burzum no matter what? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. And I don’t like that I don’t know.

I haven’t justified listening to Burzum, not to myself or to anyone else. I simply put it off and keep listening. Don’t take this writing as my trying to justify listening to Burzum and/or supporting Varg. It’s not meant to be. Varg is a monster who does not deserve to have his views supported or promoted. How can someone so monstrous make something so angelic and beautiful? I don’t know why I can’t turn the music off.

Star Trek Into Darkness and the problems with the Abramsverse

SPOILERS AHEAD

The whole goddamn internet is inevitably going to be filled up with debates, arguments, and all-out flame wars as Team Abrams and Team Not Abrams butt heats over Star Trek Into Darkness. It has its faults (this is, after all, Abrams/Lindelof/Kurtzman/Orci we're talking about), and it's also laudable for being a fun, well-paced, action-packed sci-fi adventure.

This is going to be an argument critical of Into Darkness. At least, into terms of story and the Roddenverse/Abramsverse Star Treks. I'll preface with a few things: As a twisting, plot-spinning action film, ID was a good film. Non-stop action, compelling villains, and no random Tyler Perry cameos. Second preface: I'm a huge Trekkie whose first-ever exposure to Stark Trek was watching Wrath of Khan with my father when I was about eight. I've been to conventions, can cite random pointless facts (the Vulcan equivalent of teddy bears are basically gigantic live spiders, for example), and am able to curse in Klingon.

In other words, I'm slightly biased.

My approach to movies is two-fold: what it is, and what it can be. The final product versus the potential. ID is an Abrams product: flashy story-telling that ultimately lacks substance. ID's potential was that of "The City on the Edge of Forever," "The Best of Both Worlds," or "In The Pale Moonlight." (I know, very high standards, but nonetheless achievable). That's the story potential of Star Trek, to be (very overly) blunt. Instead, we wound up with a quasi adaptation of Space Seed/Wrath of Khan. Which is fine, I suppose. Khan's a cool character, and seeing Benedict Cumberbatch reimagine him is worth the price of admission. But it's not very creative to a Trekkie like me. Abrams has a whole canon-free universe to operate in, and yet all he does is rehash a couple of elements from Space Seed and WoK.

At least Abrams-universe Klingons have cool body armor, I guess?

Khan Noonien Singh was undoubtedly the best TOS villain. He had a clear backstory and fantastic arc culminating in WoK. The Abramsverse, in my opinion, doesn't need its own Khan. Nor does it need its own Locutus of Borg or Gul Dukat. The only reimagination is that of Montalban's regal, power-hungry Khan being replaced with a brooding and predictably double-crossing Khan. Cumberkhan was also more of the recently popular trope of"cerebral big bad who's always two steps ahead of the protagonist until the third act," which isn't really keeping with Montalkhan's gladiatorial bravado. A few trains of thought: Cumberkhan is a reimagination of the character, and Cumberkhan is Khan in name only. Both of these seem to lead me to one conclusion: why have Khan at all? Montalkhan is a very compelling character in its own. Why adapt that character for the Abramsverse? Sure, the concept of genetically engineering human beings is rife with rich, philosophical quandaries, so that element of Khan's makeup is (multi)universal, but genetic engineering shouldn't necessitate a Roddenverse-specific character to make the (quantum) leap into the Abramsverse. The villain from Abrams' first Star Trek was (initially) interesting because we had no idea who Nero was or why he was fucking shit up. (Turns out he was fairly one-dimensional, sadly).

This is what irks me, that Abrams thinks he's doing a fan service by tying in Roddenverse characters, but all he ends up doing is forcing poor Zachary Quinto to be the unfortunate soul who screams "KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!" because that line also, for some reason, needed to cross over from the Roddenverse to the Abramsverse. The plot also mimics some of WoK: specifically when [Kirk/Spock] needs to fix the technobable by technobabling in the radiation-filled chamber, knocks out McCoy, and shares a heart-felt deathbye with [Kirk/Spock]. That just strikes me as lazy writing: lifting a powerful, emotional moment that was heart-breaking in WoK and flipping characters' places (and come on, we all knew Kirk wasn't going to be dead for good). And all those cheap feels because Abrams' Cumberkhan is running around.

Remember when Scotty straight resigned in protest due to those special torpedoes? Or how Kirk came about to realizing due process outweighed vengeance? (Both of which TOTALLY aren't analogous for drone warfare, obviously) I wanted more of that from Abrams, because it showed me he and his writing team are capable of grasping relevant moral and philosophical elements of today's complicated world rather than rewriting other people's stories that don't need retelling.

Enslaved's RIITIIR and the personal nature of black metal

I saw Enslaved a few weeks ago, the same show where I saw Royal Thunder, and it was a great show. The band played most of RIITIIR, which is their latest album, and the only album of theirs I was really familiar with. (I had originally planned to go see Royal Thunder and Pallbearer, with Enslaved being an afterthought, a band I wasn't at all familiar with). The first time I tried to listen to RIITIIR (and I mean it when I say "tried") I think turned it off after about halfway through the second song. It came off as bizarre and obnoxious. But that may have been back in October, before I had my black metal epiphany. So when I went back to listen to RIITIIR after buying my ticket, I was surprised to see how much I liked it. It wasn't bizarre and obnoxious, it was progressive and ambitious. "Thoughts Like Hammers" starts off like any normal song would, until the dueling vocals show up, mixing clean singing with black metal growls while still maintaining melody and atmosphere. And the rest of the album followed suit.

***

Immortal and Mayhem were among the first two black metal bands I ever listened to. It was actually for a class on rock history and not through my own exploring, and I really did not like the vocals. Harsh, ugly shouts that came nowhere close to what vocals should sound like. Yeah, they're meant to sound demonic and inhuman. They exemplify the chaotic nature of black metal. But anything more than two minutes of that was too much, and so those bands sat on the back burner once that section of the rock history class had passed. Now, it seems like it's impossible to go more than a day without putting on something that screeches and claws both yours ears and something deeper. I think it's that primal, instinctive reaction to shrieks and growls that drives them. Those sounds aren't made naturally or willfully. Whether the growls are more aligned with anger, or aligned with despair, the underlying connection is human suffering.

Human suffering is a common topic in music, though it isn't always raw in the way that black metal is. The non metal approach utilizes clean vocals with lyrics that hold the weight, where stories are recounted that touch upon relatable circumstances, settings, and characters. Songs have more specific meanings, which isn't to say there's no room for reinterpretation, but that emphasis on lyrics is, for me, the dividing line as to my preferences. With harsh vocals and growls, and with the emphasis of vocals over actual lyrics, there is more room for me to reinterpret and redefine song on a personal level. For example, as much as I love Springsteen's Thunder Road and the angst-ridden theme of escape, I don't have a car I can jump into, and can't trade in wings for wheels, go pick up Mary, or drive as far away as I can from anywhere while it's dusk outside. And even though that's a story with relatable feelings, they all stem from something specific in Springsteen's words. You can't ignore him when he talks about cars.

I think The Passenger by Iggy Pop is the number one played song on my computer, but I couldn't tell you all the lyrics. I've been listening to Bruce Springsteen since forever, and I still stumble over the second verse to Thunder Road. I grew up ignoring the printed lyrics that accompanied CDs, mostly because I knew enough to know that the situations Springsteen would be singing about would be over my head when I'm 10. "Wrap your limbs around these velvet rims and strap your hands across my engines" from Born to Run didn't hit me the first few thousand times I heard it. Now it changes the complexion of the song from that mystery meaning my naive youthfulness assigned it to something much more straightforward. Contrast that with Det Som En Gang Var by Burzum, Anarchic (Side A) by Skagos, or In the Constellation of the Black Widow by Anaal Nathrakh. The latter is a blackened grindcore band that intentionally don't publish their lyrics, and it's impossible to make out what they're saying. Which is perfect if you're someone who doesn't check the lyrics of songs. And while the other two songs have known lyrics, they don't matter. No one pays much attention to lyrics in metal. (Case in point: Korpiklaani). Sure, the choruses to songs by Amon Amarth, Wintersun, and Blind Guardian are understandable and fun to sing along with, but there's the inherent recognition that the words are just a placeholder for something more introspective and self-defined.

Those first two songs do have lyrics you can look up (note: one of them's in Norwegian). Det Som En Gang Var is the opening track to Burzum's Hvit lysett tar oss album, which is my personal favorite among Burzum's discography. It's hard to even really call the vocals "singing" because they are basically screams devoid of melody and indecipherable. But not indecipherable enough to hear the emotion coming from within those screams. "Emotion" coming through in black metal may seem contrary to its definition (cold, frozen, dark, bleak) but there's undoubtedly raw, visceral negative emotions that immerse themselves into the backbone of the music. And it's more subjective than a Springsteen song. Take Skagos' Anarchic (Side A): a sweeping, sprawling 23-minute masterpiece of 3rd wave/Cascadian black metal. There are elements of shoegaze and dream pop at points, creating an atmosphere akin to a cold, foggy morning somewhere quiet and solitary. The vocals sound of something in despair, a bitter sense of regret and loss. That's just what I think when I listen to it, but I like that these songs have more room for me to assign my own meaning. Hooray for existentialism in black metal!

***

There's a weird place I go to when I put on a metal album. It's where the music becomes more than what it is, more than simply the combination of instrumentation from a bunch of people. The collective final product goes far beyond human capacity for creating such a soundscape. It's ethereal and mysterious, and laves me wondering where such a sound could come from. Those inhuman shrieks are a part of that. Think about the only time a person would make those noises. None of them is pleasant. The idea that someone could willingly pour that out of them is hard for me to wrap my head around. Those voices have to come from some dark place. It's as if these musicians are actors, putting on a mask and slipping into characters who have encountered such pain and suffering that they cry out in this primordial fashion. I don't know many of the musicians I listen to. I may recognize a few names and faces, but I at most I could tell you where they're from, and that's it, because it would be distracting. The music isn't about them, it's about those characters you hear perform. I'm nervous about ever going to see Agalloch live, because I'm afraid it could reveal that facade.

I was wondering what would happen when Enslaved took the stage, because I was afraid I'd only be able to experience them as a couple of guys playing instruments and not the characters from their albums. That nightmare didn't happen. They tapped into whatever source musicians tap into when they go from regular person to genius artist, and those five guys on stage are now a cohesive unit, almost a superorganism. A unique feature of Enslaved is how they mix both traditional black metal vocals and clean vocals into their songs, sometimes creating harmonies and duets that subvert everything I've been talking about. Which is cool in a Jekyll/Hyde kind of way. By blending these two forms together, there's a more direct acknowledgment of their inherent differences, and that they can coexist. Enslaved also happens to utilize three different vocalists, meaning these voices spread out, instead of coming from the same source (bands with clean vocals and death growls tend have one vocalist do both parts). Maybe this is looking too much into it, but I like this multi-vocalist concept because it drives home the schizophrenia of clean/harsh contrasts (I always imagine bands with both harsh and clean vocals to be examining the narrator's internal struggles through this musical device).

***

Enslaved killed it, by the way. Just in case you were still waiting on a review of their performance after reading all that.

Royal Thunder @ Reggie's 2/3/13

Drown

Whispering World

Minus

Blue

No Good

I think that was the set list. There may have been one more song at the end, but regardless it wasn't Shake and Shift. Still, pretty killer. And I didn't even like Minus before they played it. Drown was the first Royal Thunder song I ever heard, way back in September or whenever it was when fortune led me to discover the CVI album. And of course they went straight to Whispering World after their opener, because it's a perfect second song. Second spot on the album and second spot on their set list. Then the aforementioned Minus. Then the hypnotic Blue. Then No Good. Then one more maybe? Couldn't place it, though it probably was either Sleeping Witch or Black Water Vision (I don't think it was a song from their EP).

And then they were done. Far too short a time, but understandable when you get third billing.

***

Royal Thunder is from Atlanta, and you can really hear some of that Southern rock in No Good. But they're also a bit psychedelic (go check out Blue). And possibly doom metal, if spiraling riffs and bluesy passages count (they're certainly not traditional doom that slowly crawls note by note). The term "atmosphere" is thrown onto the sounds of bands a lot, sometimes justified and sometimes not. It is here, in both Royal Thunder's debut album CVI, and in their live show. Still would have loved to hear Shake and Shift, though.

Deservingly so, Royal Thunder has gotten a lot of hype from the metal community since releasing their debut album in 2012. And definite praise. It's been on heavy circulation for me since first hitting play on the song Drown on RT's bandcamp. And since seeing them, I can't go more than a few hours without a listen. I even made a playlist of their set list (with an empty sixth spot waiting to be filled if I can ever figure out what the closer was, unless it indeed was No Good and I was too lost in the performance to notice). CVI was on practically every list focused on the best metal albums of 2012 (as arbitrary as those lists may be, still something to be proud of), and for a debut LP, the album is a remarkable accomplishment. (If you listen to their debut EP, you'll notice just how large a step they made.)

The band is fronted by Mlny Parsonz (that's a lowercase L, for those of you scoring at home) on bass guitar and vocals. Parsonz has a deep, soulful voice that resonates just as deeply as the rest of the music. Vocals tend to be put on the back burner for most metal bands, but not Parsonz' voice, which can go from a haunting whisper to an overpowering scream that makes your hair stand up (from their power, not in the screechy Quint-from-Jaws-scraping-his-fingernails-down-a-chalkboard way). It's hard not to get lost in her voice, especially when she rises up and belts something out moody (a bit of a stretch, but think Adele, were she from the South, in terms of emotional vocal resonance).

Then there's the rest of the band: Josh Weaver on guitar and Jesse Stuber on drums. The most noticeable thing (or perhaps the least noticeable) thing about the drumming is how it adds to the atmosphere. Royal Thunder has a lot of songs that build and build to stunning climaxes, only to then drop back to trance-like ambient passages. Cymbals pop up during those trance passages, gently and quietly adding an eerie ringing to the background, before the drums rev up as the music swells. They sit in the background until, all of the sudden, they're right there, and you didn't even notice.

Guitarwise, Weaver is excellent crafting psychedelic riffs and distorted solos that don't try to impress you with technical proficiency or speed. That might sound like criticism, but it's not. The guitar isn't trying to impress you, or act all like "look at me! I'm a guitar! I make awesome noises!" The guitar work flows with the music, showing a devotion to building intricate waves of bluesy doom that goes hand in hand with the rest of the band, balancing perfectly Parsonz' bass work (which is excellent, especially live). I actually met Weaver at the merch table when I bought a shirt. Got to shake his hand and tell him how excited I was to get to see Royal Thunder.

***

Drown

The first song I ever heard by Royal Thunder was Drown, and it had me instantly hooked. Fitting, then, that it would be the first song the band played. I love long songs that build and build to a point where it all comes crashing down in a wave of noise. It's akin to a journey, with an intricate amount of craftsmanship and elegance poured in. It's not about a hook or a chorus, it's about the whole song, each part feeding the next. Drown starts out slow and heavy, a guitar quietly strumming a few dark notes, Parsonz sings just above a whisper, and the drummer softly taps on his snare and cymbals. Then, after Parsonz croons some brooding lyrics for a few minutes, the wave hits. A driving guitar line backed by furious drumming leads into Parsonz kicking it up a notch, showing the power of her voice. A brief swell drops back into that quiet beginning before again hitting the gas pedal and flying into a a couple furious minutes of wailing guitar and bass. Finally we're laid to rest, as it all comes to a standstill while Parsonz sings a dirge during the closing minute.

Whispering World

Again, apt choice. It's the second song on the album, and it's the second song on the night's set list. Unlike Drown, it's not a builder. It hits you right from the first note, a heavy, moody song with a steady tempo and some true anger in Parsonz voice. She flat out screams, bitterness staining every syllable. I don't always care about the lyrics in metal songs, but I can't ignore the words to Whispering World.

"I knew you were wrong/but I just let you break me"

Parsonz is on another level during those lines, channeling some raw emotions. Much of the rest of the lyrics are about having escaped whatever shit sparked this, a triumphant exclamation of freedom. There are some really killer guitar riffs as well, and an overflow that's both heavy and catchy. The song shows off Parsonz' lyrical abilities as well as the emotional range of her vocals.

Minus

Speaking of raw emotions, this quiet soliloquy pairs perfectly with Whispering World. Unlike the vitriol of WW, Minus is sad and somber. There are no screams and no riffs, but the exact same passion as before. I didn't "get" this song until I heard them play it, and that's likely due to them putting it right after WW. While WW is more along the likes of a "fuck you"-type breakup song, Minus is a humble one, maybe even an apologetic one. Not something you'd expect from a band that excels at Southern blues psychedelia.

Blue

Then there's Blue. It's a beautiful, spiraling song that builds and builds and never lets up. There aren't any vocals for the first three-and-a-half minutes (there's a music video for it, and when I watched it for the first time I thought it was an instrumental track), as you're simply swept up by hypnotic guitar playing and an equally hypnotic bass line. Just imagine ISIS (danger zone!), but with a druggy feel to it.   Or perhaps a modernized song by The Doors. Opening with drums, guitars wailing for days, Parsonz' voice crooning along with the music in a wonderfully trippy way, and it all lasts for ten minutes. With perfect flow, no less, which is brought out when played live. All three band members are bouncing off each other, Weaver's grooving on his side of the stage, Parsonz' swaying to the beat, and Stuber holding the rhythm line to some heavy acid rock. They make it feel like the song stretches out for days, endlessly floating and curving through pockets of blue sky and clouds.

No Good

Probably the best example of that Southern rock flair to their music. The main riffs of the song are very, very bluesy. This is Royal Thunder's other short (read: < six minutes) but hard rockin' song (Minus is about two minutes, but it's more of an ambient track). To me, this song is all about the guitar work, because Parsonz' vocal melodies all come from the energizing guitar melodies (or perhaps vice versa, but either way the guitar wins out). Though I think it's rightful place is where it is on the album (it precedes Blue on the album, and the flow from No Good to Blue is perfectly synched, almost like they're one song), but since Royal Thunder killed every song up to that point, I didn't notice the change.

***

There must have been at least one more song on their set list, but I can't find a set list anywhere. But maybe that was it, and I just didn't want it to be over. In any event, it was a phenomenal show. Royal Thunder has a great future ahead of them. I can't wait to see what's in store. So go get their album CVI  and go see them live if you can. I'll be writing about Enslaved's set later on, so stay tuned.

The definition of a sports fan

No one has an obligation to be a sports fan. It's that simple. No secret handshakes, no over-the-top requirements to show your commitment to a cause. You show up to a game, put on a jersey, or merely check the paper the next day for the final score and you're in the club. The diehards might not accept you into their little self-indulgent treehouse, but who needs them? Who says their word is final? There's no rhyme or reason to it, no logic, and no requirements. I'm a Cubs fan, Bears fan, Bulls fan, and Blackhawks fan. I can remember Carlos Marmol knocking out Brewers hitters like it was yesterday: slider, fastball, fastball, fastball, slider, strike out. I can imitate Derrick Lee's swing to perfection: right-handed, open stance, bat between a 90 and 180 degree angle, and a major leg sweep to get the timing right. Derrick Lee hasn't worn a Cubs uniform in years. Craig Krenzel to Bernard Berrian for 49 yards and a TD? In my mind it happened yesterday, not eight years ago. $100 for a Toews jersey? Absolutely worth it. Without question.

That's the power of fandom. Plain and simple.

There isn't a test you pass to become a diehard for your cause, and there's no badge that you can betray. No one has questioned my credentials as a Cubs fan, nor have I questioned theirs.  You claim to be a Cubs fan? Then you're a Cubs fan until you say otherwise. The satisfaction the each of us receives from victories may not be the same, nor the stinging pain of defeat, but we've invested in both of those things. When I first discovered baseball, I was a White Sox fan. Why? No reason. None whatsoever, aside from them being from Chicago. Then I went to a Cubs game and changed my mind. I was 12, and haven't changed my mind since. No one makes rational decisions when they're 12. You're in middle school, just started to hit puberty, and have barely begun to grasp the idea that competition is the perfect outlet for everything, even if you don't know why you're so damn competitive. Even losing to relatives at a board game sucks.

But fans, diehard, casual, in middle school, what have you, are just that: fans. With jobs and lives outside of the ticker on the bottom of the screen during SportsCenter. On top of the never-ending daily grind of working 40 or more hours a week, dealing with the barrage of school work, coming home to personal problems, or putting up with shit I can't even begin to fathom, people still tune into sports. I've spent so much time watching games that I've likely wasted years fully grasping zone defenses or what to throw in a 2-2 count when the only pitches in your repertoire are breaking balls and fastballs. I could have spent that time studying AP U.S. History or Microeconomics. And yet I planted myself in front of the television, day after day, game after game, for reasons I can't articulate.

For some reason geography is the basis of almost all sports fandom, and no one questions that. I am a Cubs fan who originally rooted for the White Sox because they were from Chicago. I changed allegiances to the Cubs because they too were from Chicago. Just physically (in terms of ballparks) closer. (Also maybe because their uniforms had actual colors. But I honestly don't remember why I fell in love with baseball, or with the White Sox, or with the Cubs. I grew attached to the Red Sox because I had family in Boston. Likewise, I have family who don't like in the Midwest yet call the Cubs their #2 because of us in the Midwest who do call the Cubs our team.

I've suffered through painful defeats, depressing eras that have lasted years, championships, and everything in between, but I've never abandoned any team that becomes a part of my life's blood. I've been so angry at these teams that I've thrown things, broken things, and thrown gear away. Screams, tears, jubilation, sobs, exhilaration, you name it and I've done it in the name of fandom. Hell, a god damn video game commercial that simulated Cubs fans celebrating a World Series victory made me tear up. Nothing makes me tear up. That's not hyperbole. I just don't break into tears. And yet slipping into a dream where I'm in Wrigleyville, surrounded by lifelong Cubs fans, as that team wins it all has me fucking bawling my eyes out. IT WAS A GOD DAMN VIDEO GAME COMMERCIAL.

And so we boo them sometimes. We put them on these immeasurable pedestals that project this superhuman image of athleticism that's so out of our league it becomes a form of escapism so strong we don't even recognize it as escapism. It's beyond escapism, above the silliness of getting lost in a book, TV show, or band. It's so engrained in society that diehards are completely accepted, unlike Trekkies and Tolkien lovers. Pouring your heart and soul out into a team is expected. And winning a championship is considered so far beyond anything, it eclipses every other single emotion combined. More than love, more than hate, more than anything. Absolutely anything. When our team loses, that escapism is broken and ruined, an ugly punch to the gut that throws so many negative emotions in our faces we can't think straight, because we give them so much weight relative to everything else in our lives. And so we boo them sometimes.

It's a double-edged sword, fans and athletes. Fans owe players nothing. Players owe fans nothing. I choose to be a fan of a particular team because of geography and the stupid idea that the emotional roller coaster is worth the ride. Players play because they get paid to. Ideally they play to win a championship, because that's how sports is framed: play like a champion and win it all. But simply playing the game is their job. Don't confuse the job with this false idolatry. Winning it all is what the archetypal sports myth is all about, but we don't live in a world of myths and ideals. We live in a world with men and women, both on and off the field.

What is a genre?

In 1984, Bathory came out with its self-titled debut album. In 1992, Darkthrone came out with its second album, A Blaze in the Northern Sky. Venom's album Black Metal came out in 1982 while Burzum's self-titled debut came out 10 years afterward. All are, most metalhead would argue, staples of the black metal genre. 

But how true is this? What does it take for something to qualify as a genre, and how are these genres determined, labeled, and legitimized? These are big, broad, pretentious questions.

I will try to answer them anyway.

Here's the thing about black metal: the concept of it as a whole genre didn't come about until the 1990s. The first wave of black metal, which occurred in the 1980s, includes bands such as Venom, Bathory, and Celtic Frost. But Venom and Celtic Frost were essentially thrash bands with low production quality singing about Satan. Black metal? No. Not quite, if we're going to compare them stylistically. It wasn't until the influx of bands from the 1990s (the second wave of black metal) that black metal reached ears outside of those dedicated to the music and the scene. It wasn't until bands such as Darkthrone, Emperor, Immortal, and Mayhem started putting out albums during and after 1992 that enough black metal was out there being made to justify inventing a genre for it (besides the awful label of 'extreme metal').

Music genres can be very annoying things. They have an obvious positive benefit: they tell us generally what the music is going to sound like, sort of like a quick preview in case we're not sure what music some artist we've never heard of makes. Maybe an album cover pops out at you, and it happens to be in the 'metal' section. Helpful. But then you pop in the CD or switch to your computer's music library and discover that what you got is far from what you thought you were getting. Or maybe you have that friend who raves about the latest blackened post-metal shoegaze band or some new atmospheric sludge/doom album.

(Spoiler alert: I'm that friend)

I care too much about proper genre labeling, at least within metal. This is because A) I'm bizarrely neurotic about that, and B) there are enough diverse styles of metal to justify added descriptors to clarify what kind of metal the music is. I have 29 different metal (sometimes self-assigned) subgenres in my library: black, blackened shoegaze, death, doom, drone, folk, groove, heavy, industrial, melodic death, metalcore, nu, pirate, post, power, progressive black, progressive death, death, progressive post black, sludge, speed, stoner, symphonic black, symphonic death, symphonic, technical death, technical melodic death, thrash, and viking.

Progressive post black metal. I am literally Hitler for making that a thing.

Back to Bathory. After their debut album, Bathory continued to put out albums in the 1980s that continued to influence (along with artists like King Crimson) the soon-to-be second wave Norwegian scene. And they were really the only ones well known for making that sound and style of music, effectively making black metal in the 1980s even though the concept and definition of black metal didn't exist quite yet. Under the banner of real-time genrefying, Bathory would be an 'extreme metal' band. Under a more retroactive banner, Bathory is black metal. But is it black metal in sound only, or also in spirit? I can't tell because honestly second wave black metal (which ended up defying the genre) was just a giant circlejerk: Bathory copied Venom, Norwegian bands copied Bathory and then copied bands that copied Bathory to give us the iconic black metal sound.

So genres have souls now. Apparently.

A simple solution would to just label Bathory as 'proto black metal,' along the lines how the Stooges and MC5 would be considered 'proto-punk' because they were punk rock before punk rock existed. But the Stooges and the Sex Pistols were still of the same notion: fuck society, I'm a rebel. Bathory and Burzum aren't of the same notion. Bathory is 'Hail Satan' but not in a serious way. Burzum is 'Hail Satan' in a literal, church-burning way. Bathory came from Sweden. Second wave black metal came from early '90s Norway, a very different scene from early '80s Sweden. Norwegian black metal was very reactionary, very counterculture, and sometimes anti-Christian. Bathory was a man alone, without a scene. The spirit of what black metal is comes from the bands and music that came out of that second wave. I think spirit matters in this case. Bathory is of black metal sound, but not of spirit.

Problem solved! We're halfway home!

There's a new trend emerging in metal as bands continue to push the boundaries of traditions: the forging and evolution of fusion subgenres. If you look back on that list of subgenres sitting in my music library, you'll see stuff like melodic death and blackened shoegaze along with all the progressive subgenres (though progressive is another pet peeve of mine: it's a lazy way of describing how multiple subgenres are fused). There are some bands who only combine two styles of metal (any melodic death metal band) and then there are those that throw in so many it makes labeling using a traditional scheme impossible.

Agalloch and Cormorant are the banes of my existence. (You can blame Cormorant for progressive post black metal).

Hit play on any Agalloch song and you'll stumble across these different styles: atmospheric black, acoustic, black, folk, doom, and post metal. Listen to Cormorant and you'll be jumping from black to shoegaze to melodic death to folk to NWOBHM-inspired metal. But let's ignore Cormorant from now on because I like Agalloch more. First off, I should mention that Agalloch has a subgenre, sort of. The band refers to their music as 'dark metal.' I'm not sure how I feel about this because A) Is a band allowed to define its own subgenre? B) If not, who gets to put the label on a subgenre? Meshuggah is prog band that incorporates polyrhythms in the form of chugging, and calls their sound 'djent' as an onamonapia. The term has begun to catch on somewhat, but there's also a lot of backlash. This didive wasn't present when 'black metal' was taken from the Venom album and coined as the descriptor for the Norwegian sound.

Unlike Meshuggah, black metal had an entire scene devoted to the style, a scene very active that closely tied everyone together. Norwegian black metal artists were like-minded in their approach to the music: perform as if the color black were a type of music. Listeners have reacted negatively towards 'djent,' showing that sometimes classifying power can reside with them. There also isn't very much present with Agalloch and 'dark metal' (unless you want to get into the whole Cascadian black metal thing, which is very dumb and widely regarded as a bad decision). There are a few bands that are getting around to copying Agalloch, but not at the amount or growth of second wave black metal. And while no one's rejecting 'dark metal,' no one is really claiming it and legitimizing it.

I've just given up and labeled Agalloch as 'post metal.' It took me months to do. I'm really neurotic about this.

Back to Cormorant now, and my new favorite band of the moment An Autumn For Crippled Children. The problems that persist with these bands is that they are wave front, they are making the experimental stuff that'll never get near the mainstream and will either inspire the future conventions of metal, or be ignored completely for being too out there for its own good. AAFCC combines third wave black metal (a U.S.-driven subgenre that's growing and branching off in a very exciting fashion) with shoegaze, ambient, and post metal. I gush about the album Only the Ocean Knows, and it's a truly unique blend of styles that's both Explosions in the Sky and Alcest (an influential shoegaze black metal band).

This third wave of black metal is really a fascinating thing, especially given what it means for the core concept of 'black metal.' You have American bands taking this music and splitting it off in several directions: atmospheric, shoegaze, depressive/suicidal, and post black. Not to mention stuff like blackened thrash. But the point is that a lot of these American bands don't hold the same convictions and inspirations that music from Norway had. American black metal isn't really reactionary,  counterculture, or anti-Christian. Many bands don't implement poor sound quality when recording. Introspection and sadness are key qualities of the spirit of the music. Perhaps 'dark metal' is a better term, because third wave black metal seems to me more like 'blue metal,' blue as in the dark blue sky of dusk. Not black as midnight, just enough to tell the day is dying.

But that'll never catch on because A) I just made it up, and B) it sounds ridiculous. Pretty soon we'll have 'red metal' and 'green metal.' And you can all thank me.

I guess besides stroking my ego, this post is about some of the cracks in the current scheme.  I don't think that we need to limit classifications if the most accurate way of labeling it involved four different descriptors (Agalloch) rather than a band that obviously only needs one. If that means 'progressive post black metal' and 'blackened shoegaze post metal' have to exist, so be it. And if we have to call Bathory 'extreme metal' because subgenres aren't retroactive or are about sound rather than soul, then so be it. But I only sort of know what I'm talking about.

Best metal of 2012

First, a disclaimer. I've only been a metalhead for about a year now, and I'm still developing my musical tasting and discovering new music. There's also no way I've been able to sit down and listen to every single metal album that has come out this year. All this means that what I have to say probably has very little merit to it. So feel free to completely throw my opinions out the window. Without further ado, here's some of the best metal of 2012:

An Autumn For Crippled Children - Only the Ocean Knows This is quickly becoming one of my favorite albums of recent memory, if only for the insanely beautiful bass sound (the rest of the music is equally as beautiful, I assure you). Bass guitar in metal is often overlooked and dulled down in the mix to the point where you can barely hear it. But on this album, it's as if the bass guitar is functioning as the lead guitar, which is unheard of in most metal (especially black metal). That aside, AAFCC (ridiculous name, I know) has managed to outdo Alcest with this shoegaze-style masterpiece. Phenomenal, breath-taking album.

Be'lakor - Of Breath and Bone Hands down, this is the best melodic death metal album I've ever heard. These Aussies have taken the '90s Gothenburg style of In Flames and At the Gates and perfected it into an hour of thunderous aggression. Every single track, every single note is flawless, unrelenting, and at the same time, a bit melancholy. There's a level of emotional depth (at least, to me) in the melodies that I'm not used to finding in music (metal or otherwise), and it's very moving. Given that this, their third album, is Be'lakor's best one yet, I can't wait to see if they can outdo themselves.

Pallbearer - Sorrow and Extinction I've recently discovered the wonderful world of doom metal: slow, heavy, boulders of music that slowly but powerfully bowl you over as you listen. Throw in some somber, sorrowful lyrics and you have the ingredients for a doom band. In their debut, Pallbearer executed all of those components successfully. Listening, you can't help but sink into the music, which slowly rolls over you, wave after wave and song after song. Damn those were some good metaphors.

Royal Thunder - CVI This band is one of my favorites, and they only have one full-length album to their name. Groovy, heavy, hypnotizing, and with a bit of Southern blues, this doom band from Georgia put out a great album, molding psychedelic influences with bluesy metal riffs that call back a bit of a retro feel. Mlny Parsonz, lead vocals, has a deep, haunting, and powerful voice that glide right along with the music. Imagine The Doors, but heavier and moodier, ready to guide you on your trip.

Woods of Ypres - Woods V: Grey Skies & Electric Light Hey look, more doom! But this time a bit of a different kind of doom: much more melodic and depressing. Pretty much every song is about how depressing life is, how meaningless living is, and how the narrator is ready and willing to die. Some sample song titles: "Death Is Not An Exit" "Kiss My Ashes (Goodbye)" and "Finality." Pretty unhappy stuff. (Fun fact: the lead vocalist died in a car accident shortly before the album was releases, which makes all the references to dying extra resounding). But that's only if the lyrics matter to you. On the other side of things, the rest of the music is faster and more melodic than other doom bands, which paints a very vivid soundscape. A good album to listen to when you're out while it's snowing.

Honorable mentions:

Ash Borer - Cold of Ages Atmospheric black metal of the Cascadian variety. Excellent full-length debut.

Oak Pantheon - From A Whisper Definitely inspired by Agalloch, this band incorporates acoustic, black, and post-metal into a great first album.

Skagos - Anarchic More atmospheric black metal, but this a bit more aligned with AAFCC. Band named after the island from A Song of Ice and Fire, which is rumored to have unicorns and cannibals. (Sadly, neither song is devoted to unicorns or cannibals).

The Sword - Apocryphon Yet more great stoner metal from the fearsome band. Some say they've lost their sound, but I disagree.

Sylosis - Monolith I'm not big onto modern thrash, but this album knocked my socks off.

So I listened to nothing but black metal for a week

Spent seven days giving "nothing but black metal november" a try, but there's simply too much out there to listen to that isn't black metal. (I also confused Opeth for Mastadon, a good sign I sufficiently soaked myself in corpse paint). HOWEVER, I would consider the past seven days a success for two reasons: I've expanded my music library to include some phenomenal new bands and I've really begun to appreciate black metal.

Reason the latter: Black metal may be the least accessible form of metal, if not one of the least accessible. It's taken me months and months to begin to appreciate it enough just to listen to an entire album. now i fucking love emperor, burzum, and deafheaven. I could listen to them for hours. Before, black metal was noise: fast, insanely distorted, without changes in dynamics, devoid of tri-tone riffs, blast beats, and with weird screechy vocals that had to be an octave higher than anything I normally listen to. But I swear by the time the seven days were up, there was a beauty to the intricacies of the arrangements. There are patterns to the guitar parts, the distortion delicately integrated, subtle changes in dynamics, the blast beats fit perfectly, and the vocals held a powerful meaning and symbolism I never knew of.

I rewatched the documentary "Until The Light Takes Us" in late october, and it rekindled my desire to get more into black metal. Before then (having not really given the film much thought the first time seen), it was a bizarre and irritating genre. It had some weird european history and was devoid of all other stylistic elements of metal. I've tried for months to get into it, going with a periodic brute force method. compared different eras. nothing. But then I gave "Hvis lyset tar oss" a listen after rewatching, and it all began to click. This wasn't just a couple guys mad at the world making music that was supposed to literally sound black. It was a very small, unique extreme counterculture movement, one that has roots in developing music of earlier eras (which I always find fun) and roots in social unrest.

These guys (the members of bands like Burzum, Immortal, Mayhem, Darkthrone) were deeply inspired by Bathory, Venom, and Mercyful Fate. they developed that into their own thing, deeply bathed in the social unrest that drove the scene. That unrest, at times, fueled a fundamentalist approach: church burnings, murders. Black wasn't just a genre, it was its own lifestyle. Most genres can't say that. The way black metal struck back at musical norms was also fueled by this unrest: the more lofi the recording, the bigger "fuck you" to the clean, expertly recorded and cut records that didn't question why clarity should be the norm. I feel this comes out in the music, especially in Burzum, Mayhem, and Darkthrone.

The dankness of "Filosofem" and "Under a Funeral Moon" suddenly make all the sense in the world. (I'm a big melodeath/folk metal fan, and we like crisp, clean mixes (see: Wintersun's "Time I")). The grueling wall of guitar noise and blast beats sounded instead like a violent cacophony, wanting to reach out and punch anything that hated it. The vocals had a melancholy quality to them, even within the underlying pent-up aggression. And that's just my revelation concerning '90s Norwegian black metal.

There are two waves of black metal in terms of rock history: the first wave (early 1980s Bathory and Venom), and the second wave (early 1990s Norwegian bands). There's a third wave developing right now in the U.S. Bands popping up incorporating post-rock/metal and shoegaze elements are growing. These guys are being inspired by the music of the '90s and reinterpreting it for themselves in the form of current U.S. black metal, and it's a kinda great result. These bands have locked in on the emotiveness of black metal, someone I never noticed before. There's a much different type of melancholy in this emerging wave, something very post-rocky a la every Sigur Ros song ever. What it is, I don't exactly know yet. and that's rather exciting. (But the answer is definitely not Liturgy's frontman's 'transcendental manifesto').

Reason the former (yup, I finally got there): I don't scroll through my music library and instantly skip over the various black metal bands. It legitimately used to feel as if I blocked them out completely, like they weren't there at all. Scrolling through my library now makes it look a whole lot more full. I have so much more to listen to now, and I can never have enough music to listen ton. I can unwind by putting on some black metal and letting it block out all the noise. I'm going to enjoy it while it still feels new.

Why I Listen to Metal

The drums start up, rolling a fierce, fast marching pattern that lingers until the first riff hits. Soon the second guitar kicks in along with the bass. The drum pattern picks up, matching the intensity of the riff. Then come vocals: harsh, guttural, powerful. Another riff slams into you, and then another. A solo comes flying through, screaming and burning. And then another solo, riff, verse, riff, outro, In the meantime, all hell is breaking loose around you. You’re leading an army into battle and soaring through mountain ranges and running through brick walls. There’s an overwhelming sense of strength and vigor running through you, a feeling akin to being indestructible. Like the guy who walks slowly away from a fiery explosion bursting behind him and doesn’t blink.

In reality, I’m just sitting on my bed. I’m wearing a bathrobe, haven’t done my homework, and I’m really hungry. I have some Eluveitie playing, but somehow the combination of sitting on an Ikea bed frame and listening to “Your Gaulish War” isn’t quite one that screams “metalhead,” whatever that term means. Other times I might be sitting on the bus, wearing khakis, a white, collared shirt, and a Star Trek jacket. I just sit there, watching the same boring scenery pass by as I take the same route I always do. Even when Thor, Hlodyn’s son, protector of mankind, rides off to meet his fate while Ragnarok awaits him, I’m merely Matt, John’s son, protector of very little, and I’m riding off to class while the j-school and student union await me.

But during that ride, I sink into the music pounding in my ears. I’m only sort of on the bus. Another part of me is far away, in some other world that I’m not exactly sure of. It’s definitely a place I like to visit, and sometimes I stay there for hours. It’s great: the music’s there, I’m there, the book I’m reading is there, and nothing else is. It’s like my own private beach, except it’s right next to an active volcano, the natives are Uruk-hai, and the sea’s filled with sharks with freakin’ laser beams. Most importantly, the music’s all around, pouring out of everything, omnipresent and pulsing with life. And all of that is flowing through me, while I sit on the bus and while I sit on my bed wearing a bathrobe.

There are other types of music that generate strong feelings and emotions within me. There’s the raw honesty of folk and heartland rock, the rebelliousness of protopunk, and everything that is Led Zeppelin. There’s music that will bring tears to my eyes, plop me to the top of the world, or pick me up regardless of circumstance. But I never get to the beach that way. I don’t know if it’s possible to get there any other way, or if the numbers 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, and 42 mean anything. But that beach is a damn nice place to be, and it’s where I’m having my most intense musical experiences. There’s something comforting about slipping out of the moment for a bit and taking a breather elsewhere, where it’s you and only you and you’re a god thundering music down upon the waves.

I’m eager for Wintersun’s “Time I,” which is supposed to come out in two weeks. I’m excited to listen to it as I sit in the Union and read whichever Wheel of Time book I’m on. I can’t wait to play The Sword’s new album while I do laundry, and the next time I go grocery shopping I’ll be sure to rev up some classic In Flames while I glance through the produce section. I’ll save Amon Amarth for the gym, Moonsorrow for when I’m walking home at night, and Deafheaven when it’s particularly autumny outside. And I know a lot of black metal focuses on the cold, frigid nature of Scandinavian winters, so I’ll pull out some Agalloch and Darkthrone when it starts snowing.

How "Prometheus" Failed

After I saw Prometheus, I purposefully didn't write a review on here for two reasons. First, I only saw it after it had been out in theaters for several weeks, and I prefer to post reviews while the movies are still relatively new. Second, it was just a crappy movie. To sum it up in one sentence, I felt like I had just watched six different movies and maybe two of them weren't terrible. There were so many issues with the script that any review I might write would end up being a long, ranting piece about how I thought the movie sucked.

Which means this post is going to be a long, ranting piece about how I thought "Prometheus" sucked.

(WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD)

1. Character (un)development

There were only two characters in the movie that I liked: Michael Fassbender and Stringer Bell (sorry, make that Idris Elba). Fassbender's just a wonderful actor, and it was fun to see Stringer from The Wire in a scifi movie. There were also a bunch of other characters as well, none of whom I cared about. In no particular order, there was Lead Female Protagonist, Guy You Thought Was Lead Male Protagonist, Charlize Theron In A Skintight Jumpsuit, Some Asian Guy, Some Asian Guy's Friend, 40-Something Scientist Lady, Guy With Beard, and Other Guy Who May Have Had A Beard. I may be leaving someone out. Oh well, they clearly weren't important to the plot at all.

Lead Female Protagonist (LFP) is someone we as the audience are supposed to root for. Supposed to. Usually this is done by making the character relatable to us, pitiable, or just straight awesome. LFP was maybe number two, pitiable, but not through any clever means. Her traits were that of the "idealistic scientist who's too noble for cynicism or to think that people might want to misuse science and technology for malicious purposes" trope. In one word: naive. And naivety does not endear me to a character, mostly because I like characters who are, you know, smart.

Then there's Guy You Thought Was Lead Male Protagonist (LMP). I label him that partially because he's also extremely one-dimensional, and also because he's killed halfway through the movie. He has some sort of romantic thing with LFP, but this is never made clear how serious it is (unless I somehow missed that; be explicit, screenwriters). The two of them clearly do have a thing, but I don't know if it's long-term, or if it's because they're horny in space and their options are limited. Point is, the move tries to cash in emotionally on this relationship when LMP dies because we're supposed to sympathize with LFP even more.

I'd love to explain what Charlize Theron's character's role was, but I just plain don't know (aside from the obvious looking-good-in-skintight-clothing). She's like the captain or something, the person in charge of the mission. Everyone is supposed to do what she says even though we have no real reason to respect her authority. But she drinks vodka straight, so watch out for her badassery! In the first Alien movie, the captain of the Nostromo seemed like a sensible, decent guy. He was level-headed, brave, and cared more about his crew than the mission. Theron just yelled at people to do things she didn't want to do herself and didn't show a whole lot of that putting-the-crew-first thing.

2. People Doing Stupid Things Over And Over Again

Remember when I wrote that I like intelligent characters? This movie didn't have any, except for Fassbender and that was because Fassbender's an android (or maybe a REPLICANT???) who follows his programming. Everyone else did stupid things over and over and over and over and over until they finally got themselves killed and I cruelly laughed at their demise.

Some of the more egregious decisions: LFP is impregnated without her knowledge by Fassbender and after she goes and has a really crazy abortion surgery scene, SHE WALKS RIGHT BACK TO FASSBENDER AND IS LIKE "HEY Y'ALL, WHAT'S HAPPENING?" As someone who can't get pregnant, I can't predict how I'd react in this situation, but I'm reasonably sure that I WOULDN'T DO THAT. Am I in the neighborhood on this one, ladies?

Another stupid decision happens with the two bearded dudes. They get lost on the alien ship (of course they do, even though THEY HAVE A MAP) and when they think there's something alive that's after them, they head back to the room that's FILLED WITH DEAD BODIES. Logic must have gone extinct right before the 22nd century. Beard One and Beard Two (alternatively Scottish Beard and Glasses Beard), are both then killed by the creatures in the room.

And finally, the climax sucked. The reveal that the really old guy was on the ship the whole time (THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE!!!) was bizarre. Part of that six-movies-in-one thing I stated earlier. And why was he there? To ask the aliens "Hey, I know you seem like you're planning on sending of these ships filled with biological weapons to Earth to wipe out our species, so do you mind giving me eternal life, which I'm presuming you have because I'm old and don't want to die and that's all that motivates me?"

As if the moment when the alien went apeshit and murdered the old guy and six others wasn't enough of a warning (along the plan to DROP BIOLOGICAL WEAPONS ON EARTH TO ERADICATE US), the movie ends with LFP deciding to visit the alien's homeworld to convince them not to kill us. I'm sure that's going to work. Absolutely positive. In no way do I believe these guys will murder the everlasting shit out of you the second you try to speak to them. Nope. Totally not gonna happy. You keep on being that naive, idealistic scientist who, by the way, decided to travel to the aliens' planet WITH THE GUY WHO IMPREGNATED HER WITH AN ALIEN AND ALSO WAS DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR LMP'S DEATH.

Seems reasonable to me.

Kid Stands on Old Person's Lawn, ESPN Reports

Speaking as someone who is terrible at basketball, I think I am completely entitled to throw my opinion into a basketball discussion. Especially considering the irrelevancy of this particular basketball topic. Apparently over the last day or two, the 2012 men's Olympic basketball team and the 1992 men's Olympic basketball team have been trash-talking each other over which is/was the better team. Yup, a bunch of old, retired basketball guys are arguing with 20-somethings about something that will never, ever happen unless some form of time travel occurs.

Here's the breakdown of the situation: The '92 Olympic team has been considered the single greatest collection of basketball talent ever. They were given the moniker "The Dream Team" for that specific reason: Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Patrick Ewing, Karl Malone, Charles Barkley, John Stockon, Scottie Pippen, David Robinson, Clyde Drexler, Christian Laettner, and Chris Mullin. Basically Superman times twelve. During their run for the gold, they outscored their opponents by about 44 points per game, as if they were playing against sixth-graders. In the gold medal game, they won by a 32-point margin.

Just so we're clear, '92 team = Gods.

But that was 20 years ago, and now a completely new group of players fills the roster for this year's team. They're also basically gods. LeBron James, Kevin Durant, and Kobe Bryant are a few of the players that make up the team. This is a really, really good roster. Barring some sort of catastrophic event such as a bubonic plague outbreak or the Monstars sucking up all their talent, this team's going to win gold this year.

But then somebody had to open their big fat mouth.

I don't know who started the trash-talking, but someone (I think it was Kobe's ego) said that their team was better than the other and would beat them, temporal physics notwithstanding. And of course members of the other team shot back, giving relevance to this pointless claim. Now there's trash-talking back and forth, and the basketball media is rolling with it because it's July and, aside from Dwight Howard acting like a whiny little shit, there's nothing to talk about.

"I know what we can talk about! Young people standing on some old guys' lawns and the old guys yelling at them to get off! Think of the ratings!" - Someone at ESPN, probably.

That's my "media critique" of this situation. Being a journalism major, I am completely entitled to offer my vastly knowledgeable opinion on the media that I've gleaned from the handful of classes I've taken over the past few years. I do have to say that I haven't turned on the TV today (OK, that was a lie, I watched some Breaking Bad and Community; but I don't have cable), so I don't know if ESPN devoted any coverage to it. My gut says they did, as there are stories about the feud on its website, and I've seen a number of ESPN people tweet and/or retweet things about it all afternoon and evening. (Looking through online stories at its website, ESPN appears to have devoted some time to the story through the airwaves. Links to segments on PTI and SportsCenter are available to view).

But this is a non-story. Here's why: There's no way you can ever definitively prove which team is/was better. Unless the TARDIS appears or someone from Starfleet decides to violate the Temporal Prime Directive, this matchup will never happen. Sure, you can run projections and get an idea of what might happen, but that's it. It's not trash-talking that bothers me in this whole story, it's the fact that people are actually debating who would win. I know I sound like a fun-killer for saying that, but let me clarify: Debating this amongst your friends is fine. I'd sure like to have it with my friends and see where the discussion goes. But having this debate on SportsCenter or PTI? That's my problem.

Why are you wasting my time on this by letting anchors and analysts try to give a definitive answer to a question that doesn't have one? We're talking about two different eras of basketball: Different styles of play, different officiating/rules, different league configurations, etc. This is essentially comparing apples to oranges, and it's just not a feasible comparison. Also, aren't there other, more pressing news stories you could devote your time to instead of this? Like, say, the whole Penn State report that just came out. I hear that's KINDA A BIG DEAL. Or maybe not.


If ESPN does want to have this debate, give it to Bill Simmons. This is exactly his domain. He's probably the most knowledgeable basketball guy at ESPN, and people (by "people" I mean the totally not pretentious-sounding descriptor "media watchdogs") will know exactly where he's coming from: He's not the voice of an objective reporter, he's a sports fan who somehow gets paid to write about sports by ESPN without having to always be objective (which is basically my dream job). People know this and understand this when they read his columns, and his take on this debate, including a definitive answer on who would win a best-of-seven series, is 1000 times more relevant than the guys on SportsCenter who aren't talking about legitimate news stories.


So yeah, that's the end of my little rant. More like nit-picking, though. I might come down a little hard on ESPN, but this isn't that big of a deal. It just seems ill-timed in the light of the new information about the Penn State report. And let's face it, ESPN can't exactly do any more damage to their credibility anymore, because that assumes there's still something left to damage. ZIIIING!!!


Oh, and I'll take the '92 team any day. Duh.

Dr. StrangeLeBron or: How I Learned to Stop Hating and Respect #6

Is Lebron James a bad guy?

He used to be one. There were a variety of reasons, all of them reasonable and at the same time utterly bullshit, because that's the nature of fandom. Allegiances to teams and players are mostly arbitrary, usually determined by geographic location, who your parents root for, or because when you were six you thought that team had a cool name or uniform. That's how we decide who to root for and who to root against. And because we care so much about these arbitrarily chosen teams, they become an extension of who we are, and we feel we are an extension of who they are. So when a great player comes along and dominates your team, we take it personally. It's idiotic, pointless, illogical, and yet completely accepted by the masses.

So why do we hate LeBron?

The "we" I'm talking about is pretty much everyone outside of Miami and LeBron's family. Me personally, I hated LeBron because he burst on the basketball scene as the next Michael Jordan. No, strike that. He was meant to be greater than Jordan. "The Chosen One." He even wore the same number as MJ, 23, while he played for Cleveland. As a Bulls fan who grew up idolizing His Airness and witnessing the sheer destructiveness of the Bulls teams of the '90s, this trumpeting of James as someone who was sure to surpass Jordan's greatness was an affront to everything that defines me as a Bulls fan. You degrade my player, my team, my city, you degrade me by extension. Or at least that's how I used to think.

James took the NBA by storm when he arrived in Cleveland. He lived up to the hype: The Akron Hammer, the one who had what it took to carry the Cavaliers to the Finals. Time and time again I watched him beat the Bulls. So not only was he replacing MJ, he was rubbing it in my face. So I began rooting for his failure. When he made it to the Finals for the first time and lost, I felt a great deal of schadenfreude. As he continued to wrack up wins and playoff appearances, that schadenfreude grew. As long as he never won a ring, he'd never equal Jordan. That's all that mattered. Idiotic, pointless, illogical, and completely accepted by Chicagoans and nearly everyone outside of Cleveland.

Then something new happened: The Decision.

LeBron left Cleveland in a poor manner, that's not even a debate. Up until that point, the hatred of James was based purely on that bullshit nature of fandom. But then he publicly humiliated Cleveland, leaving a midwestern city for the glitzy, sunny locale of Miami. Now that's just unacceptable, and almost enough evidence to reasonably hate on James. Almost. So he went and joined his friends in Miami in hopes of finally winning an NBA title. His decision was motivated by a desire to win, fair enough. But then Miami held that stupid parade/pep rally where James went on about winning, "not one, not two, not three, not four, not five, not six," championships. Notice he implied winning more than six rings, the number that Jordan has. I took that personally.

With a new Big Three down in Miami, the desire to see LeBron fail seemed to grow. Joining with his superstar buddies in order to win championships felt like cheating somehow. A type of loophole for collusion. In the days and months after The Decision, a number of former NBA stars came about how they wouldn't have teamed up like that: Bird, Magic, and Jordan. MJ said something along the lines of wanted to beat them rather than join them in order to prove how good he was. And so I ate that up, believing it with the furor of some evangelical eating up a fiery sermon.

LeBron and the Big Three culminated their inaugural season by losing in the NBA Finals to the Dallas Mavericks, a team whose superstar player (Dirk Nowitzki) and owner (Mark Cuban) seemed to deserve a ring more so that James and company. Unlike the Heat, the Mavs' roster wasn't built New York Yankees style: Paying top dollar for the best players. Dirk chose to re-sign with Dallas the previous summer, so he had the loyalty factor LeBron no longer had, and the Mavs themselves were a team, not three superstars and some roster fillers. All this made Dallas's victory even sweeter, because I'm stupid like that.

Then something weird happened: He won. They won. And the rapture didn't even occur.

On Thursday, June 21, 2012, LeBron James and the Miami Heat won the NBA Championship. No raining frogs, no locusts, no erasing Michael Jordan's accomplishments. Ok, sure, Udonis Haslem and Eddy Curry both won rings, and that is some bullshit. But otherwise Jordan's legacy somehow stayed intact. Bizarre, huh? They're not going to tear down his stature outside the United Center or burn the championship banners hanging up inside. Jordan's not going to have to forfeit his rings and his victory cigars. Because there's only one Jordan, and even though it took me about eight years to realize this, I finally did.

One you accept the fact that there will only ever be one Michael Jordan (or one Bill Russell or Wilt Chamberlain), it gets a lot easier to not hate on LeBron.

There's been a lot said and written about LeBron throughout his career. We like to look at sports as more than just a bunch of guys doing things with bats and balls and hoops and helmets. We like our sports to carry a narrative, a live-action story we tune into night in and night out. And as with all stories, there have to be plots, settings, protagonists, antagonists, happy endings, and sad endings. But because the lens with which we sports fans use to look through when cheering on our team or booing another one is a bullshit lens, the characters and their roles are bullshit as well. Inevitably, James ends up cast as a villain: A selfish, disloyal antagonist whose failures strengthen our self-esteem because we like to live through those good guys who defeat James on the court.

I'll probably go back to hating on LeBron once the next season kicks off, only this time with much less ammunition to rely on when trying to portray him as the bad guy. Truthfully, though, there are no bad guys or good guys in sports (unless you're some legitimate asshole like Pacman Jones or Jerramy Stevens) because, once again, it's all arbitrary. If you're only crime is beating my team, I don't really hate you. I kinda hate you, but deep down not really. I only sorta hate you because I'm supposed to, because you're ruining the narrative of a happy ending for the good guys.


So congratulations, LeBron James. You finally did it, and I can't reasonably say I hate you for it. You earned it. Good for you.

A Perfectly Boring Game

"Baseball is boring." "Baseball is so slow." I don't know how many times I've either heard or read this. Other baseball fans can lament as well. I heard it just the other day, when I was out with a friend and a Boston-Tampa Bay game happened to be on the TV. I watched with rapt interest while my friend could barely keep his eyes on the screen. As I began to fade away into the game, zoning out of our booth, my friend remarked how boring he found baseball games to be. It's a simple fact of life for baseball fans: Inevitably you'll run into a friend who can't stand it. Maybe they're huge football fans, where there's tackling and passing and guys flying all over the place pretty much without stopping, minus the time in the huddle. Or they like basketball, with a shot being taken every possession, high scores, and monster dunks. Hockey has fights, power plays, and shoot-outs.

All the time between pitches, the number of foul balls during an at-bat, an eight-pitch walk, a pop fly, a ground-out to the second baseman. A line-out to the third baseman, a fly ball to the left fielder, a seven-pitch strike-out, a 6-4-3 double-play. A failed bunt attempt, a dribbler out to the pitcher, four straight step-offs to keep a baserunner in check. A pitch-out, an intentional walk, six straight foul balls. A pitching change, another pitching change, another pitching change, another pitching change. A mound conference, another mound conference with the pitching coach, a batter calls time, a pitcher steps off, three straight pickoff throws to first.

Lackluster. Monotonous. A snooze fest.

But what about home runs? Grand slams, walk-offs, leadoff homers, inside-the-park home runs, back-to-back jacks. A stolen base, a double steal, a steal of home. Hitting for the cycle. A hustle double, a suicide squeeze, beating the throw home, barreling over the catcher, running through a stop sign at third, a 5-for-5 night. A player's 3000th hit, their 500th home run. Tying it up with two outs in the 9th, hitting a ball completely out of the park (and into a street or river), a come-from-behind victory. Curtain calls, bases-loaded hits, bouncing it fair off the foul pole. Clearing the Green Monster, landing it in the basket, smacking it onto the railroad tracks, into McCovey Cove, the Allegheny, the Ohio River, the ray tank, the waterfall. A double-digit strikeout game, a no-hitter, a perfect game. A complete game, a shut-out. Throwing a runner out at home, nailing a wannabe base stealer. Making a diving catch, doubling off a runner, a leaping throw to get a runner, a barehanded pick and toss, robbing someone of a home run. A triple play.

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Baseball is a lot like a story. A long, complex story with a ton of minutiae. Without understanding all the little details, it's hard to understand the narrative very well. You may grasp the whole picture, but grasping it and appreciating it are two entirely different things. There are a whole number of layers to baseball that not everyone realizes exists, and the more you discover and understand these layers, the more exciting the game becomes. The story becomes more complex, more nuanced, and exciting. Suddenly every pitch has significance, every foul ball adds a detail to the story, and every at-bat is another chapter.

An 0-2 count can mean that a strike-out is about to occur. But the first strike was a borderline call and the second strike was a foul ball that the batter put good wood on. The batter may be behind in the count, but he's not in as bad a shape as he looks. Pitch three is a ball in the dirt. The pitcher threw a breaking ball, trying to get the batter to chase at a bad pitch. The first two pitches were fastballs and were meant to set up the breaking ball by messing with the batter's timing. But that didn't work, the pitcher needs to make another pitch. Does he throw another breaking ball, or go back to the fastball? He has a 1-2 count, room to throw another breaking ball outside the strike zone, but the batter is aware of this too. The catcher calls a pitch, and the pitcher shakes him off. The batter wonders what pitch he shook off. Maybe the pitcher didn't like the location the catcher called. The first pitch had been on the outside corner while the second pitch drifted over from the outside corner to over the plate. Maybe liked neither the pitch nor the location. The pitcher throws a fastball, the batter recognizes it, and manages to foul it off and stay alive. Did that mean he was looking for the breaking ball? Did the pitcher have him fooled?

It's still a 1-2 count. Again, the pitcher can afford to throw a breaking ball outside the strike zone. But he could also go with a high fastball. The batter chased the fastball on the last pitch, maybe he'll do it again. The pitcher opts for the breaking ball, and again bounces it. Did he mean to bounce it? Or was he trying to freeze the batter with a strike while the batter was looking fastball? Maybe the hitter was expecting a breaking ball and quickly recognized it was going to be a ball. The count is 2-2. The pitcher's gotta go fastball, right? He can't seem to throw his breaking ball for a strike. But wait, the pitcher also can throw a splitter. This would seem like the perfect time to throw it, but the batter knows that, and the pitcher hasn't thrown a splitter in about 15 pitches. It's also only the 2nd inning, so the pitcher doesn't know if he has a good feel for the pitch yet. He throws it anyway. Ball three is low and outside. 3-2. Three of the pitcher's last four pitches have been balls. He doesn't want to walk the batter, but the only pitch he can throw for a strike is his fastball, and the batter is an excellent fastball hitter. He goes with the fastball, and the batter grounds out to the shortstop. But during his next at-bat, the batter only swings at fastballs and hits a home run.

The devil's in the details, every pitch, every at-bat.

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I don't really know how to end this post. I'm not the best at wrapping things up, and it also happens to be 4 a.m. The point is, baseball can be boring. I admit that. It can be suffocatingly boring at times. Watching bad teams play shitty baseball for three hours is draining, and if these teams go into extra innings, I feel bad for those people who are at the game, paying to sit and watch crummy baseball for hours on end. But then there are these moments: It's the 8th inning of a one-run game, the bases are loaded, and your star pitcher is trying to protect that lead while facing the other team's best hitter. The pitcher throws fastballs and breaking balls. That's it, just those two pitches. What's he gonna throw? How is he going to get this hitter out? First pitch fastball? If he does, what comes next? Another fastball? Finish him off with a breaking ball?

It's not easy to learn all the minutiae of baseball. It's taken me years to really grasp the different layers of the game (as much as someone who's only watched but never played can). A well-played game or series can be just as fascinating and captivating as a good book. But it's hard to appreciate a good book if you rely on the cliff notes instead of the book itself. That's sort of what it's like to watch baseball without a deep level of appreciation for the subtleties of the game. So hey, if you want to just go by one cliff notes, then by all means do so. But remember that when you critique baseball for being boring. You're not getting the whole story. And let me tell you, it's quite a tale. Well worth the read.

"The Hunger Games" Review

Two-And-A-Half Stars

For me, there are three integral parts that comprise a successful movie: Writing, directing, and acting. "The Hunger Games" manages to only do well in one of those three, so-so in another one of those categories, and struggling in the other category. The acting was quite enjoyable to watch, the writing decent though imperfect, with the directing somewhat lacking in execution.

We begin in a dystopian future, one where the remains of the United States exist as 12 districts that are ruled by a cruel, unforgiving authoritarian government. Every year, as a reminder of what led to this, each district must send two teenage champions, one male and one female, to compete in a tournament called the "Hunger Games." In this tournament, 24 champions enter. Only one survives. Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence), a 16-year-old girl from District 12, volunteers to enter the Games. Joining her from District 12 is Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutchinson). Together, they are put in the near-impossible situation of surviving the Hunger Games, a situation complicated by romance, uneasy alliances, and an unforgiving environment.

I've read the first two books of Suzanne Collins' young-adult trilogy, so I should be clear that my expectations of the movie likely vary from those who are unfamiliar with the books. If you are unfamiliar with the novels, don't worry: I won't be spoiling anything. I've done my best to consider this movie both in the eyes of readers as well as those for whom the movie is their first exposure to the world of the books.

The strongest part of the film was, by far, the acting, as the entire ensemble did a splendid job with what they were given. Jennifer Lawrence, Josh Hutchinson, and Woody Harrelson (playing a previous victor from District 12 named Haymitch), as the movie's three leading characters, all brought their own definitive presences to the screen, and Liam Hemsworth as Gale (a friend of Katniss's from District 12) gave a good deal of weight to someone who wasn't given a whole lot to work with. Lawrence has previously proven her abilities in "Winter's Bone" (which she was nominated for an Oscar), and Harrelson's experience really carries Haymitch's character through the movie (I'll have more on this later). Hutchinson and Hemsworth are a pleasant surprise, considering they are relatively unknown actors, and each one has their own unique chemistry with Lawrence.

But as strong as the acting was, there were other elements that dragged the movie down, or at least prevented from being as good as it could have been (prepare yourselves for Debbie Downer mode). I'll start with the directing, mainly because my complaints in this department aren't very exhaustive. The biggest issue for me was the visual style director Gary Ross chose to utilize. Ross went after a look that mirrors "Cloverfield" and the Jason Bourne series: Lots of jump cuts, shaky camera work, and odd angles that were supposed to create an air of suspense. Yet instead of feeling unsettled, the visual style came off as contrived, a replication of prior films, such as the ones mentioned, aiming to create a similar visual mood.

At times this worked: The moment the Games began, the tracker jackers scene, and the major fight scenes. That's when this style of quick cuts and wild camera movements were the most successful: Capturing the complete chaos of the Games. But this style was present from the film's beginning in District 12 through the champions' training and all the way until the end of the movie. Certain climatic moments throughout the film lend themselves better to a shift in visual style, to one less chaotic and more somber. This would especially aid to distinguish the nature of the Games within the fighting arena and the nature of the districts.

But the most irksome thing about the movie, speaking as someone who's read the book (no spoilers, feel free to keep reading), has to be the writing. It's not that the writing failed in any major capacity, though. It's that there's a good deal of room for improvement, with pacing being the main issue. The movie sped along at a surprisingly fast pace right from the outset, barely giving enough time introduce Katniss, her family, Gale, Peeta, and the general hopelessness/bitterness of life and society in District 12. Considering how integral the theme of rebellion is to the book, the fact that the movie barely touches on this hurts the setting. Almost no time is given to characters' backstories, and while the pieces we manage to get give an adequate picture of who everyone is, the film had time to really delve into each person's nature.

Why spend only five to ten minutes introducing the world that "The Hunger Games" takes place? Why speed through the training process? Taking the time to really establishing characters and setting would add so much more, giving characters more depth and scenes more emotion (speaking as someone who's read the book). It's really due to the actors' performances that we get a decent picture of these characters in spite of the writing. This is doubly so during scenes where either the dialogue is sparse, or when there's a very limited amount of screen time given to establish certain character traits.

There's no narration, which I think would have greatly aided a film that requires the amount of exposition "The Hunger Games" creates. Normally I'm not a fan of characters narrating their own stories (Katniss is the narrator in the books), as I find it to be too simple a way to explain things, but this is a case where I think narration would've worked (along with more backstory). The few flashbacks that are in the movie can't quite stand on their feet without proper context, which is sadly missing. Just look at how "Batman Begins" incorporates flashbacks of Bruce Wayne's childhood into the first act of the movie for an example of great execution of story editing and flashbacks.

And when trying to look at the movie from the eyes of someone who hasn't read the books, the quick pacing and brief character molds can make it hard for that type of audience to grow attached to particular characters and to really notice and root for the rebellious undertones of the movie. But the story's intriguing enough on its own, and even with its rushed nature still covers all the bases of the novel.

What "The Hunger Games" boils down to is potential versus execution. It's not perfect by any stretch, but it's more than an adequate adaptation. I just can't help feeling that Ross missed the mark on this one, if only by a few hairs. I know I may seem a bit critical in this review, but I genuinely enjoyed the movie (as someone who's read the book). There are flaws, as exist in all films, but these are really minor ones even though I go on and on about them. The acting impressed me, and while the other main components of the movie couldn't match, "The Hunger Games" is an overall success. Imperfect, but still a success.