The Fry Chronicles is a follow-up to Stephen Fry’s autobiographical Moab is my Washpot, in which he talked about his troubled youth which culminated in his arrest as a young man for going on a shopping spree…with someone else’s credit card. But this is not an inspirational story of redemption or a revelatory look at the London underworld. As The Fry Chronicles picks up, Mr. Fry is on probation but turning over a new leaf. He has been accepted to Queens’ College at Cambridge and working as a teacher at a boys’ boarding school in North Yorkshire. The place is a bit like Hogwarts, in that Hogwarts is the only popular reference to British boarding schools that many today understand, a fact that Fry understandably finds a bit tiresome. Teaching seems to be a natural fit for someone who recently described himself as the kind of British person who seems to be made of tweed. Having himself attended boarding school, it is a culture he well understands, and with his lofty, authoritative voice and affinity for smoking a pipe, it would seem a natural fit. And well it could have been if he did not find a new calling.

Stephen Fry spends a lot of time reflecting on the image of the classic British gentleman in which he has been typecast and how much of it is really just appearance, but his account of Cambridge is the classic portrait of privilege that one associates with the Cambridges and Oxfords of the world. As a student of English, he enjoyed the freedom afforded to the students to take responsibility in their own education. The only real obligation were exams, at which Fry excelled despite claiming to only attend three lectures, “Lectures broke into one’s day and were clearly a terrible waste of time…the natural thing to do was to talk a lot, listen to music, drink coffee and wine, read books and go to plays”. It was an environment particularly suited to a man of his talents, tastes, and temperament but how could a reader be but envious of this experience?

Stephen Fry’s career in entertainment began modestly in those days kicking around Cambridge and attending various plays. In his first term, he did not venture past the audience. Upon his return for second term, he immediately tried out for three separate plays and got the part in each. From here his time at Cambridge is a increasingly about the stage. After these roles he involves himself in the Queens’ College drama group, BATS, and performs with them at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. By the time the Lent term ends he is asked to pen an original play for the opening of a new theatre space in Corpus Christi College that would be specifically for new writing. Soon enough, drama became his niche. He would join other notable drama clubs, including the Footlights, for whom he would lend his services as an actor, as a collaborator, and as an officer. So, perhaps this is more a “memoir of the craft,” how to make it as an actor? What say you, Mr. Fry? “I have absolutely no idea how to become an actor,” oh, “I can only tell you how I became one.” So much for that, but Stephen took something else from his time at Cambridge that would follow him for some years.

Stephen Fry first encountered Emma Thompson in the part of Gwendolyn in a production of Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest that he attended during his first term. Ms. Thompson became a good friend for the young Stephen Fry as he was breaking into the world of drama. Of the connections made through Emma Thomson, none was more valuable than the final part of their little trio and Fry’s famed comedy partner, Hugh Laurie. Finally, we get to some dirt, maybe our beloved House is actually a hateful curmudgeon…like House, or sweet Emma Thompson is, “is a talentless mad bitch sow who wanders the streets of north London in nothing but a pair of ill-matched wellington boots.” Stephen Fry would likely be horrified at me choosing to quote his sarcastic nod to the scandal hungry readers, because he has hardly a bad word to say about anyone in this book, especially not his close friends, and Emma is the recipient of some of the nicest, “you just saw her once and you knew. Stardom. Oscar. Damehood…she has an abundance of kindness, openness and sweetness of nature.” Truly disappointing.

It is as if Mr. Fry is trying to sell a book based solely on quality writing sprinkled with wit, humor, and a self-awareness that is all together missing from most celebrities. This part of the Stephen Fry story is especially short on tangible drama, as it covers his years at college and subsequent entrance into the world of stage and screen. Moab dove into the dark world of adolescent love and rebellion, and any subsequent volume promises to look into the world of drug abuse, but the only practical challenges relate to the level of success. That is not to belittle the very real problems that manifest in the mind. It is a truism that no amount of money and success can assure joy and satisfaction. Especially in entertainment, each success can bring a new round of insecurity as small college productions launch one into small festivals and productions to larger ones even to Broadway and the BBC where the stakes are considerably higher and the expected level of performance as well.

The lack of fireworks is hardly felt however as Stephen Fry makes good company when he gets to spinning yarns and there are better than four hundred pages of them here. This is a truly refreshing book, it reads easily without being dumb, Mr. Fry is able to discuss his problems without coming across as whiney or spoiled. Fry likes to trot out his vocabulary at times but the tone of the book is conversational and engaging. You’ll laugh, you’ll probably not cry, but you’ll sympathize and you’ll be shocked that three such famous names can still list humility as one of their most apparent traits. And despite a foreboding end passage it ends cheerily right after the success of Blackadder II and just at the start of A Bit of Fry and Laurie. The jacket is fairly conventional, but the bright blue cover and mustard spine were striking, and opening the book reveals a delightfully ’70s array of colored stripes and a color portrait of the actor as a young man. From writing to binding it is a book to renew your faith in the print medium.

The Fry Chronicles is available from the Overlook Press (hardcover, $29.95). Support your local bookstore, its available in print and ask if they offer an e-book solution, which many now do.

But on its latest album, Kite Party create an album that baseball fans might be able to connect with in a sense.

Baseball fans may yearn for the summer, and on Baseball Season, it seems as if Kite Party is also singing about a sense of yearning. On “Runner,” croons of “I just wanna be faithful” and “I want to run to the ocean because it’s all I’ve ever known” show the emotion the band is capable of.  There is desire and a sense of emptiness on these songs, as if the band is looking for something greater.

But there is also plenty of introspection. “We could see the storm coming over. I wrote a list of all my problems, but do they matter then?” the band sings on the upbeat but thoughtful “Southpaw.”

The band dabbles between a few genres as well. There’s some Thrice and some shades of Bloc Party and throwbacks to the mid-90s emo scene. And the backing horns on “We Won’t Survive” are a nice touch.  Yet, everything flows nicely. And the production leaves the band’s rougher moments intact while making the slower songs sound clean.

Baseball Season is not exactly a home run (some songs feel a little forgettable), but Kite Party has crafted an intriguing album that is definitely something to build off.

Last month, the Philadelphia band announced plans for a 7″ EP. Now we have more info.

The release is entitled A/B and will come out in June via Tiny Engines. You can see the album artwork at the label’s website. The band also premiered the first of the two songs. “A” is available for listen here. The band has also started working on its new album, which will be set for a 2013 release, and will play a handful of shows in May.

Restorations is becoming one of the hardest-working alt rock bands out there and is destined to break out anytime now. Its self-titled debut was critically acclaimed and I gave a positive review, which you can read here. If you’re not familiar with these guys, now is a good time to become acquainted.

Tour Dates:

MAY 18 – Charlotte, NC TREASURE FEST @ Snug Harbor w/ Red Collar, Signals Midwest, Jr. Astronomers & more
MAY 19 – Durham, NC RED COLLAR LP RELEASE SHOW @ Motorco Music Hall w/ Red Collar, Signals Midwest, Maple Stave
MAY 20 – Washington, DC @ The Dugout w/ Signals Midwest, Monument, Ryan Ford

When indie outfit Cloud Nothings set forth to work on its new album, the band enlisted Steve Albini, a former member of Big Black who has worked as an engineer and producer on hundreds of albums, including ones by Nirvana, Fugazi and Helmet.

Most of Albini’s work involves allowing a band to be heard at its most natural form, rarely using significant or advanced tools when recording records. Both his rough-around-the-edges approach and his work with 90s artists, as well as the band’s fondness for the era, come through its new album, Attack On Memory.

This album takes the listener on a very fast rollercoaster. Most songs don’t sound similar, yet the contrast isn’t too extreme. “No Future, No Past” is a brooding opener, while “Wasted Days” is a nearly nine-minute grimy whirlwind of a song with singer Dylan Baldi anguishing the boring and unfulfilled life he has lived.

Things pick up with the next few tracks, including the addictive “Stay Useless.” Baldi continues to wrack his brain with the existential “Our Plans” and resentment of “Cut You.”

In terms of sound, and multitude of self deprecation, Attack On Memory brings to mind early Weezer and some of Say Anything’s material. The mood here is a bit dark, moreso than the band’s previous releases. And these songs are tight. The album is eight songs and comes in at just over 30 minutes. Baldi and co., play fast and play hard. Albini’s influence has caused the band to do more soul-searching and make their already lo-fi sound even rougher.

Cloud Nothings is progressing as fast as the band members play. If you haven’t heard of them yet, now is the time. They grow up so fast, you don’t want to miss it.

Music writer Alexandra Voigt reviewed this concert as three parts

Chapter One

The Music Breathes

 The anticipation when waiting for a favorite artist to hit the stage feels like being forced to continuously hold your bladder in for what seems like days–where anxiety reaches a record high and you can actually feel your temperature rising one degree at a time.  (This crazed ‘problem’ grows worse after one has already experienced that beloved band because your personal expectations must be met, and preferably exceeded.)

On the last day of March, the Electric Factory hosted a performance by electro-jam-rock duo, EOTO, and Shpongle’s latest project, The Masquerade.

Being my first showing of EOTO, I was certainly impressed with their steady jamming and, most of all, their light displays and overall presentation.  Michael Travis and Jason Hann were performing in their own lotus flower set and continually had different colors, swirls, shapes, flowers and other numerous designs morphing in and out of the screen.

Yet, once again, as much as I loved dancing to EOTO’s set, my fervent desire to experience another euphoric Shpongle adventure was growing more impatient.

The first time I saw Shpongle was at Bonnaroo 2011, and it was the entire Shpongletron the Experience.  I was more than blown away… I was stupefied.  Although I knew this wasn’t the complete Shpongletron with the brilliant exotic dancers and the eccentric vibe of an outdoor festival, I knew Simon Posford would find a way to bewilder anyhow.

Let me tell you, he did just that, and more.

Chapter Two

Seeing Sounds and Hearing Colors…

Observing the stage probably a good 20 feet from me, I, along with everyone in the venue, have my eyes transfixed on the beautiful colors currently permeating the screen and on the mastermind behind it all standing in the black-hole-like center of what Posford terms, “the Glyph.”  In no time, the introductory sounds and the momentarily anonymous opening song are welcoming and introducing the crowd to what seems like our rainbow starship, all ready to transport us to this new, mysterious world.

Electric blue fire spits across the screen, a crazy kaleidoscope of colors frequently alternate shape and form, the stage and screen spin and flip back and forth, and the tribal-like chanting, “da mmmbah, bada da mmmbah…” of DMT “Divine Moments of Truth” takes us away.  What could be more perfect?

We, the admiring and participating audience, have been initiated as new (some returning) members of the “tribe,” and we are finally on the magnificently magical and spiritual escapade; our guide Mr. Simon Posford, alias “Hallucinogen,” is leading the odyssey.

One second, birds are chirping, a stream is trickling and you can imagine aimlessly walking along a dirt path on a sunny blue-sky day, extravagant oak trees surrounding you, yet then the music’s tone and consequently, mood, change, and you are now meagerly trudging, fighting gravity’s increased force upon your body, making you heavier and slowing you down to the music’s specifically slower tempo.  Then right away again, the flutes and music pick up pace and the imaginary weight is lifted off your being, you feeling lighter than before–a dandelion seed blowing in the breeze.

Posford incorporates an innumerable amount of sound effects into each story-telling song.  The buzz of traffic, the hustle & bustle of people downtown, murmurs from people, animals, nature, etc.  Every sensation and muscle in your body is alive and sensitive to each chant, beat, foreign language, laugh and shimmering sound.  It’s your battery source to take it all in and feed off the exuberant energy.  Your mind and body are charging and gaining wisdom by allowing the music to lead and expand your knowledge.

At times my senses feel so overwhelmed–goosebumps all over, hair sticking on end, temperature changing from hot to cold–it feels necessary to shut my eyes and simply listen, yet that means blocking out the vivid, three-dimensional images of neon green lightning, pink shooting rubberbands of peace, and the friendly smiling faces of each dancing fan.

Chapter Three

A Euphoric Psyche

It’s not a secret that Shpongle is a trippy, psychedelic group and its following, a group of groovy hippies, yet there can be a negative connotation with the word psychedelic, ergo with Shpongle as well.  The term “psychedelic” comes from the Greek word, psyche, meaning mind or soul; and delios meaning to manifest, or to make visible.  Therefore, psychedelic means to manifest or make clear to the mind and soul.  I believe this is a great, honest description of Shpongle and a wonderful interpretation to the amazing shows Shpongle puts on.

A lot of people will coin a band as unique and original, and there certainly are hundreds, yet it is a fact and an immense understatement that Shpongle is entirely unlike anything you’ve ever seen and ever heard.  Posford himself quoted something similar to this.

I can’t tell you how long Shpongle actually played for–I didn’t think, let alone care to look at the time at any given point of the show.  Time barriers dissolve—the idea of leaving earth to a foreign, unforeseen dimension, temporarily deserting all things familiar to us–time, place, space–and transcending into a vast, new world.

Witnessing Shpongle Live has and will always be a divine treat.  I can’t express it enough how positive of an experience I had and it was only made better when Posford actually told the audience at the end that Philadelphia was one of his favorite cities to perform at.  I love Shpongle.  (And to think…I used to do my homework to them…that will never be possible again…wouldn’t get any work done).

Here are a few of the insanely fun songs played from 3/31/12 at the Electric Factory:

DMT

Around the World in a Tea Daze

Ineffable Mysteries

Beija Flor

Dorset Perception

There were bands like Fugazi in the 90s that had some underground popularity, but since 2000, bands like Rise Against, Against Me! and Alkaline Trio have found success. Some of the more popular songs from these bands, through, were a bit poppy — forsaking usual punk angst for melody and hooks.

With that kind of mix, bands have tried to follow with a kind of catchy, angsty album. Sometimes it can be hard to combine the two. You can end up sacrificing too much of one to accomodate the other and get lost in your own ideas.

The Mighty Fine faces that kind of conundrum on it’s new album, the aptly title In Revival.

The band has some interesting characteristics to it. From the Against Me!-esque opener “Revival,” to the  Bruce Springsteen/Gaslight Anthem feel of “To Indiana” to the folk-punk stomp “Ambassadors,” these guys do display a bit of diversity, which makes them more intriguing than other bands of the genre.

Singer Brook Thompson has the chops, though at times he sounds way too much like Against Me!’s Tom Gabel. The best part of the band may be bassist Mikey Castillo. His bass lines carry every song on this album without being overpowering, and his riffs are better than any guitar riffs on the album.

Every song on this album seems like one you can tap your foot too or shout along with. There are some good offerings here. But going back to the beginning, In Revival falters in one big way — the songs just sound way too polished. You can tell the band has a really great edge like on “Heroes on TV,” but in production that was just sanded down too much. The band sacrificed grit for melody. If The Mighty Fine can find that common ground, its next album should be intriguing.

Since the falling out, Mercer has been hesitant to discuss these decisions. However, Sandoval opened up in an interview, stating that Mercer ended their professional relationship over the phone due in part to Sandoval’s inability to play the drum pieces that Mercer requested of him. From piecing together statements made by each of the parties involved, it seems quite evident that Mercer fired his bandmates, instead preferring to put himself, as he told Pitchfork, “at the center of several people helping [him] get these songs out.”

And what a group to put yourself in the middle of: Joe Plummer (drummer for Modest Mouse), Yuuki Matthews (bassist for Crystal Skulls), Jessica Dobson (backing member for Conor Oberst, Beck and Yeah Yeah Yeahs) and Richard Swift (singer/songwriter who has toured with Wilco, The Veils, etc.). It seems odd (and somewhat callous) for Mercer to call this collective The Shins; it seems more like another supergroup side project of his instead of the band that we have all come to know and love. And based on his statements, it’s a group that won’t be around for very much longer. After with all this new talent surrounding him, and plenty of material and time (Wincing the Night Away debuted five years ago this past January), how good will James Mercer’s Port of Morrow actually be?

The answer is a resounding: meh. While this may seem like an inconsequential sign of indifference, it means so much more when applied to a band of this caliber. Mercer’s past albums have been held to such a high standard that the next one had to at least match it, if not exceed it. And with the help of his longtime bandmates, he managed to do just that again and again. One of the great things about The Shins is that you could choose any of their albums and make an excellent case for it being your favorite of theirs (or your favorite album in general, for that matter). After listening through Port of Morrow almost a dozen times, I have a hard time believing that anyone would choose it as anything other than their least favorite Shins album.

Now, I’m not saying that Port of Morrow is a terrible album. In fact, it starts off quite well. “The Rifle’s Spiral”, while somewhat of an odd choice for an opener, does a decent job of transitioning us from the Shins of old to their current state. “So long to this wretched form/Down gray eyes on the subway/Long before you were born/You were always to be a dagger floating/Straight to their heart” has a bitterness to it that stings all the more with context. Alongside Mercer’s brooding lyrics is a mix of classic Shins guitar twangs and a new sound that pervades the album; a sort of digitalization that, while present in earlier albums, no longer lies dormant beneath the raw instrumentation. It’s almost as if several of the songs were run through a Broken Bells filter.

The following song is one of Mercer’s greatest works to date: “Simple Song”, which also happens to be the album’s single. The dynamic vocals, touching lyrics and energetic arrangements come together in such a satisfying way that it is impossible to remove it from your skull even weeks after hearing it. It is here that the ensemble really shines, resulting in a song that would earn a spot on any of the band’s previous albums.

Unfortunately, that’s where the comparisons between the old and new Shins end. While songs like “Bait and Switch” and “No Way Down” are decent, the entire second half of the album fails to truly impress. The main difference between Port of Morrow and Mercer’s previous albums (namely Chutes Too Narrow) is that some of the songs are simply not memorable. While listening to the new album, I find myself wanting to skip past certain songs, a first in my experience with the band’s discography. By the final, eponymous track, I was almost completely indifferent.

The lyrics are as verbose and poignant as ever, but there’s something distinctly different about Port of Morrow. It’s a decent album, no doubt, and it would be considered a middle-of-the-road record if it was released by a budding indie group. But that is not that case, and frankly it’s not my main concern with the album. As good as some of the songs are, the fact is that they aren’t Shins songs, and this isn’t a Shins album. Whatever Mercer has created in order to produce Port of Morrow is a whole new animal. The Shins ceased to be the same after the departure of Sandoval, Crandall and Hernandez. Like the ship of Theseus, so many pieces of the original entity have been replaced that one must question whether or not the end product is fundamentally the same. By separating himself from his lifelong friends and bandmates, it’s almost as if James Mercer has taken his beloved band and knocked the shins out from under it.

The most promising ones out of the list that I see as being really great for independent film are Tugg, Veam.co and Indiefilmz.com.

Tugg is great because it allows people to create an event with their local movie theatre.  Then they get people to sign up and, if it gets the required amount of RSVP’s, the film gets shown. This is really great for independent film because indie filmmakers who have trouble finding a distributor can just create an event and show their film on their own.

Veam.co allows aspiring filmmakers to upload their films and set a price for them. Veam.co then creates an app, which you don’t need the internet to use, in order to watch it. Here is their intro to their product via their site:

The Veam platform generates apps that look beautiful, sound great, and are entirely the creator’s own with the content they have chosen. Once created, the app will give them the power to more directly access their audience and sell their content. Veam apps effectively transform the everyday phone into a theatre, and once your audience sees it, they will come back again and again.

Indiefilmz.com allows independent film makers to gain exposure by focusing on short films. Here’s their explanation via their site:

We launched IndieFilmZ to help talented directors and producers clear these hurdles in a snap and gain instant access to a worldwide audience of film lovers and supporters.  The filmmaker uploads a film. The viewer previews a trailer, then for $1.49 buys the film.  One dollar of each transaction goes directly to the filmmaker with no waiting.  A filmmaker sells a film once and gets $1.  Sell a film 100 times. Get $100.  Sell it 1,000 or 1 millions time…

These exciting developments may greatly impact indie film and give it a wider reach, especially in the age where social media affects so much of how we process things.

This run of dates starts today (March 15) in Harrisburg, Pa., and runs through March 30 in Lowell, Mass. The band is joined by Born Without Bones, HisDayHasCome and the Hotel Year. Full dates are listed below.

The Connecticut band is touring in support of its latest album, Only a Mirror, which came out late last year. The band and its label, Animal Style Records, also teamed up with Property of Zack to release a free tour sampler. You can check it out here.

Tour Dates:

MAR 15 – Harrisburg, PA @ The Underground w/ HisDayHasCome
MAR 16 – Pittsburgh, PA @ The Smiling Moose w/ HisDayHasCome
MAR 17 – Columbus, OH @ The Purple Grape w/ HisDayHasCome
MAR 18 – Kokomo, IN @ The Foster House w/ HisDayHasCome
MAR 19 – Kalamazoo, MI @ The Globe Theater w/ HisDayHasCome
MAR 20 – Lansing, MI @ Mac’s Bar w/ HisDayHasCome, Homelife
MAR 21 – Saginaw, MI @ The Halmilton Street Pub w/ HisDayHasCome
MAR 22 – Bowling Green, OH @ BLV House w/ HisDayHasCome, Citizen
MAR 23 – Kent, OH @ The Stone Tavern w/ HisDayHasCome
MAR 24 – Altoona, PA @ The Altoona Masonic Temple w/ Born Without Bones, The Hotel Year, HisDayHasCome
MAR 25 – Philadelphia, PA @ The IHOP Estate w/ Born Without Bones, The Hotel Year, Placeholder, HisDayHasCome
MAR 26 – Baltimore, MD @ The Talking Head Club @ Sonar w/ Born Without Bones, The Hotel Year
MAR 27 – Amityville, NY @ Broadway Bar w/ Born Without Bones, The Hotel Year
MAR 28 – Brooklyn, NY @ Lulu’s w/ Born Without Bones, The Hotel Year
MAR 29 – Springfield, MA @ The Bing Arts Center w/ Born Without Bones, The Hotel Year
MAR 30 – Lowell, MA @ The Ant Cellar w/ Born Without Bones, Half Hearted Hero, The Hotel Year

In between all the junk you can often catch little gems — but in Kansas City, Garry Huggins (that’s a link to his Kickstarter project) found a pretty big one.

Admist a bunch of old 16mm films, Huggins ran across a copy of Modern Football, one of Robert Altman’s early industrial films. The film (along with many of his, and many other director’s early works) was thought to be lost.

And as SlashFilm reports, fortunately Huggins not only found it, but uploaded it to YouTube for the world to see. You can watch it below, and see if you can spot any of his future greatness in this early work.