Murder Party: Every... Body's... Gonna... Die...

Ok so, last night some friends and I got together for Shitty Horror Movie Night, because if there's anything better than a good horror movie, it's a shitty horror movie. They're fun for their cheesiness, overblown plotlines, bad acting, bad filming, etc, and I have a deep passion for them.

First we watched a gem called Flesh Eating Ghouls From Outer Space which was not so much a horror movie as a high schooler's homemade fifteen minute puppet show about murderous aliens who destroy the world and are fed Twinkies.

Oh yeah and it's a musical.

I've seen some awful movies in my time and I found this piece of shit difficult to sit through. Like, my ironic enjoyment of it was stretched to its very limit with this thing.

On an entertainment scale I'd probably have to give it a 4/10. Because there were a couple moments, buuuuuut unless you're really dedicated to shitty cinema (*raises hand*) I wouldn't waste my time.

After that we decided to watch Murder Party, mostly because the guy who'd seen it already promised that it was actually good.

Firstly I feel it necessary to admit my standards were just dirt low by then, so take my enthusiasm with a grain of salt.

But personally I was incredibly impressed by this film.

Despite the silly name, Murder Party is a surprisingly well-made movie that takes itself seriously only in the bits where it mattered.

The director described it as "Breakfast Club but with chainsaws and hard drugs" but I felt like it was more Tarantino meets Kevin Smith and they get together and double team Sam Raimi.

Which I guess kinda gets the same effect.

But still.

The plot is a stereotypically simple one: Lonely guy finds an invite to a "murder party" (see what they did there?) and decides to attend out of boredom (and because his cat, Sir Lancelot, refuses to get out of his chair).

This plunges him into a nightmare world where dimwitted hipster art-major-flunkies vie desperately for the attention their friend Alexander through MurderArt™ (i.e. they plan to kill the main character for the sake of art) and also take entirely too many drugs while doing it.

Meanwhile, our hero, who's almost as idiotic as his captors, is sitting in his goofy-ass cardboard knight costume and continually fucking up his escape plans with sheer incompetence.

Most of the movie feels like a parody of horror movies, because it constantly takes horror stereotypes and either tips them on their heads or transforms them into Shaun-of-the-Dead-esque gags. Throughout, there are some truly hilarious points that really display the talents of both the writers and the actors.

But when it comes time for the movie to actually be a legitimate horror movie, it really does hunker down and deliver in an incredibly satisfying way.

And it's not just the gore/special effects, which are by themselves -very- impressive. When a character's face gets burnt off, the makeup is so good I honestly found it very difficult not to look away.

But it's got the suspense aspect as well. You're really terrified for the main character by the end of it, because the events are set up so well, and the way they unfold keeps you glued to the screen til the very end.

On top of all this, the movie is beautifully shot.

The director has a real eye for what makes an aesthetically pleasing shot, whether it's of the hero making pumpkin bread or somebody's head being ripped apart with a chainsaw.

So kudos to that, too.

Now, I purposefully left out plot-related spoilers because I really, truly want everyone and anyone who reads this to go out and see this film.

And if you can, pay for it.

The guys that made this movie are really amazing people that deserve the money.

Also, if you get a chance, get your hands on a version with the special features and watch the Making Of short. The story behind this movie is genuinely heart-warming and inspirational, especially to anyone who's even vaguely considering film-making as a career.

If you like senseless gore, making fun of pretentious hipsters, watching people take hard drugs, or seeing a middle aged man running around in a stupid looking cardboard costume, this movie is for you. If not, I'm not really sure why you're reading this in the first place.

That's all I got.

Thanks for reading,

Yours,

Amanda

Lyric Reciting: An opportunity to be douchebags.. or something more?

(Shitty drawings done by yours truly)

I want to talk today about a phenomenon I've noticed, not only in others, but in myself as well.

Now, I go to a lot of concerts and about half of them turn out to be pretty hipster. I'm not talking "Dude, this band is so underground there's only five other people here, shit yeah" hipster because I have neither the time, money, or patience to mess with that Stierscheisse.

I guess you'd call the bands I see Mainstream Hipster.

Bands like They Might Be Giants, Decemberists, Band of Horses, Tally Hall...

Not exactly well known, but the average person knows maybe one song or has at least vaguely heard of them.

I've noticed this phenomenon before, but it stuck out particularly to me at the Decemberists concert I attended last week. As I looked at the crowd around me, I noticed that an inordinate portion of the people were singing along. And I'm not talking the singles or Best Of, I'm talking EVERY lyric to EVERY song, including those from the album that had come out a mere three weeks earlier.

And I realized I was doing the same thing.

I feel like I should put this out there before moving on: I am a lover of lyrics.

I adore them.

I don't feel like I know a song unless I can repeat the lyrics, including the inflections put on each word by the singer, and often all of the harmonies involved as well.

I am a lady who enjoys intimacy with her music.

I've never felt there was anything wrong with that.

But suddenly, when I saw that so many other people were doing the same thing, I started to wonder if maybe it was kind of a wonky thing to do.

I mean, here we are, paying twenty five bucks, crunched in a tiny standing area after having waited for half an hour (longer for some) in RIDICULOUSLY cold weather (especially wearing chucks, which probably 80% of the crowd had, because you don't wear boots to a concert), and all we can focus on is that Colin fucked up Eli The Barrow Boy by switching the verses up.

I will make a confession.

For the two weeks leading up to this concert, I listened to very little else but the Decemberists.

What I did is nothing short of study for this concert.

I brushed up on songs I hadn't heard in a while, reminded myself of those twistyturnytricky lyrics Colin likes to throw in, crammed on the EPs and songs I didn't like as much, and speedmemorized as many King Is Dead songs as I could.

That was when I realized, the concert was like a test for me. And, apparently, for others.

We weren't being tested by Colin, because not only does he not give a shit (and also I don't think he particularly likes when people sing along) but also it's not like he can see from up there.

No, we study hard and stress out over every syllable of that music so we can demonstrate to our own fellow hipsters just what good of fans we are.

Part of it is that bands like the Decemberists aren't exactly easy to dance to.

And a mosh is basically out of the question.

Though it might be pretty funny.

Pretty much you have the head nod or the toe bounce (i.e. the prairie dog). 

So lyric reciting is one way to be involved in the concert. But that doesn't really explain it entirely.

Maybe it's the threat of mainstream that makes us do it.

I will admit, when I heard Down By The Water on the local soft rock station, a tiny part of me died a little. Don't get me wrong, I love sharing my music and I fully support the Decemberists' right to earn money and well-deserved attention.

But that doesn't stop me from secretly wanting to go up to certain fans and snottily tell them that I think KID is pandering to an Americana audience and that I think they were most enlightened on Castaways and Cutouts.

So maybe it's us hipsterjerks desperately clinging to any shred of legitimacy we can lay our hands on, and so we memorize ALL of the songs, especially those little obscure ones, just on the offchance they play it so we can say "Omigod THIS one, YES!" and feel good about ourselves as we mouth the words and watch the blank stares on those so-called fans around us.

Part of it might also just be the challenge, almost the sport, of it, especially for those like me that aren't particularly good at most things.

Bands like the Decemberists and They Might Be Giants that, by now, have pretty extensive discographies (I own just under 100 songs for the former and over 350 songs for the latter) unwittingly issue a challenge to their listeners.

Something along the lines of "If we can write and perform this many songs, surely, if you care about us, you can memorize them" and, even if we don't especially like certain tunes, we dutifully dedicate ourselves to the task.

Just because we can.

And then there's the theory that we just love the music that much.

I like to think that's at least the biggest part, though I can't deny the rest is part of it.

When I listen to the Decemberists, or any of my favorite bands, the music just moves me in a way I can't quite describe. I want to live in those melodies and stories woven by the words injected into them and never leave, but of course the song has to end and it's not quite the same to just play the same song on repeat.

So I do the next best thing, which is to immerse myself in the music, make it become a part of me, and in some small way, become a part of the music as well. I don't ever have to live without Odalisque or Yankee Bayonet or any of my favorite Decemberist tunes because they're in my head permanently.

When I go to a concert, it's not so much that I'm singing along, but more that I can't not.

I want so, so badly to be a part of the magic that's happening onstage that I can't help but to sing along and involve myself in the only way I know how.

And I like to think that's what the other hipsterjerks around me were doing as well.

I like to think that their adoration of Colin Meloy's music was so all-encompassing, so beautiful and loud and pure that they couldn't contain it and so their mouths formed the words that fantastic man penned and shared with us simply so they could feel the music just a little more.

That, or they were douchebags.

Whatever.

Anyway, that's all I wanted to say.

Thanks for reading,

Yours,

Amanda.

Thank You, Happy Birthday: A Trippy Trip of Trippiness

For my first entry, I thought I'd review the new album, Thank You, Happy Birthday, by the band Cage The Elephant.

Because I can.

(Somewhat related illustrations were done by the lovely Benjamin Abbott)

I wanna start off by saying I am really impressed by this album.

I think it's a bold move on the band's part by neither making a carbon copy of their self-titled, nor making twelve songs that mirror Back Against The Wall and Ain't No Rest For The Wicked, which garnered them some serious attention.

No, they took a freakin' left turn out of nowhere with this thing and came up with something entirely original, and I respect them to no end for that.

Now for the album.

Always Something

This thing is a ride, if nothing else.

They start out with the angry, violent, aggressive Always Something that makes you feel somewhat like you're being forced to crawl on hand and knee through a thunderstorm of acid rain.

What I mean by that is it's unrelenting and mean as hell.

Excellently crafted, but man.

Aberdeen
Aberdeen is a bit nicer in tone, but still feels pretty aggressive. It's a bit like they helped you to your feet and gave you an umbrella, but then kicked you in the pants to keep you trudging through the acid storm.

Indy Kidz

Now this song is just hilarious. Here's where Schultz takes the opportunity to fuck with his audience, especially the scenesters who arrived the same time they hit the Top 40s.

So now you're escorted out of the acid rain and through a giant funhouse full of warped mirrors and strobe lights, and about halfway through you start to really get overwhelmed and actually kind of annoyed.

Which I'm pretty sure was the intended effect.

But still.

Shake Me Down

So after the essential aural hell that is the first three songs, the band decides to give you a break with this happy little radio-friendly tune.

Which is very nice of them.

Because now you exit the creepy-ass funhouse and the acid rain has ended and everything's blue and gold and just feelin' good.

This song is just one big fuzzy ball of awesome.

2024

Aaaaaaand then we have 2024, which is just indescribable.

But I'll attempt.

It's like some teeny-bopper band from the 60s made love with the grungiest of grunge bands from the 90s and the resultant fucked up mutant baby took a hit of heroin.

That is this song.

As a second metaphor and continuing with our journey thing I've got going, it's like you're still in the rolling grassy hills and shit from Shake Me Down, but now you're running as fast as you can and even though your chest is burning and your legs are like rubber, you just go on running with everything you've got.

Sell Yourself

The only thing I can say about this track, is GAAAAAAH.

It sounds like something is repeatedly breaking over and over.

In this song, it's like you've come upon two enormous fucking rotating boulders with only a sliver of space for you to get through.

And oh yeah the boulders have little shards of glass covering them.

Good luck with that.

Rubber Ball

So, you've gotten through the big-ass-glass-covered boulders and you're bruised and crushed and bleeding from several places and you're lying beaten on the ground.

And finally, finally, you get a damn break.

Rubber Ball is the band taking pity on you, picking you up gently and laying you on a giant bed made of jello and tucking a big marshmallow pillow under your head.

Right Before My Eyes

By the end of that song, they gently wake you with the pleasantly poppy Right Before My Eyes.

It's the perfect follow-up and gets you back on your feet, with the bad feelings garnered by Indy Kidz, Sell Yourself and 2024 softly melting from your mind.

Around My Head

Now we're back on the road with Around My Head, heading down that same road we were on before, but this time we get to stroll lightly, really taking in the sights.

Just pleasantness here. Enjoy it while it lasts.

Sabertooth Tiger

Because yeah fuck you, we're going again. Except Sabertooth Tiger is good old-fashioned grunge without the "dear god why are they doing this to my ears" element that the all of the harder songs thus far have had to at least some extent. A somewhat unremarkable track, it's still freakin' fun to rock out to, especially if nobody's around to see you.

The... uh the journey metaphor doesn't really fit this one... :/

Japanese Buffalo

Japanese Buffalo is just, oh my goodness, so good.

The song's energy just draws you in and makes it practically impossible not to sit up and take notice. Then it has the breakdown that wraps you in golden light and just makes you smile.

This is, in my opinion, what you've been journeying for through the entire album.

After the fucked up auditory trek they've sent you on, this is your Val Halla, full of motherfucking cherubs and unicorns and a big ass golden castle and there's these spotlights all pointed at you.

Because you are the star.

It's you.

Congratufuckinlations for getting through it.

It was totally freakin worth it, wasn't it?

That was rhetorical, it so was.

Flow/Right Before My Eyes Revisited

Now, as a reward, you get the serene and beautiful Flow, which is just like you got through that bigass castle and found the ocean beyond. You dive in and swim off into the sunset.

And it's awesome.

And then, as almost an afterthought, you get a nice, extra-cooled down Right Before My Eyes, just because. That's you finding your own little happy island with a hammock all set up for you and you recline as the light of day fades to black and inky night.

Okay! That's it.

Like I said, I just have the utmost respect for these guys for really taking a leap with this album and going way, way above and beyond their first album. I'm so excited to see what's in store for this band.

Til next time,

Yours,

Amanda.

Let's Give It A Whirl..

Oh!
Hello there.
I didn't see you.

Welcome to my blog.
God even just saying that sounds ridiculous.
Blogs really are silly things. To assume random people will just love to read whatever you have to say is presumptuous and self-absorbed. And yet...

My name is Amanda and I have a few things I'd like to write about.
So I figured I'd put them here.
They might be about me or about other things.
They may or may not include illustrations.
We'll see!
And hopefully have a good time while doing it.

Until then,
Yours,
Amanda.