The Year in Music

Toasting revivals: from Adele's new pop standard to Paul Simon and other aging,raging rockers

Tom Waits
Adele
Photo via HaveeruOnline
The Decemberists
Justin Vernon of Bon Iver
Wilco
Paul Simon
Paul Simon/Facebook

Earlier this year, I was driving my 9-year-old daughter somewhere; I can't remember where or when. Hits 1, the SiriusXM channel for the hottest music of the day, was on, which is a given when the little girl is in the car.

My ears were being assaulted by one nonsensical piece of schlock after another, as usual, when the bleating receded to allow a lovely little piano arpeggio take center stage. In just moments, Adele’s wounded voice came on to accompany that piano, the beginning of “Someone Like You,” and I was floored.

That’s the funny thing about pop music: Just when you give up on it, something comes along to remind you why you fell in love with it in the first place.

Adele’s success not only revived the music industry (the monster sales for her album 21 were a major factor in the 3-percent increase in U.S. album sales), but it formed the first consensus between critics, fans, and radio in a dog’s age.

What was refreshing was how old-fashioned the execution was, a combination of excellent songwriting (mostly from Adele herself, the most underrated part of her skill-set); tasteful, soulful production; and a voice that recalls Aretha Franklin and Dusty Springfield and resonates with just about every wounded soul on the planet.

That’s the funny thing about pop music: Just when you give up on it, something comes along to remind you why you fell in love with it in the first place.

Adele is no doubt the dominant musical story from the year that was, but she wasn’t the only one. Here are some of the others that got my attention this year:

A new way to listen

Even if the music we heard wasn’t always inspired, the delivery systems for that music became more and more innovative. From Pandora to Spotify to music in the Cloud, I don’t quite understand all of it, but, as a music fan, I sure am enjoying it.

The idea that I can listen to just about any song on the planet anytime I want to is somewhat overwhelming to a guy who grew up trying to tape the hottest songs off the radio to my 8-track player just so I could listen to them at my own convenience.

The grumpy Luddite in me wants to turn up his nose at all of this; the music fan in me flips the Luddite off, sticks the headphones into the computer, and cranks the volume up.

Geezers on parade

Because radio means less and less these days in terms of success, older artists have come out swinging, knowing that they’ve got the best chance of being heard since they were in their heydays.

As a result, guys like Paul Simon, Robbie Robertson, Nick Lowe and Tom Waits showed the whippersnappers how it was done, putting out albums that were far more than echoes of past glory.

That's them in the spotlight

The morbid side of human nature demands that we use the end of the year as a time to reflect on what we’ve lost. It’s no different with music heroes, who always seem to leave us far too soon.

Among the many memorable figures who passed on this year, two stand out. Amy Winehouse’s sad deterioration cannot overshadow her singular talent, even if that talent was on display for far too brief a period. As for Clarence Clemons? Bruce Springsteen often described his saxophone player as the “King of the World.” Anyone who has ever heard the solo in “Jungleland” knows that there is no hyperbole whatsoever in that description.

Album of the year: Sorry, Adele, but no album gave me more enjoyment than the first one I heard in 2011 — The King Is Dead by The Decemberists.

R.E.M.’s members, thankfully, are still with us, but the band decided this year to call it quits. They parted on amiable terms, but, then again, they always did things a little different and a little better than other bands.

The best

I’m happy to report that there was enough great music this year to make compiling a best-of list a difficult proposition. So I’ll just throw some names out there off the top of my head:

Newcomers of the year: Tyler the Creator, Lana Del Rey, Dawes, Das Racist, Kurt Vile
Avoiding the sophomore slump in a big way: Fleet Foxes, Bon Iver
Continued greatness: Wilco, Radiohead

Which leaves my album of the year. Sorry, Adele, but as great as you were this year, no album gave me more enjoyment than the first one I heard in 2011: The King Is Dead by The Decemberists.

The band toned down the sci-fi trappings and hyper-literate lyrics and yielded a moving set of timeless songs that alternately rocked with brooding intensity and swayed with dreamy beauty.

In fact, I’ll think I’ll cue that up on Spotify right now. See you next year.

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Movie Review

Over-the-top acting and incoherent plot drag down Her Private Hell

Photo courtesy of Neon

Sophie Thatcher in Her Private Hell.

Danish filmmaker Nicolas Winding Refn is not someone who plays nice with the general film world. His 2011 film Drive introduced him to American audiences in a big way, but that pulsating thriller was followed up with artier films like Only God Forgives and The Neon Demon that eschewed coherent plots in favor of moody, atmospheric pieces.

Winding Refn, who hasn’t made a feature film in 10 years, has gone fully down the rabbit hole with Her Private Hell. Taking place in a liminal space that kind of resembles Earth but also feels like someone’s dreams/nightmares, the film focuses on Elle (Sophie Thatcher), an actor currently starring in a sci-fi film. Staying at a hotel with newcomer Hunter (Kristine Froseth), the two bond over their shared passion and the legend of Elle’s father, Johnny Thunders (Dougray Scott), who’s now married to Elle’s friend Dominique (Havana Rose Liu).

After spending a good amount of (mostly incomprehensible) time with that group, Refn introduces Private K (Charles Melton), who seems to be living in post-World War II Japan. He is looking for his daughter, who might have been taken by a mysterious figure known as “Leatherman,” and he will stop at nothing to find her, fighting whoever stands in his way.

It becomes clear almost right away that Winding Refn has no desire to engage in traditional storytelling in this film. The main characters wander through neon-drenched streets and buildings, which are often surrounded by a mist that is referred to on multiple occasions but never explained. Everyone speaks as if in a constant state of wonderment, and there are many moments where it’s unclear if events are actually happening, part of a movie-within-a-movie, or something else entirely.

Unlike his previous films, Winding Refn has taken the characters in this film completely out of the real world, with every scene taking place in a sparsely decorated room or street that is obviously a movie set. While there are moments where this decision really works, especially the striking first shot of a human-like figure mixed in with a cityscape and clouds, most of the time it only adds to the stilted nature of the film as a whole.

In fact, the entire movie has the feel of an avant-garde theater exercise. Every actor seems to be trying to outdo the others with awkward performances and out-sized reactions. Two very specific characters make appearances in both sides of the story for seemingly no reason other than to inject their weirdness into both spaces. The shocking violence that crops up on occasion would have more of an impact if it was related to anything intelligible.

Thatcher (Companion) and Liu (Tuner) are among the young stars who have had breakout moments in recent years, but neither of them is served well by this hot mess of a movie. They, along with Melton, still demonstrate the talent they possess, but the oddity of the film weighs them down. Scott makes an impression for all the wrong reasons, while Froseth is called upon to play a character who might as well not be there at all.

If there’s any kind of message that Winding Refn was trying to convey with Her Private Hell, it’s lost among the flashing lights, overload of pink, and jewel-like structures. Filmmakers who try to make art for art’s sake have a place in the world, but this film too often feels like people are making things up as they go, with no real goal in mind.

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Her Private Hell opens in theaters on July 24.

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