The Michigan Daily - michigandaily.com

Friday, December 5, 2008 - 9

Copying the legends

"You can kill me, but you can't take my dignity. 'Transporter 2' already did that'

Getting n
'Transporter 3' is just another run-of-the-mill action film
By Blake Goble I Daily Film Editor

By JOSHUA BAYER
Daily Arts Writer
"Happy" In Galoshes is not
an album that's meant to be
reviewed. This
isn't to say it's
so piss-poor that
the whole pro-
cess of criticism SCOtt
would be wasted Weiland
on it, though it's
not all that great "Happy" In
either. Galoshes Galoshes
is just incredibly Softdrive
tricky to digest
because, at its
core, it's little more than a vanity
project made so Scott Weiland can
pay homage to his favorite musi-
cians.
The record itself is the audi-
tory equivalent of a Tarantino
flick, but without any underly-
ing semblance of auteurial style
to mark the patchwork of musi-
cal references as Weiland's own
contraption. So in a strange way,
the album's really closer to being
an anti-vanity project. It's a solo
record that reflects nothing of
Weiland's persona other than that
he loves a lot of different types of
music. '
The record's brazen ridiculous-
ness can be deftly expressed with
a single example: One of the tracks
is a "Garage Band"-y cover of
David Bowie's "Fame" featuring
Paul Oakenfold (a DJ and trance
music wizard). Nobody asked
for this song. Most people listen-
ing to Galoshes will skip over it
every single time. Weiland cites

Bowiea
ences, b
laughab
would'v
ing his
oke bar
he's doi
expend
TheN
tener in
influenc
sublime
but stil
anythin
their tr
In "Be
going f
tatterei
were h
meager

as one of his biggest influ- scending the album's scattershot
ut that's no excuse for the collage of hijacked archetypes.
ily prosaic imitation. He "Beautiful Day" rips the tense
ve been better off exorcis- chord progression from "One" by
Ziggy fixations at a kara- Three Dog Night and stretches it
- that's essentially what over the loom of a Beatles-esque
lng anyway on the grossly circus stomp, adding spooky
able cut. synths and kettle drums for fur-
whole album forces the lis- ther exoticism. The resulting con-
ito a big game of spot-the- coction is something both warmly
ce that may make for some familiar and intoxicatingly eccen-
ly entertaining diversion, tric. "Killing Me Sweetly" recalls
I doesn't make the songs the alcoholic nostalgia of Wei-
ig more than the sum of land's Stone Temple Pilots roots
ansparently pilfered parts. but also demonstrates that his
Not Afraid," was Weiland voice has fermented into an unbe-
or a grating caricature of coming whine over the years.
d-heart U2 balladry, or Still, something about Galoshes
is vocal chops simply too is strangely endearing. Maybe it's
to handle the upper reg- the dog-eyed glee Weiland must
have felt while recording it. The
album radiates with the naive
spark of a lanky pre-teen dand-
Seiland pays ing at a bar mitzvah with a conta-
gious aura of unabashed uncool.
ibute to his This is especially apparent on
"Blind Confusion," a song where
idols in a Weiland channels the radio-
humping power-pop ghosts of No
ppy manner. Doubt. He sounds uncomfortably
out of place, like a sweaty, potbel-
lied 55-year-old version of Jon
Bon Jovi trying to get a bunch
'hom Yorke-style warbling of little kids to sing along and
ack required? "Big Black dance. Weiland may have lost his
r" is slightly more success- ability to discern between what's
shing crisp snare hits and cool and what's not, but the whole
vintage keyboards in the affair is turbo-charged with such
Steely Dan, then adding caffeinating energy that it's hard
'lectro-funk synth la of not to crack a smile. Galoshes is
al. And to top it off, Wei- an alluring mess that's sure to be
'oons in a Prince-like fal- pegged with many adjectives, but
1 over the track. "boring" certainly won't be one
a few songs verge on tran- of them.

,AW
tr
slo

 ason Statham ("The Bank Job")
likes to kick
the crap out
of people. And
when you watch
him kick the Transporter3
crap out of his At Quality16
2,383rd anony- and Showcase
mous black-jack- Lionsgate
eted bad guy in
"Transporter 3,"
you've got to wonder how long he
can keep this up.
Statham has been developing a
Bruce Willis-like film persona over
the last decade. "Transporter 3"
makes it clear he's not giving it up
anytime soon.
Statham plays Frank Martin, the
"transporter" of the title, a person
who moves goods from one place to
another. The items he moves can be
legal or otherwise - he doesn't ask
questions. As it turns out, the illegal
items are usually the ones that get
him into trouble.
This time Martin is trapped in a
baddealwithaninnocuouslysmooth
and evil villain, whichrequires him
to utilize the most effective means
of transporting things in an action
movie - a pimped-out car. With a
sassy woman in the passenger seat
and aid from his friends, he must

deliver the car to a certain desti-
nation before time runs out. Why?
Well, do you really care?
The movie features the usual
high-octane action fanfare: karate,
exploding cars, exotic Euro-girls,
shirtless scenes and half-assed plot
devices. In short, "Transporter 3" is
everything you've come to expect
from a "Transporter" flick. And
that's why the movie sucks. It's just
another dumb "guy movie."
This isn't to say that all action
flicks are brainless testosterone-
fests. "The Italian Job" and "The
Bank Job" were great films. And,
to give "Transporter 3" some
credit, there's actually one decent
chase scene where Frank is pursu-
ing an Audi with a motor bike. The
Stooges's punk-rock thrasher "I
Wanna Be Your Dog" plays in the
background, producing just enough
driving energy to push the action
forward as Frank plows through
the backstreets. But this is just one
scene in a film full of otherwise
generic set-pieces.
If you're a fan of the "Trans-
porter" series - and there must be
a lot of you out there or else this
wouldn't have become a trilogy -
then there's probably no point in
tryingto convince you these are bad

movies. The film's got the formula
pretty much right, though: Fans
will love this movie. It's big, loud,
aggressive and cut like a poor man's
Jerry Bruckheimer flick. Tony Scott
("Top Gun") would be proud. For
the rest of us, though, these films
will probably elicit a migraine.
Thebetterthingtodowouldbeto
save your $12 and just wait the year
and a half for this film to appear on
TV. And, between Statham's all-
too-similar violent, head-smashing
roles in films like "War," "Crank"
and "Death Race," it's no wonder
Statham has trouble keeping down
serious work. It seems like he can't
go one film without flaunting his
abs mid-roundhouse kick, a la
Chuck Norris. It's not impressive
anymore.
Statham's got the potential for
better roles. But, to put it bluntly,
he's only as good as the movies he's
in. Being typecast as the beefcake
action-man is the perfect path for
someone looking to becomea Jean-
Claude Van Damme or Steven Sea-
gal. "Transporter 3" is not even as
good as "Star Wars III.' The film
actually feels more like "American
Ninja 5." Don't remember that one?
Well you won't remember this one
either.

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Only

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Reclaiming the spotlight

By SARAH CHAVEY
Daily Arts Writer
Butch Walker is a hit-making
machine for artists other than
himself. After he
wrote a few of his
own hits in the
bands SouthGang
("Tainted Angel") BUtch
and Marvelous Walker
3 ("Freak of the
Week"), Walker Sycamore
stepped off the Meadows
stage and into Epic
the studio as a
full-time song writer for pop stars.
During this time, he pumped out
success after success for artists like
Pink, Fall Out Boy, Avril Lavigne
and countless other chart-toppers.
With Sycamore Meadows Walker
tries his hand at being the front man
again. And hopefully the spotlight
Hitmaker spins
emotional tales.
helps his pasty complexion.
The album itself is named after
a street in sunny So-Cal, where
Walker was renting a house from
Flea of The Red Hot Chili Peppers.
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After the house and all of Walker's
possessions were destroyed in a
fire - including the master to every
record he had ever worked on - he
found himself in a state of weighty
self-reflection. It's from this point
of view that the album was created.
The result is 14 tracks worth
of emotionally-charged pop rock.

While the songs can be overly heart-
sick and whiny at times, it makes for
an honest album. "Ships in a Bottle"
is one of the more gloomy tracks.
With lyrics like "I can't re-fill any-
thing / Especially my heart / Espe-
cially my brain ... Just wanna walk
away from the ashes / And take the
See BUTCH, Page 10

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