The Michigan Daily - michigandaily.com

Tuesday, November 1 2011 - 7A

Before the beat ends

Florence keeps faith

Driving down the Lodge
- Detroit's midnight
autobahn - last Sat-
urday evening to 107.5 WGPR's
old-school mdlange of disco,
house, boogie
and techno,
I learned
that in just
over a day's
time, it would
all be over.
Sometime
after hearing JOE
Bohannon's DIMUZIO
"Let's Start
the Dance"
(a song that may be impossible
to listen to and remain seated),
the DJ quietly announced the
station would cease to be by 12
a.m. Sunday. Sold out to urban
broadcast giant Radio One,
WGPR's "dance" was coming to a
subdued and abrupt end.
Coasting off the Forest/
Warren Ave. exit, I reached my
friend's Midtown apartment to
chat about fading high school
friendships, Occupy-wherever
and the possibility of going see a
show at the Magic Stick, a venue
I hadn't been to since I was wor-
rying about driver's tests and
senior prom. The headlining act
was Boris, the storied Japanese
noise/metal/pop/oh-what-does-
it-matter?
My friend and I planned to
show up three hours "fashion-
ably late," trying to predict the
punctualities of a three-band bill
with $17 tickets. We ended up
simply "late."
To get to the Stick's upstairs
from the parking lot, you have to
head through the Garden Bowl,
the country's oldest-running
bowling alley. Walking through a
pink and yellow hallway narrow
enough to make you think you're
bigger than you really are, pangs

of nost
sea strc
Ther
much h
Boris w
hairier
fani-m
and ho!
coaster
for the
seemin
lead gu
her key
shredd
Takesh
bass/gu
but did
soundE
boost.
They
banged

algia, giddiness and nau- ness with a healthy leather quo-
olled into my head. tient. Hands were kept in one
re, on a stage that seemed of three positions - pocketed,
sigher in high school, was crossed or devil-horned. The
trapping up. The band is crowd's extremities, at the very
in person. Atsuo, the Ste- least, appeared capable of a full
ic'd drummer, whooped range of motion. Depending on
llered like a kid on a roller intoxicants of choice, the band's
holding up devil horns tempo or the onlooker's lyrical
entire ride. Wata, the familiarity (rare, but passionate
gly perpetually bummed when displayed), toes tapped
itarist, plugged away at and heads swayed, banged or
'boards dutifully between drooped. I'd like to say that a
ing. Best of all was great show is one in which the
is, with a double-necked audience wants to clap but has
uitar (that invited irony no idea when to do so. This was
not quarter it) asking the one of those.
guy, mid-drone, for a little One woman in front of us,
leathered-up and somewhere
y had a gong and they between horny and 35, held her
it. fist out like a microphone and/or
symbol of anger and unexpected
joy. The same hand found its fin-
gers creeping into the back pock-
ecreating et of her equally leathered date,
outh as the whose body language seemed to
say, "Honey, I'm busy. I'm watch-
dial turns. ingthis."
*An obvious Boris-head flailed
and stomped with religious fer-
vor, raising his palms in mercy,
as loud. They did not wear testifying with every blistered
gs. I think if a member of cymbal torrent, baptized. The
yore ear plugs it would be less active around him looked
ivalent of whatever sell- at each other with remarks of
can still be. All I could do disdain, maybe laughter, maybe
ile when the kick-drum jealousy.
my chest. My ears accept-

F

Ceremonials' is Florence's voice is gothic and
intimidating, ebbing and flow-
spiritual, yet not a ing in a fluid reference to the
song title. She wonders in a deep
departure for band breathy whisper, "Would you
have it any other way?" A min-
By KATIE STEEN ute later the song is flooded with
DailyArts Writer deluge of instrumentation while
vocals surge down octaves in a
Two years after the release of torrential outburst.
her debut album Lungs, Florence But the mournful overtones of
Welch is far from winded. "What the Water Gave Me" are
For the incongruous in comparison to
band's second *** "Shake It Out." While Florence
album, Ceremo- contemplates suicide in the for-
nials, Florence Florence + mer track, in "Shake It Out" she
+ the Machine proceeds to advise everyone to
have joined the Machine simply shake out their demons. A
forces once Ceremonials youthful chorus adds in a "who-o-
again with fel- oa," perhaps articulating its sur-
low Brit and Universal Republic prise at the sudden shift toward
award-winning optimism. The song, like the
producer Paul Epworth. The majority of the album, has a rich,
album sounds similar in many weighty quality to it.
ways to the group's first, which The lyrics of"Shake It Out" are
is to say it has an otherworldly poetic as always but still relatable,
beauty. much like the pop-inspired sound
Flo forwent simpler garage- of the single. While Lungs was
rock inspired tracks like "Kiss written as a girl-power response
With a Fist," instead elaborating to a breakup, Ceremonials is an
on the grandiose and spiritual affirmation of Florence's strength
elements found in Lungs. While and independence even with a
not religious, Florence discusses man in her life (yeah, she got back
largely non-secular topics - to with her ex).
name a few, demons, devils and It's easy to get carried away in
damnation, but also revelation the inflated nature of Ceremoni-
and heaven. The album is practi- als. Florence's most memorable
cally a danceable sermon. tracks of the album, however, are
"What the Water Gave Me," the ones that stray furthest, from
the first single released, is a sin- lavishness. In "Breaking Down,"
ister track with themes of death she exposes her vulnerability, an
- more specifically the suicide of eerily cheery piano accompanying
Virginia Woolf. It starts off low- lyrics centering on madness. In
key, a metallic drumbeat with a "Lover to Lover," Florence muses
melancholy guitar phrase moan- on a loose lifestyle, admitting she
ing in the background, which has no chance of salvation. But
continues throughout the song. she repeatedly shrieks, "that's all

UNIVERSAL REPUBLIC
right" - beautifully, of course,
because Florence is never capable
of uttering an inharmonic note.
Florence even dabbles in
unabashed discordance in
"Remain Nameless," a track com-
manded by an electronic beat and
unrelenting coolness. It starts
slowly, a sense of unpredictability
underneath its superficial tame-
ness, but comes together in the
end with Florence's emphatic
request for her darling to call her
whenever he needs her. The track
is clubbier than Flo fans are used
to, but it shouldn't be disregarded
as mere experimentation with the
electronic genre.
With that in mind, consider
that the band almost went pop
for its sophomore album, propo-
sitioned by various U.S. produc-
ers. But Florence explained her
ultimate decision to reject the
enticement of pop in a Billboard
interview: "No. No. No. No. No! I
can't do that. This is too weird. I
can't just suddenly leave behind
everything that made Lungs." And
for that, Florence fans may thank
heaven or salvation or demons or
any of the other inspirations for
Ceremonials.

It wa
ear plo
Boris w
the equ
ing out
was sm
shook n

ed their fate.
The first song we caught was
very skronk-skronk-duh-duh-
doooooooooooooooooooooom-
badabadabadadadah,
while the second was more
PSHAWWWWWWW-
WWWWWWWWWW-
KREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEloh.
The lyrics were Japanese, so I
couldn't understand them. If I
knew Japanese, would it have
helped?
Can I describe this audience?
It was all manners of white-

A few hours after the show,
I was speeding home listening
to WGPR, a station now hours
away from death. Dozing off, a
2 a.m. text from my Ann Arbor
housemate lit up my childhood
bedroom. "We are old," it read.
Optimistically, all I fingered in
response was "A lot of time has
passed," with eyelids closing,
ears ringing.
Dimuzio is in search of the
perfect leather quotient. To help
out, e-mail shonenjo@umich.edu.

Party on with Penguin Prison

TV R EVIE W
. 'Ma Up!' just mans down

By SAM CENZHANG
DailyArts Writer
The male gender is in the midst
of an existential crisis. At least,
that's what you'd think if you only
watched ABC
from 8 to 9 p.m.
on Tuesdays.
"Man Up!," and Man Up'
its lead-in Tim "p
Allen vehicle Pilot
"Last Man
Standing," are Tuesdays at
both about men 8:30 p.m.
fumbling their ABC
way through
modern masculinity. Damningly,

By EDITH FREYER
DailyArts Writer
Penguin Prison. Don't let the
whimsical moniker fool you -
this is seri-
ously good *** t
music. Follow-
ing stints in Penguin
genres every-P
where from r
rap to punk to Penguin Prison
classical (he
once sang in Downtown
school choir
with Alicia Keys), the New York-
based beatsmith seems to have
finally found his rightful home
in the electro-pop dance music
scene. DJs around the globe have
cause to celebrate - Penguin
Prison has released a handful of
sparkling dance anthems hearty
enough to keep partygoers mov-
ing for hours.
Chris Glover, the up-and-com-
ing hero of pop music, officially
became Penguin Prison in 2009.
He has established himself as a
heavily sought-after remix art-
ist, proving an uncanny knack
for upping the funk factor of oth-
erwise mellow tracks. His self-
titled album is concise, totaling
just 11 songs. The synthesizer is
Glover's best friend throughout,
and he uses it well, updating'80s
pop and infusing it with enough
Michael Jackson gasps and
punching grooves a la Prince to

make h
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and an
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disco a
itself.(
"I'll bu
be lone
it feels
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tU
"Th
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Glover
his per
nia. Br
"Deser
ing w
and la
ly resi
incred
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grouni
ing pia

sis influences clear. Glover proves his artistic
r a few listens, it becomes range - and surprises his fans
nt that the album is wired - with the inclusion of a slow-
surprising sense of tension er tune, "Someone Got Every-
guish that reads strongly in thing," a driven, taunting ballad.
ics but subtly in the upbeat This song closes the album, per-
And anger suits Glover haps meant to be played as a last
the strong opening song, call for the dance party that is
Fuck With My Money," Penguin Prison.
a dark message juxtaposed Penguin Prison perfects the
ptimistic danceability. The idea that less is morc - each
ntitled "Multi-Millionaire" song riffs on a basic musical
at techno, comes close ts theme and ends before it burns
nd seems to be a parody of out, while the momentum is
Glover serenades listeners: still high. The songs seem to be
.y you a mountain / we can curiously hung in the delicate
ely at the top." In this case, balance between agitated self
good to hear music that control and total dance floor-
ttake itself too seriously. induced destruction. Seasoned
ears will appreciate Glover's
astoundingly tight production
on each track.
The only critique is that for
ixedo ready avid followers of Penguin Pris-
on, much of this album might
feel like recycled material -
many of the songs were previ-
e Worse it Gets" is an ously released, and that's a bit
ally funky track in which of a letdown for those expect-
laments everything from ing totally new work. Luckily,
rpetual lateness to insom- the songs don't get old and will
ut the gold medal goes to remain in Top 25 Most Played
t Cold," a sunny tune shin- lists for some time to come.
ith bouncing synthesizer Whether or not the album
yered with Glover's deep- sounds new, one thing is for cer-
onating voice. He sounds tain: Penguin Prison's musical
ible in this one, adding enlightenment is sure to leave
ingly harmonized back- listeners breathless and sweaty
d vocals and pipes in puls- on the dance floor, begging for
no for a winning chorus. more.

Three men, one lightsaber, endless possibilities.

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ore flattering to justify the is telegraphed. The third act ties
ice of "Man Up!" as a coun- everything together, in a "Look,
ince to the slate of wom- Ma, I'mtyingeverythingtogether
ninated sitcoms that have like the professor told me to" sort
red this fall ("New Girl," of way. The episode is thrown
Broke Girls," "Whitney," together to showcase flat plot-
than as legitimate comedic lines, and the result is, well, flat.
rrses. The show is a cesspit The driving element behind the
cid writing and disinterest- story is Will worrying about his
ng. There's no reason for it son's manliness, even though
n the air. said son seems like a perfectly
fine kid. Craig tries to break up
an ex's wedding by playing her
me giant step "Brown-Eyed Girl." This leads to
a fight scene, which only serves
ick for m an, the purpose of setting the visual
gag of children's balloons float-
ing across a suburban yard like
tumbleweed. Sadly, that may be
characters of "Man Up!" the funniest part of the episode.
oad to the point of paro- So the characters are flat and
-aight man and lead Will the plot is a mess. Unfortunately,
er Zickel, "Delocated") is the thematics are the worst part
ly Phil Dunphy of "Mod- of the show. While the "women
mily," down to the hairstyle are funny too" subtext of other
cal cadences. Craig (series current shows is problematic in
r Christopher Moynihan, terms of gender politics, it pales
uestions") is apparently the next to this jumble. If the show is
ated man-who-has-emo- trying to explore modern manli-
Kenny's (Dan Fogler, "Balls ness, or aspire to some kind of
ry") character is pieced paleo-masculinity, it has failed
er from cutting room floor miserably. The guys who sup-
critten for Zack Galifiana- posedly need to be more manly
.pparently, strong female shrink away from a fight. Brenda's
ter backlash is going strong crypto-Old Spice guy boyfriend,
e Beth (Teri Polo, "Meet who's only there to make her ex
rents") and Brenda (Aman- Kenny jealous, fights everybody
mer, "What About Brian"), and gets arrested. This is the big
o women in the show, do learning moment. Modern man-
y nothing other than cluck hood is reduced to pretending
-man-child counterparts. to stand up for yourself like you
cturally, the "Man Up!" would in "Call of Duty," then let-
s like what a film school ting some kind of chiseled He-
t would have written after Man do the dirty work. This isn't
st day of class. Every joke "The Wire." This doesn't even

reach for the heights of "Two and
a Half Men."
Comedies have been basing
gags on the "men stupid, women
smart" dynamic for about as long
as there have been comedies.
"Man Up!" doesn't have any-
thing new to say, but the show's
vacuity is obscured by its own
cluelessness about what exactly
it wants to say. This is a nebu-
lously conceived, poorly execut-
ed rehashing of tired and broad
comedic tropes as extraneous as
the exclamation mark in its title.
Stay away.

t