Transfiguration of Vincent by M. Ward

In elementary school, I used to read Circus Magazine all the time, eager for gossipy tidbits about my favorite bands, grown men with teased hair and makeup. Later in high school, I wrote a poem with my friend called “Man Trapped in Closet” for a school publication. These events are related in so far that it wasn't until years later I finally realized they both had severe homo-erotic undercurrents. I still write the occasional poem, although I make sure to title them things like “My Girlfriend Likes it Doggy” even if most of them are about the changing seasons of life. On the other hand, I never read Circus anymore. This is partly because I have no interest in hair-metal (although I still believe that Cinderella’s bluesy-cock-rock is ageless). The point is that I don’t read much rock journalism at all anymore, even though my interest in music has grown exponentially since I first picked up Motley Crue’s Theatre of Pain back in 4th grade (of course, seeing Tommy Lee’s huge penis on a VHS tape in college was probably when all the “things in my youth that could now be considered a little gay” dawned on me, but more on that in another record review).

So, I don’t much about M. Ward. Judging from his music, he’d be a fairly interesting person to talk to, but if he doesn’t sing about it include it in his liner notes, then I’ll wait until we actually speak to learn about him. Until then, he and anybody else on my CD shelf (and in “My Music” folder) can be pricks or humanitarians. As long as they produce albums as beautiful as Transfiguration of Vincent, then all is well. You probably don’t know if you can trust me after reading my first paragraph, but believe it- this record is better than Cinderella’s Night Songs, Long Cold Winter, and Heartbreak Station combined!

If Elliot Smith had gotten better instead of trifling when he awkwardly moved from his “acoustic” period to his “instrumentation” period, plus had a box full of mid-century American records to dwell on, then this is what it might have been. Matt Ward has a similar, soft voice that compliments the sparse affair in many of his songs. Yet, it also fits perfectly within layers of fluttering feedback, jazzy guitar licks, bubbling horns, and piano-twang.

He, also, will invariably be compared to “sad songwriters” like Nick Drake because of the lyrics and the finger-picking. He also mentions the word "sad" 16 times in his first two songs. But the sense of loss that has suffused his past two albums is complimented by a spry wink. It’s the same cold-beer in a desert-town contentment-vibe that Ward’s former label mate Howe Gelb makes his living on. This collection might just qualify as elusive sad-songs that make you want to dance. He knows it, too, ending things with an elegant cover of David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance”.

Strangely familiar but utterly new, this loose brew of mood, experimentation, and harmony is a keeper. On a scale of 80’s glam-rock magazines, where Metal Edge is a 1 and Hit Parader is a 10, Transfiguration of Vincent is a Kerrang!, the numerical equivalent of a 9.1.

-Nathan Fuller

The Italian Job
directed by F. Gary Gray

I just saw X2: X-Men United, a story about a bizarre parallel universe where blue, mutant beings live among us and the president is an intelligent person. The most interesting thing, however, was an unadvertised short film before the movie with huge stars and incredible stunts. I was surprised to find the industry would produce something so spectacular without any promotion or an inflated ticket price, but it was very good and a nostalgic reminder of cinema’s early days when short cartoons would appear before every movie.

The plot of this fast-paced action vehicle revolves around a gang of bank robbers played by Mark Wahlberg, Charlize Theron, Edward Norton, and Seth Green. In the setup, Norton double-crosses his team in a foreign country identified only by snowy mountains. Everyone else wants payback, a disembodied voice informs us, so they follow Norton to America where they manage to set him up and get back the loot during a car chase that involves a truck falling through a bridge and Green, as a comic-relief computer geek, monitoring “mission payback” with a laptop. At one point, Wahlberg punches Norton and Theron later complains that she did not get to punch him, too. But then, at the end of the movie, when Norton knows he’s been out-witted and there’s nothing he can do about it, she does punch him! What a finale!

Because of the one-and-a-half minute running time, some information definitely gets lost in the furious tempo. It seems some dialogue must have ended up on the cutting room floor, and the reason that truck falls through the bridge or who belongs to the disembodied voice is never fully explained. The chemistry between Mark and Charlize, though, is wonderfully snappy, and makes up for any missing plot points.

Knowing Hollywood, some genius will see this and decide to re-make it as a TV series or a feature-length film. Let’s hope, for once, this doesn’t happen, and we can enjoy The Italian Job for what it is- the ultimate, sexy express-train of suspense movies. On scale of Wahlberg brothers, where Robert is a 1 and Donnie is a 10, The Italian Job starring Mark Wahlberg is, coincidentally, a Mark Wahlberg, the numerical equivalent of a 7.9.

-Nathan Fuller