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Tweet I. Where Poe’s arduous Arthur Gordon Pym is concerned, a completely satisfactory answer to a simple central question would push into proper position the tumblers of the complex combination lock its text has always seemed: is Pym constructed as a work of realism or as fantasy? It seems all critical analyses of . . . → Read More: Magical Realism’s More Complete Mimesis in “The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym” Tweet I wanted to beat Pitchfork and Stereogum to something, for once. Last Thursday night, I found myself unable to look away from the gifted video for Radiohead’s “Lotus Flower” which, as it’s just a bowler-hatted Thom dancing like a drugged-out maniac, should not be as compelling as it is. Nevertheless, I watched it a dozen . . . → Read More: Review: The King of Limbs (Radiohead) Tweet In January second’s New York Times article, entitled “Want a Hit? Keep It Simple,” Jon Pareles argues that, increasingly, “indie rock” seems to be suffering what Lisa Simpson would call “a dumbening.” If it’s somehow escaped notice, I am, generally speaking, never hesitant to accuse something of being preposterously stupid, degradingly clichéd, or so terrifyingly . . . → Read More: Part II: In Which I Take Umbrage with Assertions of Dumbening in “Indie Rock” Tweet Interstitial art of any sort—that art which falls between the established boundaries of popularly accepted genres or even entirely disparate artistic media—is and has always been difficult to process for critics and audiences alike. Sterne’s Tristram Shandy—a text some might dub the most famous work in the history of interstitial literature—was, for instance, less than . . . → Read More: The Reunion of Broken Parts: On the (Inexplicably) Underhyped Writing of Alex Rose Tweet And now for something completely different. What? The website’s subtitle promises “Other Sundry Excitements.” This is one of them. So, off we go. In the summer of 2009, I bought something like sixty LPs and worked slowly through those, an effort which took me well into 2010. I wanted to find some new artists . . . → Read More: 2010′s (Revised) Top Ten in Music Tweet Take, for instance, the three-minute introductory sequence of Busted Hub. A logy wipe like the cockeyed rising of Venetian blinds opens the film. Trevor Czewski, greasy-haired and wrapped in a blue/black flannel, sighs in the cracked vinyl front seat of his Chevette.[1]* His left cheekbone bears a recently popped pimple which one will watch Trevor, . . . → Read More: All the Little Moving Parts |
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