10 - The Michigan Daily - Wednesday, October 13, 2004
ARTS
Interpretive dance comes to 'U'
By Lynn Hassbarth
Daily Arts WXriter
In his latest solo work, "Pollen Revolution," Akira Kasai
abandons the boundaries of dance, and presents an instinctual,
intuitive form of movement. Performing at the Power Center
this today, Akira Kasai will journey though traditional Kabu-
ki dance, classical ballet, hip-hop and
improvisational eurythmy.
"Pollen Revolution" opens with tradi-
tional Kabuki dance, a stylized form of
Japanese theater founded at the turn of
the 17th century. Preserving this honored
tradition, Kasai emerges as a woman
dressed in a brilliant black and red silk
robe with an elaborate headdress and
glittering ornaments. His face is layered
with white rice powder, while his eyes are
framed in a dramatic red. Choreographed
"Pollen
Revolution"
by Akira
Kasai
Today at 8 p.m.
Tickets: $16-$36
Student rush: $10
At the Power Center
Courtesy of Anti
Tell me Mr. Anderson: What good is a phone call when you are unable to speak?
Waits St1l haunts with one
gestures depict universal themes of love, revenge and the con-
flict between duty and private emotion.
Just as one begins to adjust to Kasai's stunning persona, his
appearance and movement style are drastically altered. The
stage turns dark and the layers of silk are stripped off to reveal
the bare flesh of Kasai's aging body.
He is left vulnerable on stage without the diversion of cos-
tume, light and material distraction. Kasai makes the bold
choice to abandon what he calls the "informationalized body"
for a raw and exposed form in which he is free to draw on the
"infinite depth of the inner body."
With this newly emancipated body, Kasai explores the highly
innovative movement of Butoh dance. A contemporary form of
dance that emerged in post-World War II Japan, Butoh is move-
ment unencumbered by language, tradition and constraint. It is
known for its transformations, of both body and space, mood
and effect.
It is through Butoh movement that Kasai explores beyond the
external physicality of movement. He seeks to break with the
Western notion of movement that emphasizes "the body con-
tained within the skin." With Butoh, he explores an Asian sense
of movement based on the "external aura of the body." Kasai
challenges both artists and audiences to re-evaluate movement
preferences and integrate these different approaches.
For Kasai, "Pollen Revolution" is a special piece
of work. Each performance presents a new opportu-
nity to connect with the audience - to redefine the
environment of the piece. He draws from the energy
of viewers and allows them to influence his work in
undetectable ways. To witness this work is nothing
short of entering his subconscious while exploring
your own.
Akira Kasal performs In "Pollen Revolution."
By Evan McGarvey
Daily Arts Writer
MsiR
Even for Tom Waits, a man who has made a stunning
career of documenting the underbelly
night, his latest album, Real Gone, is
turnal. Waits has made the drunken,
grimy street life into haunting der-
elict art, from his tin-pan alley days
on Closing Time to his twin opuses
Swordfishtrombones and Rain Dogs.
of the American
perpetually noc-
Tom Waits
Real Gone
In each step of his evolution as Anti
singer, songwriter and icon of the
night, Tom Waits has had two things: his gnarled under-
taker's rasp and his sometimes-crusty, sometimes-irides-
cent piano.
Well, call it a midlife crisis, call it a challenge, but
Waits ditches the trusty keyboards on Real Gone and
tosses in various guitarists, percussionists and even his
own son on the turntables. Of course, the first few listens
feel almost alien, but even the most jaded piano lovers
can't deny the instant draw of "Hoist That Rag" and its
dirty-flamenco howls.
Every guest on the album knows they're playing the
background to Waits and his grotesque yarns that call to
mind the fading hours after midnight. He's always been
able to detail the sinister acts of man - not through the
over-the-top hyperbole - but by the power of imagery and
suggestion. On "Don't Go Into That Barn," Waits chan-
nels the primal fear of the wilderness into, "And I pointed
above the trees / That's when I heard my name in a scream
/ Coming from the woods, out there / I let the dog run
off my chain / I locked my door real good with a chair."
When he gets spooky, its not cookie-cutter chills; it's the
cold shower of dread that only the man himself (and that
amazing rasp)
can provide.
It wouldn't be
a proper Waits
album without
some unbeliev-
able, nonsensi-
cal lyrics and
a slightly over-
wrought spoken
word section,
but all these
patches of self-
indulgence are
crushed under
the enormous center of dark energy on Gone. And with
stripped, almost naked guitar riffs and sparing use of
bells and other studio novelties, the weight of the album
becomes that much more elegant, and that much more
direct.
It's been a wonderful year for the human voice in
pop music. Bjork, Brian Wilson and now Waits have all
proven that even in an age of unparalleled electronic
proficiency in the studio, the singular most powerful
tool in music is still the voice. For Waits, he's taken his
weathered, shaman-like howl and wrapped it around
some of the more twisted songs in his catalogue and one
of his most overtly political. "Day After Tomorrow" is
the chilling centerpiece of the album and is perhaps one
of the darkest and disturbing anti-war songs since the
post-punk group Suicide created the Vietnam-era opus
"Frankie Teardrop."
Even if ditching his trademark piano was a one-shot
deal, somne rigorous training method designed to push
his songwriting and arranging skills or just some bizarre
trick, Waits shows that his feverish rasp is far more than
a trick. It's a spell.
By Aaron Kaczander
For The Daily
Do not mistake Frausdots for a
sunny blonde, low-fi, yet ultimately
refined West
Coast version of
Interpol. Still,
there is a strange
feeling of content
in Couture, Cou-
ture, Couture, the
rich debut record
Frausdots
Couture,
Couture, Couture
Sub Pop
Pop duo successfully mixes styles
on 'Couture, Couture, Couture' LP
Michelle Loiselle formed Frausdots
after a series of other shoegazing
bands failed to capture the lavish,
melodic pop sound Rademaker had
in mind. With his new project, Rade-
maker ventures into self-professed
rougher production values that touch
base with his earlier influences. Cou-
ture does not stray far from this claim.
With studio help from members of
The Cure, Brian Jonestown Massacre
and Rooney, the album 10 influences
together to create something sonically
fascinating. The album's ten tracks
weave a strong mixture of brooding
snares, distant guitars and generous
synthesizer into the whir of fancy
L.A. nightlife.
Brent Rademaker's lulling voice -
think Ian Curtis on a gloom-less, even
uniquely happy day - radiates in faint
cries on gems such as "Soft Lights."
He laments, "I don't want to live for-
ever, baby," with a renewed fervor
not often heard in current indie-rock
outfits. Instrumentally, "A Go-See"
resembles Sub Pop label mates Hot Hot
Heat, boasting screeching, twangy,
start-stop guitar riffs, intensely flood-
ing bass lines and wildly spastic drum
beats. Couture's leadoff single, "Dead
Wrong," which also opens the album,
enforces Rademaker's darkly genuine
confessions, "Everybody thinks that
they're in love/ They're dead wrong."
Never has such a beautifully bold and
narcissistic lyric made an attempt at
one-lining everyone's love life. It is
surprisingly witty lines of the same
nature that course through the bulk of
Couture.
Frausdots may wander in between
the gloom of their predecessors and
the sunny pop of their cronies, but isn't
that something extraordinary iniitself?
Couture, Couture, Couture certainly
isn't perfect, but offers an interesting
mix to capture the listener's attention,
at least until everyone's grown tired of
Interpol's Antics.
4
from the Los Angeles-based group
that recalls the beautifully ambient
murkiness of, say, Turn On The Bright
Lights. As the newest offering from
indie giant Sub Pop Records, Fraus-
dots covers the oft explored territory
of temperamental post-punk with sur-
prising ease, showmanship and hints
of pure pop bliss.
Brent Rademaker and cohort
Novel chronicles Yugoslavian life and death in modern times
By Will Dunlap
Daily Arts Writer
At the age of 12
Dolinar is undeniably
cious. Intrigued by th
of eternal life, Ivan rai
subject in conversatio
an aging artist. In the
stylist rather than storyteller.
Born in the Croatian town
of Nizograd in 1948, Ivan
obsesses over power from a
tender age, bullying children
Ivan in the schoolyard and pro-
preco- fessing love for the state. At
e idea 19, he enters medical school
ses the in Serbia, hoping to realize
n with his dreams of power through
artist's knowledge "of people's hearts,
genitals, and brains." Despite
,o'S early success, a prank ends his
medical career and sends him
into forced labor. Unemploy-
A able upon his release, Ivan
view, life
is simply a
loan from
God; as an
individu-
al, one is
never real-
ly alive.
"You mean
April F(
Day
By Jos
Novakov
HarperCc
spirit. In a book preoccupied
with life's meaning, it is fit-
ting that the author also takes
the protagonist into the after-
life.
In the 226 pages allotted
to Ivan's life and afterlife,
Novakovich manages to con-
jure up an absorbing portrait
of post-World War II Yugo-
slav existence. Marshal Tito,
widely considered to be the
father of Yugoslavia, even
makes an appearance, offer-
ing Ivan a cigar on a visit to
his labor camp. With such
attention to famous politicos
and to politics in general, it's
understandable that Novakov-
ich makes the Balkans war of
the early 90s central to the
novel. Well into his 40s by the
time he is drafted, Ivan finds
himself pitted against fellow
Croats in a conflict as sense-
less as it is cruel. Throughout
the chaos, Ivan remains dis-
tant from the events around
him, capable of suffering but
never despair. Novakovich's
deadpan style shines here, his
gift for understatement allow-
ing for a brutal and mystic
portrayal of war.
Unfortunately, Ivan's emo-
tional reserve is far less effec-
tive in times of peace. For
much of the novel, the protag-
onist's inability to plumb the
depths of his often-pathetic
condition make for a narra-
tive in which life's failures
and triumphs are nearly indis-
tinguishable. When Ivan does
become emotional, upon hear-
ing of Tito's death, a bitter
irony emerges. "He wondered
why he had shed tears for the
president who had caused so
much pain to him." Even after
death, Ivan remains incapable
of profound regret.
If it is Novakovich's intent
to present this view for the
sake of philosophical clar-
ity, he succeeds admirably.
One chapter, for instance, is
titled: "A chapter contain-
ing not much more than one
extended metaphor: the state
as an organism with many
organs." It is hardly a surprise
that Ivan's life should paral-
lel the troubled existence of
his homeland. Unfortunately,
it is also disappointing. In a
novel cloaked at every turn
by the bleakness of Yugoslav
life, one gets the feeling that
Novakovich's dull protagonist
is allotted more attention than
he probably deserves.
Wrought by supernatu-
ral and allegorical elements,
"April Fools Day" is, at heart,
a fable. As the subject of a
fable, Ivan Dolinar is a wan-
dering, wondering fool. If
Ivan falls short as a compel-
ling protagonist, his life still
serves the author's allegori-
cal intent. In Novakovich's
eyes, Ivan is the perfect fool:
a good man lost in his search
4
vich
Alins
we are dead?" Ivan asks.
"No," says the artist, "we
aren't capable of that either."
Despite its breadth, "April
Fool's Day," the first novel of
Josip Novakovich, falls short
of greatness, establishing
Novakovich's reputation as
returns to school, studying
philosophy. In the years that
follow, Ivan teaches science,
witnesses Yugoslavia's disso-
lution and survives the brutal
war a decade later. With the
worst seemingly behind him,
Ivan tries family life, father-
ing a child with the woman he
marries. After his death, Ivan
remains conscious, pondering
his existence as a harmless
for meaning, and, ultimately,
happiness. In its entirety,
Novakovich's offbeat novel is
still immensely readable. As a
stylist, Novakovich commands
the page with his dry wit from
the very first chapter. Though
flawed, "April Fool's Day" is
simply the work of a master in
a form not yet entirely his.
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