February 2013 albums

Here are the album reviews I wrote for the February issue of EL Magazine, which was distributed in Tokyo yesterday.

kesha13brunomars13Warrior
-Ke$ha (RCA/Sony)
Unorthodox Jukebox
-Bruno Mars (Atlantic/Warner)
P!nk opens her latest record with “R We All We R,” an obvious response to fellow pop punctuation diva Ke$ha’s hit of 2011, “We R Who We R,” which was a statement of purpose if ever there was one. Ke$ha’s identification with club-crashing white trash is complete and unabashed, and P!nk, who’s been there and done that, would like to point out the downside of the 24-hour debauch, especially for females, and while some will consider the gesture (which kicks ass, BTW) patronizing, Ke$ha on her second album seems to have gotten the message, from P!nk and others who find her philistinism distressing if not downright phoney. With all that major label pop weight behind her, there was no way the follow-up to Animal was going to be anything less than a steamroller, and the title cut is a manifesto that equates partying with revolution, so take that, Andrew W.K. Rather than simply characterize the drinking and dancing and non-stop snogging as the prerogatives of overburdened youth, she posits them as some sort of social statement: free your libidos and your mind will follow. And if the debut’s melodic template was the rock anthem, she’s added a martial component that makes the pleasure more assertive. “I hear your heart beat to the beat of the drums,” she declares somewhat redundantly on “Die Young,” and it sounds like marching orders. With her exaggerated diphthongs and Auto Tune the cartoon quality of Ke$ha’s singing becomes even more pronounced, especially since every song has that up-down rhythmic thrust: Get in line or die (young). When she introduces Iggy Pop on “Dirty Love” you expect something grittier, more mortal, but despite topical references to Afghanistan and Rick Santorum, Iggy sounds even more like an animated character. Once you’ve entered Ke$ha’s realm, everything’s different; still fun, but as far from real life as commercial porn. Bruno Mars is too much of a pop traditionalist to cop to the porny predilections that most singers bring to the kind of R&B he plies, but his own sophomore effort implies that such a stylistic decision may have been forced upon him. Or maybe he just thinks, like Ke$ha, that decadence and aggression sell better. Whether despairing over the temptations of jail bait, pondering those women who only care about his money, or getting rough in bed with his current paramour, Mars sees the sexual transaction as fraught with hazard to both person and pocketbook, which is very different from the sentimental grind of “Just the Way You Are,” even if the music is equally catchy. In fact, the catchiness reminds you that Mars was initially lauded for his tunesmithing, which while not particularly fresh was certainly accomplished. Unorthodox Jukebox is a step forward since it takes the content for granted and boosts Mars as a bold star worthy of tabloid attention. I wouldn’t call that unorthodox, just smart. Continue reading

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February 2013 movies

Here are the movie reviews I wrote for the February issue of EL Magazine, which was distributed in Tokyo today.

IMG_8178.CR2The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel
This eminently dismissable comedy belongs to that burgeoning genre featuring older British actors exploring the bittersweet experience of old age. All the people you expect are here in roles that now comprise a separate subset of stereotypes: the widow (Judi Dench) suddenly thrust into a life of solitary meaning; the couple (Bill Nighy, Penelope Wilton) whose incompatability is papered over by decades of mutual accommodation; the retiree (Tom Wilkinson) who tries to reconnect with his first love; the randy diehards (Celia Imrie, Ronald Pickup) who still think they can get it up; and the cantankerous spinster (Maggie Smith). They all come together at a Jaipur hotel, which its ambitious owner-manager (Dev Patel) promotes directly to UK seniors. The place offers less than its PR promises, but that’s half the fun as the harried guests mix, match, and come to terms with their respective situations, not to mention mortality. Most of the conflicts are romantic in nature, and while the script offers nothing fresh, the principals are too self-consciously good at what they do to let director John Madden get by on sentiment alone. (photo: Twentieth Century Fox) Continue reading

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Media Mix, Jan. 20, 2013

Masami Kuwata

Masami Kuwata

Here’s this week’s Media Mix, which is about the taibatsu (corporal punishment) controversy surrounding the suicide of a high school basketball player in Osaka. So far the main witness to come out against taibatsu in the major media has been former Yomiuri Giants pitcher Masami Kuwata, who recalls having been beaten on an almost daily basis when he was in elementary school and says that taibatsu does not make young athletes stronger. It’s a fairly straightforward appraisal of the matter and one that carries weight since Kuwata made his name as a high school athlete. In fact, he is arguably more famous as a high school pitcher than he is as a professional. Nevertheless, Kuwata has always rubbed the established sports press the wrong way, mainly because of his attitude, which many veteran sports journalists find high-minded. He has always been seen as an elitist, with his vocal anti-smoking stance and graduate degree in sports psychology from Waseda University. At least one weekly magazine reported that there was a backlash against Kuwata’s anti-taibatsu media campaign, though usually a weekly that reports such a reaction is itself part of the backlash. Does that also mean the media as a whole thinks taibatsu is a good thing? It’s difficult to say. My impression is that the way the details have been presented indicate that most reporters believe the coach, who remains nameless, went overboard in his mission to produce a winning team, but that taibatsu is not as evil as people like Kuwata say it is. In the weeks since the suicide, the story has become more complicated, with reports of an off-campus apartment where players could stay when they practiced too late. Apparently, some of the players who used this apartment, which the school itself didn’t know about initially, misbehaved and the beating the dead student received was administered, at least in part, as punishment for the misdemeanor, since he was the captain and thus responsible for his teammates. Given the code surrounding sports clubs and the attendant use of taibatsu, the beating is pretty much in line with what students who join such a club can expect. Even some parents have, anonymously, told reporters that they assume taibatsu would be part of their children’s athletic development. The fact that the captain was driven beyond that point and committed suicide implies that the coach went too far, and it’s easy to assume that the coach was the type of man who couldn’t control his temper. (Reportedly, he is remorseful, but it seems to be remorse over his failure to assess the situation properly) According to the code, he was free to beat his charges for whatever reason he thought appropriate, and he just got carried away. This is the subtextual narrative I inferred from what I read and heard, and it may be stretching the point, but the gist is that had the coach been more moderate in his use of corporal punishment, the boy wouldn’t have killed himself. This is a correlative to the opinion of Hiroshi Totsuka, whom I cited in the column. Totsuka thinks the problem is kids today: they aren’t properly conditioned to understand that taibatsu is good for them. The media’s opinion seems to be that the coach didn’t acknowledge that there are limits to taibatsu, but that doesn’t mean the media thinks taibatsu itself is a bad thing. Several media described the coach as a “god” in the realm of amateur sports, an image that is all the more mysterious and powerful because of his anonymity. Of course, his career would be over if his name were revealed, and the media’s restraint seems to say: Why waste such an effective educator because of one miscalculation?

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Media Mix, Jan. 6, 2013

photo: Haruya Toukairin

photo: Haruya Toukairin

Here’s this week’s Media Mix about the business of seeds in Japan. As I pointed out in the column, the vast majority of Japanese farmers do not make their own seeds because it is a difficult, time-consuming process. Consequently, the number who actually do make their own seeds diminishes every year. From 1990 to 2007, the amount of land in Japan used for making daikon seeds decreased from 400 hectares to 65; for cabbage, 165 ha to 35. One of the main criteria for seed-growing on a commercial scale is isolation, so that foreign seeds or anything else that might compromise the seed-making vegetables don’t enter the picture and lead to hybrids or interbreeds. Ideally, seed vegetables should be grown in a valley surrounded by large hills or even mountains, which is why the main area for seed-making in Japan is the Tango Peninsula in Kyoto Prefecture, which juts out into the sea–very little chance of contamination. Another reason for the loss of seed-making is the loss of seed-makers. The technology is not being handed down to a younger generation of farmers because the economic incentive isn’t there. The two seed companies mentioned in the column procure their seeds from a variety of sources throughout the world, including some in Europe and China.

Dependency on foreign seeds is even more unsettling than dependency on foreign produce, which is why Monsanto’s possible entry into the Japanese market is something that should be discussed in the media. Though a lot of scientists have questioned the safety of the sort of genetically modified produce that Monsanto and other biochemical multinationals have a monopoly in, there are just as many experts who say that GM food is an essential resource for fighting hunger, including at least one famous environmentalist who recently recanted his anti-GM opinions. That’s not the concern here. The concern is economic. Monsanto owns the patent on its GM seeds, which means once a farmer starts using them he will find it almost impossible to go back to non-Monsanto seeds owing to the purposeful interrelationship between those seeds and the herbicides they were designed to support. Also, once those seeds enter the country there is a good chance their DNA will somehow mingle with local seed materials, thus bringing up the possibility that Monsanto could lay claim to any hybrid seeds that result from this mingling. The company has already shown than it is not afraid to sue farmers to protect its “property,” even if such mingling was totally inadvertent.

So the principles of local cultivation outlined in the documentary Yomigaeri no Recipes take on a significance that transcends any aesthetic or philosophical considerations. In its scope and purpose, the film may seem slight as it devotes a good deal of footage to rural values and the culinary arts, as if the only reasons we should preserve so-called heirloom vegetables are epicurean ones. Whatever one wants to say about Japan’s place in the world as a developed economy, it is not in danger of starving. Agriculture, both small-scale and large, thrives here and it appears more and more young people are now willing to enter the field. And while a good case can be made that public policies have led to inefficiencies in agricultural methods, the adoption of the kind of industrial methods that GM farming entails would simply change the landscape in Japan within a generation and forever. As the film points out, a large number of heirloom vegetables are already extinct because farmers have been encouraged to grow uniform vegetables based on hybrid seeds, which produce sterile vegetables. GM farming would simply accelerate this streamlining process. These are weighty concerns for an island country. It’s not just a matter of tradition-versus-progress.

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Best albums 2012

P!NKIn a year during which my consumption of live music declined considerably I found myself more attuned to the peculiar decisions that musicians make on their recordings. Logistics were the main reason for my not attending as many shows as I used to, but there was the aging thing, too. Though I still appreciate a good performance, my capacity for distraction has grown, especially when trying to get into an act I may not be that familiar with—and I don’t even own a smart phone! As I mentioned in this space last year, much of my listening has transferred over to the space between my ears rather than outside of them. During my sunset-evening walks through the fields of Inzai I tend to focus more on my iPod, and at least two of the albums on the following list rose considerably in my estimation thanks to this ambulatory auditing mode and probably wouldn’t have made as much of an impression if I had only listened to them on speakers in my office, which comes with its own distractions. As far as my number one pick goes, much of the enthusiasm I developed for the album was second-hand. When I received the advance copy in the mail, Masako snatched it up immediately, having been a stone P!nk fan ever since Missundaztood, and during her nightly teeth-brushing ritual she’d be hopping up and down in front of the mirror, earbuds secured for the ride, yelling out all the lyrics she could understand. (Based on the vociferousness of the delivery, her favorite couplet was “I want to hug you/I want to wrap my hands around your neck,” which I’d like to think explains the resilience of our marriage) I liked the album just fine, but M’s enthusiasm was contagious if only because she’s normally rather blase about this sort of Western pop music. It’s P!nk’s fundamentally spunky attitude that appeals to her sense of independence, and while I think P!nk is much more intelligent than she’s given credit for, that appeal is almost anti-intellectual. Rebelliousness can be a con, especially when it comes to entertainment, but M’s reaction to the record made me listen more carefully to the choices I mentioned above because I knew how hard-won M’s own personal independence has been. Under such scrutiny, the record just became irresistible. Continue reading

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Best movies 2012

Keisuke Kinoshita

Keisuke Kinoshita

These are my favorite movies that were released in Japan in 2012. Of them, only one was produced here and that one wasn’t even directed by a Japanese person, thus demonstrating my continuing resistance to post-bubble Japanese cinema, which isn’t creatively bankrupt by any means but nevertheless fails to get through to me by dint of its sometimes parochial sensibility. Probably the most sustained enjoyment I felt in a theater this year was at the Keisuke Kinoshita retrospective at Filmex. As a studio hack Kinoshita did everything from weepy melodramas to broad comedy to seriously thought-provoking social commentary but with more emotional honesty and less ego than anything you will find in the work of Shion Sono, whose ongoing reputation as the savior of post-millennial Japanese cinema baffles the hell out of me. Granted, I still don’t watch enough Japanese movies to have as informed opinion as I should, but the ones I see tend to reveal the same problems: style masking lack of substance, polemicism mistaken for dramatic interrogation, a lack of editorial rigor and control, amateurish acting based on the idea that the actor’s main job is to show everybody—audience and director alike—that (s)he is working really hard. I noticed none of these problems in the Kinoshita movies, which integrated craft and ideas in ways that illuminated stories which weren’t always great but at least showed an understanding of their relative strengths. The best two new Japanese movies I saw were at TIFF, Yutaka Tsuchiya’s GFP Bunny and Bunyo Kimura’s Where Does Love Go? Neither was good enough to make this list but I didn’t find myself being distracted by things that took me out of the viewing experience, such as the kind of transparent attempts Sono makes to heighten emotional responses. In that regard, maybe the best Japanese movie I saw this year wasn’t a movie but a TV series, Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Going My Home, which applied the director’s careful filmmaking methodology to the discipline of multi-part storytelling. I like Kore-eda’s work, or, at least, the films I’ve seen. As with almost all contemporary Japanese directors, I wish he were more skillful with his actors. But he knows how to shape scenes to get the effect he wants, an effect whose main purpose is not to remind us of what an iconoclast the director is. Continue reading

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January 2013 albums

Here are the album reviews I wrote for the Jan. issue of EL Magazine, which was distributed in Tokyo on Christmas Day.

deftones12soundgarden12Koi No Yokan
-Deftones (Reprise/Warner)
King Animal
-Soundgarden (Vertigo/Universal)
Sacramento’s Deftones occupy an interesting position in the hard rock spectrum: a heavy metal outfit that eschews flashy technique and purposely avoids the trappings of image-making. Fans who have been with the band from the start and seen them grow into one of the most popular rock groups on the planet understand their aims better than the rest of us, who always hear something intriguing with every new release but lack the patience to figure out what it is. Koi no Yokan (Premonition of Love) finds the group as mysteriously appealing as ever, with replacement bassist Sergio Vega having learned how to lock in with drummer Abe Cunningham for one of the most distinctive rhythm sounds in rock, a kind of swirling piledriver effect. Moreover, vocalist Chino Moreno has refined his tonal range—Billy Corgan without the annoying affectations—and provides the relatively subdued “Entombed” with its own loud-soft dynamic, alternating the dreamy with the nightmarish, sometimes in the space of a single verse. In fact, “dreamy” says more about the songs’ effect on the listener than either “heavy” or “metal.” Whereas most metal is meant to be provocative or stimulating, Deftones’ is transporting. Stephen Carpenter’s guitar arrangements are prone to drone—a steady buzz of harmonic atmosphere against the rhythm section’s definition—and the tracks are designed to bleed into each other in emotional rather than visceral ways. Though I have trouble isolating Frank Delgado’s keyboard contributions, it may be he who provides the ineffable melodic undertone that gives the music its narcotic pull. This is as organic as hard rock gets, and almost the opposite of Soundgarden, who sound like four guys who have just walked into a room and started playing. When grunge was the thing, they were the seasoned pros of the genre, a band whose primary debt to metal was the music’s practiced tightness. Had drummer Matt Cameron been more capable of swinging they could have played funk. As it was, they seemed more determined to be a very sophisticated punk band. On their first album in 16 years, the group tries to recapture the psychedelic majesty of their best album, Superunknown. Even the slower, more contemplative songs are played at full volume with a hard attack, all the effort as conspicuous as a full moon in a cloudless sky. If it’s better than one expects it to be that says more about Chris Cornell’s star-crossed career as a solo artist than anything inherent in the record’s production or writing. Cornell’s voice has lost its youthful fullness, and when he raises it above Kim Thayil’s ripping guitar patterns the passage of years is obvious: Ozzy Osbourne on the mend, Eddie Vedder saving his tonsils. But if hardness and heaviness no longer translate as the brutal product Soundgarden’s early records delivered, it’s sufficiently provocative and stimulating, just much less interesting than Koi no Yokan. Continue reading

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January 2013 movies

Here are the movie reviews I wrote for the January issue of EL Magazine, which was distributed in Tokyo on Christmas Day.

albertknobbsAlbert Nobbs
The title character of this modest period piece is a waiter in a Dublin hotel at around the turn of the 20th century. Albert is stiff, proper, and so focused on his job that he becomes part of the woodwork. The pseudo-genteel establishment has a snarky petit bourgeois clientele and a pretentious mistress (Pauline Collins). Set against the hustle and bustle, Albert’s reserve renders his character almost inert, a necessary impression given that he has a secret: He is really a woman. Glenn Close played the role on stage in the early 80s and has tried to adapt it to film ever since. Gender-wise the transformation is convincing, but Albert looks his age, or, more precisely, he looks Glenn Close’s age, which confounds some of the finer points of the story. Though we learn little about Albert’s past except that as a girl he was sexually abused, the thrust of the plot involves his determination to open a small tobacco shop with the money he has so painstakingly saved. That process is rerouted after he meets Hubert Page, a tradesman hired to paint the hotel. As luck and screenwriting serendipity would have it, Hubert ends up sharing a room with Albert and learns his secret, and it turns out Hubert is also a woman pretending to be a man. However, the circumstances couldn’t be more different. Hubert also fled into transvestism because of male violence, but he’s more comfortably a man in that he not only interacts with the public at large (Albert is just as invisible on the streets as he is in the hotel parlor) but has a real wife whom he loves deeply. Albert is impressed and decides that he, too, will need a wife as a helpmate and front of respectability when he opens his shop, and starts wooing a young maid named Helen (Mia Wasikowska), who happens to be having a semi-clandestine affair with the hotel handyman, a rough boy named Joe (Aaron Johnson). Determined to migrate to America, Joe has Helen encourage Albert’s attentions so as to exact monetary reward, and while Albert is infinitely more considerate than crude Joe, it’s easy to understand why Helen, at least initially, prefers the latter as a romantic foil. As played by Close, Albert is such a model of two-dimensional propriety that he barely registers as human, much less a woman or a man, and looking like a 50-year-old you wonder what he could offer a young girl. Hubert, by contrast, is so full of the world that, thanks to Janet McTeer’s outsized portrayal, the viewer perks up whenever he enters a scene. Though it would have defeated Close’s purposes, a movie about Hubert’s life would have been much more enlightening about this delicate subject. (photo: Morrison Films) Continue reading

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Media Mix, Dec. 23, 2012

Construction at Yamba Dam site

Construction at Yamba Dam site

Here’s this week’s Media Mix, which is about the Liberal Democratic Party’s pledge to boost economic activity with more public works projects. Because returning prime minister Shinzo Abe is qualifying this regressive strategy in terms that most people will sympathize with–as a means of strengthening the country’s disaster preparedness–I can’t say that it’s not necessary, though I would tend to agree with those critics who say that public spending of this type, meaning not the sort that goes directly into the average citizen’s pocket, will only aggravate Japan’s debt problems. On a more fundamental level, however, I’m against it because of the LDP’s history of wasteful largesse that benefited the country only from the top down, meaning big construction companies that give money to LDP lawmakers did very well by these projects and the local governments they were ostensibly meant to help much less so; though that didn’t stop the latter from asking for and expecting more. The first major disappointment I felt with the Democratic Party of Japan was when it reversed its decision to halt the very expensive Yamba Dam project in Gunma Prefecture. The DPJ’s initial objections may have been mostly symbolic in that they wanted a test case to prove their mettle in reversing years of LDP wasteful spending, but it was a necessary symbolism. The media took its responsibility to challenge authority a bit too literally by siding with local residents, who had already been jerked around by the LDP and the construction ministry for more than 50 years and were resentful of yet another change in direction. The press mostly missed the larger picture, which is that Yamba Dam was–and still is–one of the most pointless pork barrel projects ever undertaken in Japan. Unfortunately, the DPJ couldn’t stand the heat from local governments downriver which had contributed greatly to the project and wanted something for their money, even if they weren’t really going to get what they had paid for. In order for the flood control functions of the dam to be effective, nine more dams would have to be built, and they hadn’t even been planned yet. At that rate, the whole thing wouldn’t have been completed by the middle of the century, and as for ensuring water supply, the prefectures affected have no pressing supply problems. Continue reading

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December 2012 albums

Here are the album reviews I wrote for the December issue of EL Magazine, which was distributed in Tokyo last weekend.

Red
-Taylor Swift (Big Machine/Universal)
R.E.D.
-Ne-Yo (Motown/Universal)
Two years ago we reviewed these two artists’ previous albums together, and at the time Swift’s star was ascending faster than Ne-Yo’s, which was interesting since both emerged as superstars at the same time, albeit in different corners of the pop landscape. Since then Swift has improved, both sales-wise and creatively, while Ne-Yo has struggled to carve out a niche for himself as an artist rather than as merely a very successful R&B singer-songwriter. We’ll assume the striking similarity in album titles (didn’t anyone at Universal mention it to either singer?) is a coinicidence, but as Mitt Romney probably once said, there’s no such thing as coincidence. The difference seems to be their respective ideas of what progress as a modern pop star entails. “State of Grace,” the opening cut of Red, is so far from the country pop of Swift’s previous records as to indicate purposeful movement in a stylistic direction, specifically the strum-pop of the Sundays, a group I wonder if Swift has ever heard, though given that Snow Patrol’s Gary Lightbody does a duet later on the record it could well be that she has. The rockish multi-tracked guitars that show up frequently make her songs of love sound meatier and, by extension, more mature than a close reading of the lyrics might otherwise lead you to believe. When it comes to pop, usually there’s no difference, but Swift’s confidence, not only in her gifts but in her ability to make sense of a romantic history that most singer-songwriters her age would be fretting over, is all the more impressive, especially since she is now working with the expensive producers and song doctors we feared would eventually show up and confound those gifts. The Joni Mitchell analogies that have dogged Swift since it was rumored she would play Mitchell in a movie are wrong not because Swift is a lesser artist (she isn’t), but because she hasn’t found love to be psychically damaging, at least not yet. There is something to be said about being well-adjusted, as well as articulate about what it means. Ne-Yo, on the other hand, has always been a little pushy about his well-meaningness, mainly because as a modern R&B artist he’s expected to be frank about his sexual proclivities. He managed to balance those proclivities with a genuine show of humility on Year of the Gentleman, which is a more pleasurable record than any Swift has released, but since then he’s felt the need to experiment, for want of a better word, mostly in Euro-techno—here utilized to excellent effect on “Let Me Love You”—but also in album-length themes and meta-nonsense. At the end of the opening cut of R.E.D., he invites you to “enjoy the album,” thus placing a burden on the listener: I have to pay attention? Actually, you’ll probably appreciate it more if you do, but Red doesn’t need any sort of imperative. Continue reading

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