So who deserves to die?

“People who hi five, people who dress their babies in band t-shirts,“ offers the precocious teenage wannabe mass killer, “middle aged women who call their tits the girls. “

Welcome to the gospel according to God Bless America (Eagle), a strangely moralistic film that takes a sledgehammer to America’s pursuit of the lowest common denominator.

Drowning in a misery of obnoxious reality TV, evil right wing political commentators, white trash neighbours and a kid that doesn’t want to know him; Frank (Joel Murray) has it all. And it’s hurting the hell out of him. Surrounded by celebrity-obsessed zombies he can’t relate to, a series of tragic circumstances finds him on the couch with a gun in his mouth when suddenly his social conscious awakens. Perhaps there are others more needy of the bullet than him. It’s Falling Down meets Heathers, Natural Born Killers meets Juno, about as subtle as napalm, but at least 17 times funnier.

Bobcat Goldthwait. You remember him right? That annoying guy from the Police Academy films? No not Steve Guttenberg, the other one, the guy with the grating voice, whose main weapon of choice was screaming at people inches from their face. Post Police Academy he reinvented himself as a bitter burnt out stand up comedian, the humour coming from his black as pitch observations. He’s now channelled his weary sarcasm into cinema, and his fourth film God Bless America is pitch perfect. With caustic monologues about reality TV, the vacancy of celebrity obsession and a body count that includes babies, celebrities, random cinemagoers, reality TV contestants, and religious fundamentalists, it’s a film with a solution that is actually part of the problem. It’s lowest common denominator solutions to lowest common denominator problems, but then it’s hard to disagree that an AK-47 wouldn’t improve American Idol exponentially.

Graham Dorrington is on a quest to fly a new kind of airship balloon over the rainforest canopies in Guyana on the North coast of South America.  Beset with problems, he’s haunted by the death of a friend on a similar expedition years earlier, making him the perfect driven yet conflicted subject for German auteur Werner Herzog.

On the initial flight, they want to test it alone, but Herzog forbids it, and it’s remarkable watching Herzog bully his way onto the airship. White Diamond is one of Herzog’s best, in the way his films can be great, obsessive, beautiful, meditative, self indulgent, tangential, and mystifying, It’s part of a double blue ray box set Werner Herzog: Documentary Collection (Shock), which also includes the Flying Doctors of East Africa, La Soufriere, about the desertion of the island of Guadeloupe in the wake of an impending volcano eruption, and 2009’s Encounters at the End of the World.  “Who were the people I was going to meet at Antarctica at the end of the world and what were their dreams?” Herzog asks. The beauty of Herzog is that he’s comfortable with multiple ideas and tangential narratives. His own madness the perfect tool for eliciting highly personal information from the fellow eccentrics he uncovers along the way.

Typically, you could expect to hear it in Hawaiian music or perhaps country music, but from the early-‘90s Indian lap steel guitarist Debashish Bhattacharya has been using new tools to come to terms with Indian classical music. To do so he’s actually invented his own slide guitars, three instruments that he refers to as the trinity.

His sound echoes that of the sitar, crafting incredible lush ragas over elongated notes, typically accompanied by a tabla and the drone of the tanpura. Yet there’s something more, and it was hinted at on 2008’s Calcutta Chronicles, which touched on flamenco, Hawaiian, even Americana finger picking. At that time he referenced these influences via his own unique style, on Beyond The Ragaspere he’s invited a few friends along and this has pushed his music into newer, more fusion-esque realms.

We’ve got a drum kit alongside the tabla, electric bass guitar alongside his acoustic guitar, and it’s quite a subtle form of fusion that doesn’t really draw attention to itself until you listen intently. That’s despite the fact that the drums come from jazz-funk percussionist Jeff Sipe. His guitar-related guests are a little more overt however: electric jazz guitarist John McLaughlin, bluegrass dobro player Jerry Douglas and flamenco guitarist Adam Del Monte all leaving a piece of themselves in the mix. Bhattacharya however demonstrates his mastery by making it all fit, adapting his approach with each cultural exchange.

Beyond The Ragasphere is truly beautiful and complex music. It’s the work of an artist whose use of unconventional instrumentation in a traditional form has created an entirely new approach to Indian classical music; however, that was only the beginning. Now he wants to create a new tradition.

“Ever wanted to stab a rock band? It’s possible that track two of the Melvins 20^th studio album could drive you to that kind of violence. It’s a covers album, demonstrating the unpredictable band’s diverse range of influences, and come to think of it, being possibly the least commercial covers album you could imagine, it probably explains some things.”

Full review at:

http://themusic.com.au/reviews/album/2013/05/07/melvins-everybody-loves-sausages-bob-baker-fish/

It’s hard to know in which guise he’s more repulsive, as pre teen masturbatory candy, playing the vacant mumbling vampire boy in the Twilight cult, or here as the golden child of high finance, disconnected from the world outside as he cruises Manhattan in his stretch limo. Cosmopolis (Icon) is Robert Pattinson laying claim to being more than a vacant pretty boy, by playing a vacant rich boy and getting a David Cronenberg project of Dom Delillo’s unreadable book green lit. It’s meant to be a Heart of Darkness style journey into the machinations of the uber rich, using Pattinson’s inbuilt vacancy as a cipher for wanton materialism. To a large extent it’s successful, with various sycophants, his doctor (doing his daily prostrate exam), ex lovers, and teenage Wall Street geeks entering and exiting his orbit. It’s quite a surreal journey, an intelligent, humorous blur of ideas that just wash over you, though it’s let down by the forced climax of a poor little rich boy just trying to feel.

There was a time before his literary adaptations of Burroughs, Ballard and Delillo that the name Cronenberg caused involuntary brain enemas and the need to wash until your skin bleeds. In fact his early almost clinical horrors should come with warnings about the damage they can do to still developing psyches. Sure you may have seen bucket loads of gore, sack loads of suspense, as well as a gaggle of seedy and perverted horrors, but they’ve rarely been this intelligent, this manipulative and as a result this terrifying.

1979’s The Brood (Umbrella) is creepy and wrong. Oliver Reed plays an egocentric doctor who experiments with a radical new treatment “psychoplasmics,” that encourages patients to release pent up rage through Gestalt like role-plays. Reed plays Dr Raglan with just enough menace, revelling in his highly manipulative therapy. When a series of brutal murders are carried out in town by creepy midget parka wearing monsters, and the husband of his favourite patient starts poking around, it all starts to fall apart for our good Dr. Of course it wouldn’t be Cronenberg without a spot of body horror, and this is probably the best place to mention that it’s the first time The Brood has been released uncut, and on Blue Ray too.

The following year Cronenberg hit the jackpot with Scanners (Umbrella). The tag line is brilliant. 10 seconds: The Pain Begins. 15 Seconds: You Can’t Breathe. 20 Seconds: You Explode. It’s a tale of telepaths, people who can control others with their minds, but most people refer to it as ‘that exploding head movie,’ because make no mistake, you’ve never seen a cranium combust as magnificently as this. It’s the Citizen Kane of exploding heads; in fact the final battle scene is one of the most remarkably violent duels you’ll ever see, all without any physical touch. It features ubiquitous cranium gore as a metaphor for what’s happening to your own brain whilst watching, because lets face it, you’re not going to escape unscathed when you watch Cronenberg in his prime.

Every March Fragmented Frequencies travels to Womadelaide in search of the new, of strange cultural collisions, unique traditions and inspiring musical personalities. Some seem to have just dropped from an alien planet fully formed, utilising approaches and instrumentation far outside our Western understanding, whilst others merge traditions liberally in an attempt to create true global appeal.

Ayarkhaan are a trio of Siberian women whose ethereal, almost cosmic vocals and harmonies preserve the legacy of the indigenous people of the Sakha Republic. Dressed in exotic opulent finery with jewelled headbands and brightly coloured ornate dresses, their sound and presence would be enough, yet one totally unexpected element pushes it over the edge and headlong into genius: The Khomus, or Jews Harp. When the three of them pull out this instrument, reach around their faces and begin twanging in unison, murmurs of astonishment ripple through the audience.  It’s a remarkable sound, their tempos coming from the gate of the horses as they gallop across the Siberian plains. Yet there’s something else. These women have clearly been influenced by contemporary techno music. The collision between the Siberian traditions and electronic music is astounding. They breathe into the microphones, conjuring up a bleak and cold Siberian plain, causing an involuntary shiver on a 33-degree day. They’re truly one of the most beautiful, astonishing and weirdest acts you will ever see. Youtube them – you wont be disappointed.

The ngoni is an ancient West African lute like instrument with an incredible textual sound. It’s the “African guitar,” according to Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba, the Malian master musician with his band made up of family members. Bassekou’s sound is newly electric as evidenced on his excellent Jama Ko (Out There/ Planet Company) album of this year, recorded during the political coup in Mali. Over the four days they play repeatedly in increasingly extreme heat, their sounds drifting effortlessly over the lush botanical gardens. Bassekou has been strongly influenced by Western artists, like the blues of Taj Mahal (who appears on his album), and the banjo of Bela Fleck. Not only does he use a wah pedal, and have pickups dug into the hide of his ngoni, but the most telling example of his desire to embrace western approaches is more compositional, and owes a little to a Canadian with a Crazy Horse. With his family settling on a repetitive groove he repeatedly solos over the top, leaning back, with a contented smile and gently rips these blistering solos. Vieux Farka Toure may be Mali’s Jimi Hendrix, but Bassekou is their Neil Young.

Womadelaide offers some remarkable moments. Like Tunisian oud and freejazz, complete with falsetto, Dhafer Youssef cupping a hand over his mouth like he’s about to whisper, before delivering a heartbreakingly sad high-pitched vocal that no one in the audience seems to know how to take.

“She learnt Swahili from the spirits while in a trance,” offers Reunion Island singer Christine Salem’s translator in the Taste of The World tent. She’s cooking Chicken Cari with a Tomato Rougail. And while her band help out initially, they quickly lose interest, grabbing the water cooler to use as percussion, banging pots and pans, and shakers while chanting. Between offering how much chilli to add, Christine joins in, her mix of Creole, and Swahili vocals truly captivating. It’s one of the most intimate performances of the festival, unplanned, totally off the cuff. Then she feeds us chicken.

Finally there’s Serbian composer Goran Begovic and his Wedding and Funeral Band. A unique Balkan orchestra, with brass, guitar, a vocal choir, strings, and percussion they’re equally adept at bringing the huge bombastic party music from his recent Champagne for Gypsies (Cartell), as his classical scores to Emir Kusturica films. It’s the concert hall colliding with Serbian traditions and it’s astounding. Much like Womadelaide itself, where Algerian pop sits easily alongside Mali rock music, traditional Indian vocal music, reggae legends, South African jazz and bombastic Tajikistan percussion music via Israel. See you next year.

The Metropolis Festival, presented by the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra, is a Festival of New Music. Last year they brought out Steve Reich. This year they surprised with some bold and unexpected decisions, people who you wouldn’t traditionally equate with modern composition. With three artists in residence from London they featured performances from prodigious composer, conductor and pianist Thomas Ades, sample-based electronic producer Matthew Herbert and idiosyncratic electronic artist Mira Calix. Bob Baker Fish managed to get along to a couple of performances from the latter two.

For more click the link to Cyclic Defrost:

http://www.cyclicdefrost.com/blog/2013/04/metropolis-festival-melbourne-recital-centre/

“whether he’s duetting with flies by scraping his violin across a window, using a kobelco front end hoe excavator with a minimum 250 kilo loading, a midi controller bow, a quadraphonic k bow, a violin record player, or a 19 string cello, he does so with boundless creativity, curiosity and focus.”

Read the full review of Jon Rose’s 60th anniversary 4 disc box set at:

http://www.cyclicdefrost.com/blog/2013/04/jon-rose-rosin-rer/ 

“Is devotional doom a genre? Can metal and Sufism coexist in the same work? Is it possible to achieve enlightenment through drones and elongated bass riffs?”

I asked many more ridiculous questions in my review of the album late last year in Streetpress Australia.

http://themusic.com.au/reviews/album/2012/11/13/om-advaitic-songs-bob-baker-fish/

They’re touring Australia in May.

Tue May 7 – Jive, Adelaide
Wed May 8 – The Hi-Fi, Brisbane
Thu May 9 – Annandale Hotel, Sydney
Fri May 10 – The Hi-Fi, Melbourne
Sat May 11 – Rosemount Hotel, Perth

Imagine Deep Purple’s Smoke on the Water as a Latin tinged marimba work out, or David Bowie’s Ashes to Ashes as a robotic electro ditty. Sound strange? Well strange is the entry point to the world of Uwe Schmidt (aka Atom^TM, Geez ‘N’ Gosh, Lisa Carbon and about 50 other aliases), a man who firmly believes that humour belongs in music.  He’s best known for his Senor Coconut guise and his cheeky kitsch Latin covers of Kraftwerk tunes, though he’s achieved well deserved near God like status in electronic music circles thanks to his amazing productions.

A German born electronic producer, he was a member of groundbreaking electro group Flanger with Burnt Friedman, before relocating to Chile in 1997 and releasing a slew of material on multiple labels including his own Rather Interesting imprint.  It’s impossible to keep track of his endless stream of releases and aliases, however with this collection we at least have a starting point. There are seventeen tracks across nine aliases here, a multitude of styles and techniques, with most tunes imbued with a certain juvenile humour and a complexity in structure. The humour comes in the arrangement, the vocal content, or even song title. Suck my Groove anyone?

It’s electronic music masquerading as pop music, but it’s much smarter. Everything is perfectly constructed with multiple entry points. Whether it’s humour, stylistic fusions, or the complexity of the ingredients, it’s difficult not to marvel at the precocious talent of this man. There are crazy breakdowns, addictive grooves, silly vocals and odd sound effects. It’s difficult not to imagine Schmidt laughing hysterically to himself in the studio before he unleashes one of these incredible tunes on his unsuspecting audience.  Genius has rarely been this enjoyable.

Bob Baker Fish

“Brokeback utilise the stripped-down ingredients to create mood and space, displaying a patience and a desire to say more with less, mining the space where film score ends and post rock begins.”

http://themusic.com.au/reviews/album/2013/04/11/brokeback-brokeback-and-the-black-rock-bob-baker-fish/