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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