Denis Johnson's Tree of Smoke and the Endless War in Iraq

Out of all the major upsets, tragedies, and failures America has experienced in this new century, none will be as damaging to American morale as our current war in Iraq. We've just marked two major milestones in Iraq--five years of direct conflict and war, and four thousand troop deaths--and yet, the powers that be, those taking on the unenviable task of trying to fix this mess, have not improved conditions for the Iraqi people or for America's safety and standing in the world.

And yet, we knew it was inevitable. We knew that our relationship with the Middle East was contentious and multi-layered, and that a military occupation of a nation that did not provoke or attack us would stir up resentment and anger in that region. We may never recover from these fractured relationships, much less win militarily.

Those who warned against war in 2003 had their patriotism questioned and their voices silenced, and now that their fears of the worst have come true, they now seem to represent the mainstream opinion. Yet, the Bush administration and Republican Presidential nominee John McCain continue to support this war without an end, and their poll numbers continue to fall.

Of course, the War in Iraq is not the first war America has messed up. The obvious one was Vietnam, but there were plenty that came before that, and even the ones that we won had their problems and setbacks. These wars, and the effects they have on an entire population of people, seem to come and go throughout history. Yet nothing seems to change; every other generation or so, we start the pattern of fear, war, remorse, and peace over again and then promise that we'll never do it again.

Denis Johnson's 2007 novel Tree of Smoke speaks to a war-torn generation in the ways that previous war novels have spoken, and all the elements of a classic are built right in. First, Johnson writes of a different era (the Vietnam war), a grand but elusive objective controlled by the mythical powers that be (the CIA's secret operations), and a resolution that leaves our heroes as washed up failures. Like Joseph Heller's World War II novel Catch-22, Johnson's characters are left without a definitive purpose or objective except to stay alive and trust their commanders. The commanders, and those who assume the roles of authority, have their own things going on and no one knows exactly what might happen.

The novel follows several characters that are directly involved with the Vietnam war effort, but mainly focuses on CIA operative William "Skip" Sands and his uncle Colonel Sands ("the colonel") as they attempt to win the war. The colonel is essentially operating a proxy war through the psy-ops division of the CIA, attempting to attack the Vietcong through double agents and their own superstitions. But as the colonel operates in the shadows of the war, he becomes a larger-than-life myth himself. Those around the colonel see him as much more than a mere operations manager, and the colonel begins to lose focus of the war on the ground.

The colonel will eventually die, but his death will remain a mystery that Skip and the colonel's confidant, Sgt. Jimmy Storm, try to understand and figure out. After the war, both Skip and Storm will attempt to discover the truth behind the colonel's disappearance, and their lives will become muddied versions of the lives they led before the war. The end of the war brings with it disillusionment and sacrifice that is far removed from the idealistic beliefs of morality and justice they were taught.

Just as the title suggests, Johnson's characters operate under the false myths that America's might will ultimately win, and that in a war against an inferior nation, America automatically assumes the role of morality and righteousness. These myths, like the tree of smoke, are abstract; they are impressions of the thing itself, just like a tree of smoke isn't actually a tree, but rather, smoke plumes shaped like a tree. Equally, the title shows Johnson's grasp of the intricate complexities of war. "Tree of smoke" is biblical (“'There shall be blood and fire and palm trees of smoke' - from Joel, wasn’t it?” says a Catholic priest in the novel), but it also represents a philosophy of warfare that the colonel embodies, a "sincere goal for the function of intelligence--restoring intelligence-gathering as the main function of intelligence operations, rather than to provide rationalisations for policy." Essentially, the colonel's proxy war in Vietnam is a war of conflicting cultures and myths that fails, and leavs the characters that surround him confused about their purpose in Vietnam.

It's this idea that permeates throughout entire novel. Johnson's fluid prose style, mixed with the grander themes of war and morality, point to our current war in Iraq. They leave open the many questions we now have about the Bush administration's flawed logic that got us into this war in the first place. Just like the colonel's flawed philosophy regarding the "function of intelligence," the Bush administration's flawed philosophy of pre-emptive war has turned out to be a "tree of smoke" in its own right. The "smoke" just happens to be claims of weapons of mass destruction, Saddam Hussein's plans to attack America, and the exploited fears of American's living in a post-9/11 world.

Most Americans see the war in Iraq with much clearer eyes, and a strong majority of Americans believe it's time to withdraw. As the major characters in Tree of Smoke become confused about their role in the Vietnam War, Americans at home doubted the purpose of the war as well. Sound familiar?

Tree of Smoke may use a historical turning point in American history as a way to tell a fictional story, but its story feels more relevant now than ever before. Five years into it, the Iraq war has no major turning point or sense of resolution, leaving Americans uneasy about the future. Denis Johnson knows this, and so do his readers; the myths that shaped our policies in the past continue to shape our policies now, and America will continue the cycle throughout the rest of the century.

Review: Willing by Scott Spencer

Of all the great thinkers of the 20th Century, Sigmund Freud's theories on the inner workings of the mind have affected our perceptions of reality the most. Freud's psychoanalytic theories have become such a prominent aspect of culture--both pop culture as well as critical theory and analysis--that it has shaped how we view our world, and we've all become a little more self-conscious as a result.

In Willing, author Scott Spencer is clearly playing with some psychoanalytic ideas. He follows in the footsteps of authors such as Vladimir Nabokov and Saul Bellow by revealing plot through the skewed lens of his protagonist Avery Jankowsky. Of course, what we are allowed to see is never the full truth, and we must take Avery's experiences at face value.

Willing follows Avery, a 37-year-old Manhattan freelance journalist whose young girlfriend Deirdre cheats on him with her grad school classmate Osip. When Avery finds out about the affair, he falls into a deep funk. Unable to find decent freelance work, his uncle refers him to his longtime friend Lincoln Castle, who hosts (at $135,000 a trip) a world sex tour for wealthy executives. Avery sees a book opportunity, gets a book deal, and embarks on the sex tour to "research" for his book.

Of course, Spencer doesn't let his protagonist off with an easy assignment like that, and Avery faces his own personal demons along the way. Despite declaring himself as "the guy in the stands at the World Series, ...[with] his hand on his heart and his eyes bright with belief," Avery has a past that haunts him. The first sign that something is not all right with Avery is the way he internalizes his mother's four past marriages, his "four fathers" that he wears with pride in public but rejects in private. Not only does Avery deal with his own father issues, he has to face his mother's overbearing nature both directly and indirectly.

As a result of Avery's inner struggles, Spencer suggests that what's more important in Willing is not the bawdiness of a sex tour, or even the outright hypocrisy of those rich CEO types on the tour, but the conflicts faced by a man who has never actually confronted them. For example, Avery's mother seeks him throughout the novel (Avery keeps "seeing" his mother in various locations around the world) and Avery must face her directly in the middle of his sex tour escapades. Avery's response is not to assert himself as an adult male, but rather to seek her comfort. He also never faces his reaction to Dierdre's infidelity; even as he desperately wants to be with her, he assumes that his own insecurities will never allow him to connect with her directly. Avery's whole bizarre, textbook Oedipal complex approach to life is both pathetic and comic at the same time.

One of Willing's strengths, and a strength of Spencer's prose style in general, is that we never know where reality and the fantasy of Avery's narration actually meet. There is a dreamlike quality to the entire novel, and Avery's self-deprecating tone and recollection of events is full of the random and surreal. Spencer reflects this dreamlike quality on a technical level as well through his lack of quotation marks and stripped-down dialog.

Even though Spencer is successful in creating a bizarre, psycho-sexual narrator and protagonist, he is not as successful with some of the basic elements of continuity and plot. At times, Avery's experiences don't make sense. For example, Avery is able to secure a $400,000 book deal within 24 hours after sending off his pitch, justifying his sex tour trip. I wish I lived in that type of world, where a struggling freelance journalist can sign an amazing book contract deal that fast. Spencer also loses the reader at the end, when Lincoln Castle kicks Avery off the sex tour because of a string of unfortunate events and because he was "pulling the plugs out of computers" at his Reykjavik hotel. Seems like such a minor reason to be kicked off a sex tour. At the same time, Spencer's comic portrayal of Avery's antics makes up for it, even if it's a bit unbelievable.

Willing may have its flaws, but it is, for the most part, an enjoyable read. Spencer's portrayal of Avery is hilarious, and Avery's personal demons interweave with the plot well. Willing leaves the reader with an understanding that, in this world of psychoanalysis and obsession, there is still hope to laugh at our mistakes.

Rating: 6/10

Originally published at Blogcritics.org: http://blogcritics.org/archives/2008/03/27/050653.php

Old articles now up

I've added a few older articles up here to give you readers a perspective on what we're looking for on this site. It's a start, but still not fully what we'll be doing here.

In the next week, I'll have some original articles up here that will give more perspective.

For now, send me an e-mail if you'd like to make a suggestion or want more information.

Also, check out our submission guidelines.

Just getting started

Yesterday, I kicked off this blog with a brief introduction and statement explaining what I hope to do with this thing. Now comes the fun part: getting started.

I've posted a submissions guidelines page because we'd like to get more writers on board. I don't think this thing will work the way I want it to without some varying perspectives on the world.

Right now, I'm leaving this thing open to all types of media and art. However, you'll notice the sub-heading at the top says this site is "A weblog of mixed media + cultural criticism with a literary bent," well, that's just my own perspective because of my own experiences. I know literature, I don't know other forms of art nearly as well (except music, I guess). So that's another reason why I want other writers. The "literary bent" I'm looking for is that I think literature works best when it's allowed to connect with the society that created it, and I think the same applies for other works of media/art.

You'll see a lot of archived reviews, opinions, and essays on the state of the world show up on the site in the next few days. Once I have some of those older articles up, I'll start posting some original stuff that'll be exclusive to the site. Of course, if I get any new writers, I'll add their stuff as well.

For now, sit back and enjoy.

--Kevin

Welcome to There There Kid

Welcome to There There Kid. Obviously, this is our first post, and we won't be up and running for a month or so as we sort out the format, etc.

However, this blog will be a mixed media blog that brings together many different forms of art, placing the works within their cultural contexts. After all, art doesn't occur within a vacuum, and we hope to reveal the undercurrents of culture that shape our art.

I hope to use my experience with literature, music, art, and criticism to create a blog that mixes all of these elements together. For example, can we find links between a current novel and a popular indie rock album? When a musician says they read X, does it come out in that musician's song lyrics?

In addition, I'd like to add reviews and features that probe deeper into topics than the average review site.

Keep checking back as we update the site and add more useful stuff to it.

Review: The Gutter Twins - Saturnalia

Before you even open the disc or listen to a single second of the album, The Gutter Twins' debut release Saturnalia speaks to you through its striking album cover. The cover is a photo showing classic urban prairie, an abandoned lot between two shotgun houses, where the greenery only grows as weeds between the cracks of a neglected sidewalk and life seems to have gone underground. Two chairs sit in the center of the photo, and behind that, a dark, cloudy sky looms over the scenery and reflects off a dead tree.

Yet, there's something alive about the album cover. It draws you in and forces you to face the realities of humanity, and that life is not always beautiful and serene.

It's been a while since I've seen an album cover so succinctly describe the mood and tone of the music on the album itself. Even the two chairs — which are probably empty because the two members of The Gutter Twins are off recording this excellent album — speak of something profound. Is it abandonment? Poverty? A political message, possibly conjuring the images of destruction in the wake of Hurricane Katrina? Who knows...

Fortunately, the album cover is only one small aspect of why this album moves me. The Gutter Twins have created music that, at every listen, reveals some minor nuance I missed the time before. It's an emotionally and musically complex album, and one of the best to come out this year (so far).

The Gutter Twins are composed of two former '90's music powerhouses — Mark Lanegan of the Screaming Trees and Greg Dulli of The Afghan Whigs — and, I have to admit, I was initially skeptical that this combination would work. While I enjoyed The Afghan Whigs back in the day, I was never a fan of the Screaming Trees, and these two lead singers seemed worlds apart to me.

However, Saturnalia shows that these two musicians are a perfect match. While the album moves through many different styles and genres, it remains a unified collection of songs that speak to many different emotions and situations. Plus, it's a musically strong collection that flows from track to track, and hints at what's to come on future releases.

Saturnalia kicks off with "The Stations," a great starting point for this album, as it seems to summarize the mood of the entire album. Dulli and Lanegan share writing credits and vocals for this song; on most of the other songs, Dulli and Lanegan have split up the song writing and recording. "The Stations" captures an airy atmosphere through its reverberating guitars and backing strings, suggesting a maturity in sound as these two grunge masters have grown up. Lanegan sings of a blended religiosity and hope for the future ("I hear the rapture's coming / They say he'll be here soon / Right now there's demons crawling all around my room"), but he also sings of confusion ("Don't know what they mean").

"The Stations" transitions well into "God's Children," and the album's first half starts to take shape. It's full of melancholic ambiguity, and the Lanegan/Dulli mashup expresses this ambiguity best. "All Misery/Flowers," for example, expresses the need to "hold on" while it also suggests an end: "Let's ride suicide / Say what you want, but you make it, don't lie." The religious ambiguity is also used for stylistic effect, and the blues/R&B influences of these two artists shows through, both in their vocal styles and in their lyrical themes.

Saturnalia takes a turn with "Circle the Fringes," another Dulli/Lanegan composition rife with strings and growing atmosphere. The album becomes more inward looking, suggesting inner turmoil rather than social concerns. On "Who Will Lead Us?" Lanegan moves through a spiritual ballad that leans on the musician's blues influences. The call-and-response between the guitar and the vocal styles is pure blues, but it's still tinged with the loud guitars brooding in the background. Lanegan calls out, as if to God, saying: "I think the chariot is coming / And if it should please you Lord / I give this trumpet up to Gabriel." Other tracks, like "I Was In Love With You" (a Dulli composition), focus more on personal relationships rather than spiritual concerns.

The album ends by tying up the loose ends left at the beginning of the album. Stylistically, songs like "Each to Each" and "Front Street" bring back the loudness brewing beneath the airy atmosphere that defines this album. Equally, there is more partnership between the two musicians, and on "Front Street," the album ends with the same thoughts that the album cover initially brings up: "Front Street ain't a place for a boy who / Likes to talk ways that boys do / Unstrung, young, dumb, comfortably numb." It conjures up an image of a boy in the street behind the camera who has yet to grow up and face the world, yet it also speaks to some of the most basic human concerns of adulthood.

There's no doubt that The Gutter Twins have something going for them, and Saturnalia is an excellent start. Don't expect these two '90's stars to stick to old clichés. Instead, expect an album that both reflects originality and a reflected sense of maturity. I have a feeling we may be talking about Saturnalia for years to come.

Originally published at Blogcritics.org: http://blogcritics.org/archives/2008/03/11/193631.php

Review: Things Fall Apart, 50th Anniversary Edition by Chinua Achebe

Fifty years ago, Africa was a continent struggling to find identity and freedom, despite centuries of control and change that destroyed the cultures of a diverse group of people. As Africa struggled to free itself from colonial rule in the second half of the 20th century, there were many who wondered if Africa could survive in the industrial age and move beyond colonialism.

In 2008, it's hard to say whether Africa's independence from colonial rule has resulted in freedom. It has certainly allowed many nations, such as Nigeria and South Africa, to compete globally, but it has also left many others in the throes of poverty, genocide, and war. As African nations found their independence throughout the '60's and '70's, many hoped Africa would become a new world superpower, but it never happened. It has been a tumultuous time, and Africa continues to struggle with the scars left by colonial rule.

Recognizing Africa's struggles between the traditions of the past and the turmoil left by colonialism, Chinua Achebe's novel Things Fall Apart shows how these struggles are not always simple to understand. Originally published in 1958, Things Fall Apart has become a modern classic, and a 50th anniversary edition was released this month to celebrate the novel's lasting impact.

Things Fall Apart follows Okonkwo, a village leader who becomes one of the most powerful men in Umuofia, his ancestral village. As Okonkwo strives to rise from obscurity to importance, he brings along with him the traditions that his village requires of him. Even though Okonkwo faces hardship throughout the novel, Achebe shows us that the cultural expectations and beliefs of this region are complex and difficult to understand, but more powerful than the Western world portrays it, especially in 1958.

Okonkwo's rise to a powerful position in Umuofia also reveals the struggles of a man torn apart by a multiplicity of emotions, and Okonkwo faces these throughout the novel. At one point, Okonkwo breaks the customs of Umuofia, and Okonkwo and his family are exiled from the village for seven years. Okonkwo is forced to start over, and he does so, building his power and manhood back.

Achebe's novel takes an interesting turn when Okonkwo returns to Umuofia, and he finds a village changed by outside forces. British missionaries have set up a Christian church in the village, and are trying to convert the villagers to Christianity. While many of the villagers convert to the new religion, Colonial forces take over the political and cultural beliefs and customs of the region, and Okonkwo, a man rooted in the traditions of the past, feels lost. Instead of portraying the British empire as the enemy and the villagers as the heroes, Achebe puts these political changes within their historical context; it becomes clear that the events take place at the height of Victorian Britain, and the fervor surrounding the Colonial government becomes a fact that Okonkwo must face. By showing the nuances and multiple customs and traditions that Okonkwo knew as a young man, Achebe shows how difficult it is for Okonkwo to face these outside forces.

In the end, Okonkwo won't face them with honor. Achebe then shows how complicated Colonial Africa has become, that it is a region full of turmoil that will last for years to come. In 1958, a time of change for post-colonial Africa, Things Fall Apart became a way for Africans to respond to their colonists, and in the decades after its publication, the novel would represent why change in the region was so necessary.

Now that fifty years have passed, Things Fall Apart is still an important novel because of its complex portrayal of colonialism. Although the novel seems simple at face value, it shows how difficult it is to overcome centuries of colonial rule that uprooted so many people and customs, and left them at the mercy of corporate and political greed. Achebe doesn't paint a black and white world when he describes Okonkwo's struggles; instead, he shows that things are difficult to fix once they have been broken.

Africa may one day become the prosperous world power that seemed possible fifty years ago, as nation after nation found their independence from colonial rule. Achebe's novel shows that it's too difficult to view Africa from one perspective, and the story will remain a powerful force in African literature.

Originally published at Blogcritics.org: http://blogcritics.org/archives/2008/03/01/123602.php

Review: Ralph Ellison - A Biography by Arnold Rampersad

Ralph Ellison began his life in Oklahoma in 1913, an area far removed from the cultural changes happening in America and an area that, despite its promise of a new life, still held blacks in the throes of Jim Crow racism. As a child, Ralph desired more from the America he grew to love and respect, and he would reach new heights through an unwavering love for the arts, especially jazz; he saw musicians like Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington as heroes because they made it into the heart of American society, despite their skin color (later, in his novel Invisible Man, Ellison's unnamed narrator would also find solace in Armstrong's music).

Ralph would eventually get there. His life ended in 1994 as a man who overcame odds against him as a kid to become a literary icon whose novel Invisible Man is still revered today. He was a man who always set the bar high, and despite accomplishing much in his life, he never finished the second novel he always promised would be a novel about the African-American experience that would rival Faulkner and Melville. In many ways, Invisible Man became that novel, and Ellison's short stories, essays and literary criticism would become standards for reading America and American literature.

It was the second novel that would always weigh on Ellison's mind. With his heightened expectations, the novel would fall under the weight of prestige and fame. Ellison also became the victim of time, and the longer he waited to bring his novel out, the more America--and, therefore, Ellison's expectations of America--changed. He would blame everything from writer's block "as big as the Ritz," the changing cultural expectations of black writers, and a house fire in 1967 that Ellison claimed destroyed the majority of his novel.

In Ralph Ellison: A Biography by Arnold Rampersad, the myths surrounding Ellison is finally rebuffed. Rampersad's biography digs deep into every event surrounding Ellison's career, and strikes a balance between his personal demons and his public persona without placing the writer on a pedestal. Ellison is shown not only as an intelligent voice for his generation, but also as a man prone to anger and a man who stubbornly stuck to what he knew to be true.

Rampersad begins his story by looking into Ellison's tumultuous childhood in the segregated Oklahoma City, where his mother raised him and his younger brother Herbert with the help of neighbors and friends (his father died early in Ellison's life when a shard of ice stabbed him in the stomach after lifting a block of ice). He recalls the difficulties of Jim Crow in Oklahoma; at one point, Ellison's mother was turned away from the city zoo with both her sons, embarrassed by the white security guard. Rampersad does not just focus on Ellison's career, but shows how Ellison's early years helped shape his literature.

When Ellison grows up and heads to college, Rampersad shows a life that closely reflected Ellison's fiction, especially his most famous novel Invisible Man. Ellison's time at Tuskegee, and his reasons for leaving the institution, shape how the narrator of Invisible Man will form his own identity. Rampersad sweats the small details, showing the progression Ellison took as he moved to Harlem in the 1930's and became a writer. Writers such as Langston Hughes and Richard Wright directly influenced Ellison's desire to write a great novel, even though Ellison would later distance himself from these writers due to his changing political beliefs. Rampersad also tracks Ellison's political evolution, from Communist sympathizer in the 1930's to moderate Democrat in the 1960's and beyond. In Invisible Man, Ellison's narrator would make a similar political change, albeit on a smaller level. Indeed, Ellison's fiction was often closely linked to his own changes.

Rampersad's exhaustive research also reveals a man who was prone to arrogance and, as a result, was often viewed as out of touch with modern American literature, especially in the ever changing 1960's. While Ellison worked night and day on the novel that would rival Faulkner (that he ultimately never finished), a new perspective on race relations, especially among blacks, emerged. Ellison was stuck between two conflicting worlds: a white America that accepted Ellison and allowed him to move up in society, and a black America that accused Ellison of being an "Uncle Tom." Ellison never backed down; despite younger writers seeing him as out of touch with the struggles of the modern world, Ellison always believed that race relations were more complex than black versus white, and that African-American culture was distinctly American. As he aged and black radicalism subsided, many young scholars turned back to Ellison's words, and his view of America endures today.

Perhaps the most interesting section of Rampersad's biography is his mention of the 1967 fire that destroyed Ellison's Plainfield, Mass. estate. What is interesting about this event is how minor it truly was. As Ellison continued to labor away with his novel-in-progress, he would claim to those who asked him that most of it was destroyed in the fire, and therefore spent years trying to re-write the novel from memory. The truth, according to Rampersad, was that Ellison lost only a small portion of the novel, since most of the novel was left at his home in Harlem. The novel was never finished or published during his lifetime because Ellison fell under the weight of it, as it grew to be well over 1,000 pages long without any real direction. Later, a portion of the novel would become Juneteenth, published posthumously (the rest of the novel is supposed to be published later this year).

Rampersad ends his biography with Ellison's 1994 death. Suffering from pancreatic cancer, Ellison went peacefully at his Harlem apartment. While listening to a Louis Armstrong song, Ellison signaled to his wife Fanny that the song was perfect, suggesting that Ellison, even on his deathbed, still regarded jazz as one of the most important experiences of his American adventure.

Ralph Ellison: A Biography is an excellent look at a man and a career that, despite its ups and downs, deserves respect. Although he faced his critics (sometimes head on) with a bullish attitude, it was done because of his true belief that America would endure. Although he never finished the second novel he always promised, Invisible Man and his collections of literary and cultural criticism have become classics. Rampersad's exhaustive research leaves nothing behind, revealing a conflicted man who still knew what he ultimately wanted, an integrated America that recognized a multiplicity of views, and in many ways, he got just that.

Originally published at Blogcritics.org: http://blogcritics.org/archives/2008/02/21/144546.php

Review: Drew Gress - The Irrational Numbers

Unlike many other musical styles, jazz stands out as a genre that can easily tap into the deep crevices of the mind, digging up deeply held emotions and feelings. Stylistically, it is ready to express many ideas at once, to reveal the subtle feelings and nuanced thoughts that aren't always seen at the surface.

Most modern jazz musicians recognize this, and with this knowledge comes the challenge to move listeners in deep, meaningful ways. Any true jazz fan knows that jazz is not just here to entertain or create pretty sounds (in fact, a lot of jazz isn't too pretty), but that it is here to express and reflect the inner movements and expressions of the mind.

Which brings jazz musician Drew Gress into the conversation, a man who truly knows how to use each instrument and every improvisational technique to the greatest emotional effect. In his latest, The Irrational Numbers, Gress knows that his bass-driven jazz digs deep into, as Jack Kerouac said in his novel On The Road, the "pit and prune juice " of the human experience. The Irrational Numbers does just this, taking its listeners on a complex journey of highs and lows experienced at the peaks of mountains and the crevices of caves.

At first listen, The Irrational Numbers is hard to take in, bringing in equal amounts of dissonance and beautiful melodies. Every musician goes off on their own improvisational techniques, digging deep into their own personal feelings in order to bring together the group as a whole. At times, Gress' sound becomes jangled and discordant, but just as he goes off on a tangential riff, he brings the group back to a more unified, conventional sound.

The album starts off with "Bellwether," a short introductory song that highlights the more subdued elements of the rest of the album. With Ralph Alessi's muted trumpet and Gress' bass motifs carrying the rhythm and melody, "Bellwether" is a way for the band to say "we're here" and for the listener to wake up.

Once Gress has us listening attentively with "Bellwether," he gets right into it with "Chevelle," a fast moving and, at times, dissonant song that brings in the whole band. "Chevelle" begins with pounding beats and discordant piano chords. When the horns come in, there is a frantic pace, as each musician improvises on top of the riffs holding the rhythm together, including Gress' bass (here, Gress takes a step back, letting the other musicians take solos). Eventually, "Chevelle" breaks through the madness, and comes to a more conventional jazz technique. At the end, the piano (along with Gress' electronic instruments) brings the rest of the band back down to a beautiful, ethereal moment on the album.

The rest of The Irrational Numbers continues in this way. On "Your Favorite Kind," alto saxophonist Tim Berne riffs along with Alessi's trumpet, juxtaposing each other with fast, technical solos. Gress also reasserts his bass prowess, moving his fingers along the fingerboard as fast as he can. On "Fauxjobim," the band starts off with the same subdued sound of "Bellwether," carries that to the end while drummer Tim Rainey improvs all over the place.

The Irrational Numbers has a way of drawing the listener in, as if the album is one continuous stream of sound. In fact, this is the type of album you can get lost in, not realizing there's a new song every few minutes. By the end of the album, Gress has you wanting more. Throughout the album, Gress also hearkens back to the motifs at the beginning of the album, like the subdued chorus of "Bellwether" and the chaotic moments of "Chevelle." In this way, the whole album feels like it's telling a story through sound. As "Blackbird Backtalk" fades out to the next track "By Far," for example, Gress has taken you into a fiery chaos and then left you in an icy sea, and you must find your way out. And then, on "That Heavenly Hell," you are back to chaos and confusion, as the saxophone and piano fight each other for your attention. It builds to a climax and then leaves you with "True South," a slower track that rounds out the album and goes back to the control and beauty of "Bellwether."

Gress also shows off his bass skills when you least expect it. On "Mas Relief," a short song that lulls you into the bombastic "That Heavenly Hell," Gress riffs along on his bass with a few keyboard effects in the background. It's a beautiful song that shows Gress doesn't always need to fall behind his band; his powerful talent on bass alone can hold a song together.

The Irrational Numbers shows that Gress is willing to delve deep into the recesses of the mind to move listeners. At times, the music moves into chaos, and then within a split second everything seems back to normal. Gress displays a strong command of jazz while showing that the bass can still reign supreme when everything is done right. Overall, The Irrational Numbers is a great album that is worth every second.

Originally published at Blogcritics.org: http://blogcritics.org/archives/2008/02/20/164619.php

Best Song of 2007

Narrowing down the year's best songs into a fashionable list is a difficult task to take on. It's bad enough trying to figure out this year's best albums, and it's even more difficult to pick out individual songs, especially picking a single song that makes the whole year shine.

As we wrap up 2007, however, there's one song that sticks out to me more than any other. It's a song that's meant more to me than any other this year, and it's a song that I feel summarizes the reasons why I fell in love with music. For some reason, all of the pieces to this song just fit so well.

Appropriately enough, Radiohead's "Jigsaw Falling Into Place" is my choice for 2007's song of the year. It is, in my opinion, Radiohead's climactic peak artistically and musically, a song that ties in everything Radiohead has done and everything Radiohead has yet to do. It borrows from the past while reveling in the present, and suggests what is to come: a band that has recognized a new musical phase and is ready to reach new heights.

My first experience with Radiohead goes back to the summer of 2001. I was seventeen and, thanks to my Dad's job that took our family overseas, I was living in England. The escape from my mundane life in Central Illinois was a welcome change, but I was experiencing constant culture shock and felt particularly isolated and alone that summer. Luckily, I had my guitar and a four-track recording system I borrowed from a neighbor friend, and tons of time after school to write and record various songs I had written over the years. It was a time in my life where I finally started to take music seriously, enjoying bands like Pink Floyd and Pearl Jam (my favorite at the time) with more depth and understanding than ever before. I finally saw rock music as more than just a release from the mundane or a call to social rebellion, but as a true art form, and one that can entirely move the soul.

It was around that time that I borrowed a taped recording of Radiohead's sophomore release The Bends, and it completely changed my view of the band that, at the time, was making computer noises on Kid A and Amnesiac (I have since fallen in love with these two albums, but at the time I couldn't stand them). The Bends was different: its combination of loud guitars and atmospheric noise stuck with me, and I couldn't have enough of the album. I spent the rest of that summer writing bad ripoff songs that sounded too much like "My Iron Lung" and "Fake Plastic Trees," but it wasn't the music itself that got me through that melancholy summer, it was the act of discovery--finding something completely new, something I'd never heard before, that I could call my own.

Since then, Radiohead has become one of my favorite bands. With their incredible mix of visual art with atmospheric noises and orchestral compositions, Radiohead has become a band that goes beyond genre restrictions and fan expectations. They are a band willing to try new things, to forge new paths, and stay completely accessible to discerning music listeners.

Radiohead's In Rainbows has been all over the place recently. It took the number one spot for several prominent music year end lists, and for others, it stayed within the top ten. The best part about the album is that, despite the unconventional pay-what-you-want marketing, In Rainbows is better known for its incredible music, which of course is what all the hype is about. At the beginning of the album's opening track, singer Thom Yorke declares "how come I end up where I started," suggesting that the band has finally come full circle and is ready to step out to newer ground.

Buried towards the end of the album, In Rainbows reaches a climax with "Jigsaw Falling Into Place," and it's at this moment, when the acoustic guitars come in and drummer Phil Selway holds the strong rhythmic beat together, that Yorke's earlier declaration finally makes sense: the pieces all fit, the jigsaw has truly fallen into place.

The best part about "Jigsaw Falling Into Place" is its amazing syncopation. The acoustic guitars give way to a tight drum beat, which bring in Yorke's airy vocals and guitarist Johnny Greenwood's stratospheric electric guitar riffs. It's a style that brings us back to Radiohead's early days, when they were seen as just another '90's "grunge" band with their debut album Pablo Honey. Yet, at the same time, the band is tighter, more mature; age and the musical diversity of their collective works have brought the band to this moment when they can look back at it all and throw it at the wall to see what happens. Of course, it all just fits so well.

Lyrically, "Jigsaw Falling Into Place" seems to tell two stories at once: a narrative about lost love at a bar and the subjective feelings that the music brings. Like a poem by Frank O'Hara, the lyrics show desperation, happiness, and confusion surrounding an otherwise mundane moment in time, and it is this poetic "swirl" that makes the lyrics come alive fully. Yorke sings: "Before you run away from me / Before you're lost between the notes / The beat goes round and round" as if everything is "blurring into one." And, of course, the music seems to blur everything that Radiohead has done together into one place, one exceptional moment in time. At one point, everything becomes "lost between the notes," something that Radiohead has done for years with their minimalist musical compositions (think "How to Disappear Completely" from Kid A and you'll see what I mean).

The guitar work on "Jigsaw Falling Into Place" is also significant because it is the first song I've heard since OK Computer that makes full use of Radiohead's three guitarists. Back in the Pablo Honey days, having three guitarists was seen as an unnecessary excess, but on "Jigsaw Falling Into Place," three guitars are exactly what is needed. While the first acoustic guitar comes in with a complex, finger-picked riff, the second acoustic guitar comes in to carry the rhythm while the bass guitar fills in the gaps. It builds from there, and by the time Yorke is letting the beat go "round and round," the atmospheric electric guitars have taken over, flinging the song out into its own orbit. By the end of the song, Radiohead have created a song that has the same musical effect that Led Zeppelin's "Song Remains the Same" did to restore their musical bravado at the beginning of Houses of the Holy.

When the song finally comes to an end, you don't feel that it's been overdone, or that the band has struggled through it. Instead, the song feels like an organic work, and there's not a single moment that drags with boring interludes. It builds up to a climax, and leaves you wanting more. In Rainbows then fades into its own denouement with "Videotape," bringing you back down and resolving all that had built into a frenzy before it.

Even if this was all I had to say about "Jigsaw Falling Into Place," it would still be one of my favorite songs. But what makes it stand out as the best song of 2007 is the same feeling The Bends gave me during that lonely summer in 2001: it renews my sense of wonder for music. "Jigsaw Falling Into Place" truly moves my soul in ways that most music never can, and every time I listen to it, I never find a dull moment or a single way to criticize it. It will, for years to come, remind me of 2007 and all of the joy this year's new music gave me. For that reason alone, "Jigsaw Falling Into Place" is my pick for the best song of 2007.

Originally published at Blogcritics.org: http://blogcritics.org/archives/2008/01/01/211645.php