6A — Monday, March 6, 2017
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Why I’m proud of my fat,
bruised punk show lip
DAILY MUSIC COLUMN
The power and meaning in music and the injuries we endure for it
Of course, I know that “I love
punk rock” is the least punk rock
thing a person could possibly say,
but as I left the Magic Stick after
a sold-out Menzingers show over
Spring Break, I just had to let out
that exclamation — as corny as it is.
My friend and I were leaving
with, between us, two pairs of
sore feet, a bloody lip, broken
glasses, sweat-soaked clothes and
a passionate yearning for a glass of
water. We thought of all these as
badges of honor: Proof that we had
seen a perfect show.
And it was perfect — physically
draining,
but
perfect.
Myself
and other Daily writers have
already
given
enough
full-
throated endorsements of The
Menzingers, so I’ll spare you too
much repetition, but these guys
from Philly are now veterans of
the American punk circuit, having
built up a hardcore, loyal fanbase
and written a full set’s worth of
great songs.
At the Magic Stick, “Gates”
sounded like a piece of classic
American
songwriting,
and
“Casey” brought some of the
loudest screams I’ve ever heard.
Meanwhile, the new songs from
After the Party give you a little
more room to breathe but still boast
tightly written, energetic choruses
and boisterous crowd responses.
That crowd — if I hadn’t seen
“SOLD OUT” taped to the venue’s
doors when I walked in, I would
have known by how packed-
together the entire room was.
There were a host of different
crowdsurfers
for
every
song,
jumping onstage unencumbered
by security and leading the
loudest singalongs. It was physical
but not violent, fans crazed by
their favorite song jockeyed for
the closest position to the stage,
causing harm more out of a lack of
awareness than any ill intent. I got
kicked in the face towards the end
of the show, and although it wasn’t
my favorite thing at the time, I can’t
help but smile now when I see the
mark in the mirror.
I’ve been thinking about that
bloody lip of mine the past few
days, and why I’m weirdly so proud
of it. I’ve never been one to wear
bruises proudly, like some kind of
adventurer. I avoid pain as much
as I can, and if you ever do see me
sporting a bruise it’s much more
likely that there’s an embarrassing
tale of clumsiness behind it rather
than an exciting story that shines
a spotlight on my daring and
athleticism.
Sometimes it’s hard to quantify
how much a certain artist means
to you. Collecting all the albums
doesn’t mean as much in the age of
Spotify. Discovering all the b-sides
and obscurities is easier ever since
Youtube. You could definitely buy
a t-shirt, or some stickers, or get a
signed poster. You could even get a
tattoo. But the struggle of being a
fan is coming to terms with always
being an outsider — supporting but
never really being able to make an
impact on the art you love so much.
I try not to assign any kind of
religious significance to music
fandom, but getting to the front and
shouting yourself hoarse at a show
is definitely an act of devotion,
maybe even a form of worship.
The way people pack themselves
in and struggle to get the best spot
possible, the ways they dance and
sweat and drain themselves over
the course of the night — they’re
giving everything they have to
the music that they love so much,
becoming part of the show as they
trade stability and comfort for that
life-changing chorus.
To be clear: don’t invade other
people’s personal space, and please
don’t use blood as a means of
measuring loyalty. But just the fact
that you’re willing to put yourself
through the physical gauntlet of a
great punk show speaks volumes
about your feelings. I fucking
hate to exercise, but I would have
burned every calorie in my body as
long as a band I loved kept playing.
The opener for The Menzingers
on this tour is Jeff Rosenstock, a
DIY pop-punker who sounds like
a cross between Mark Hoppus and
Father John Misty. Rosenstock
has broken out since his recent
release, Worry., yielded indie-
level hits like “Festival Song”
and “Wave Goodnight to Me,”
and his set was an exhaustingly
spectacular celebration of his
newfound
success.
His
band
played for a gloriously breakneck
half hour with an energy level that
no headliner could pull off without
collapsing onstage.
A lot of fans had come to see him,
specifically, as the space in front of
the stage got almost dangerously
frenetic as Rosenstock screamed
out his songs. While Rosenstock
was exceptionally conscientious
about making sure his most
vulnerable fans weren’t crushed,
he couldn’t hide how touched
he was by this crowd’s display
of passion. They weren’t just
loud, but they were willing to put
themselves in harm’s way just
for his art. Out of all those bodies
flying around this upstairs room
in Midtown, nobody was literally
shouting “I love punk rock,” but
everyone was saying it — to each
other, and to the artists.
LAUREN THEISEN
Daily Music Columnist
‘I Don’t Feel at Home in
This World’ brings charm
NETFLIX
Netflix’s new for-streaming movie “I Don’t Feel at Home in This World Anymore”
The wonderful film “Frances
Ha,” as described by co-writer and
star Greta Gerwig, was conceived
as an amalgamation of everyday
moments, like deciding whether or
not to pay a fee to use an ATM. The
result is a film rich in humanity, a
measured dissection of an average
individual as she struggles to
navigate her newfound adulthood.
Many of those same emotions
— those familiar beats, not from
our movie history but from our
actual history — are given their
due spotlight in “I Don’t Feel at
Home in This World Anymore,”
the debut directorial effort from
actor Macon Blair (“Green Room”)
that premiered this January at
the Sundance Film Festival, won
its top prize (an honor shared
by the likes of “Whiplash,”
“Beasts of the Southern Wild”
and
“Precious”),
then
was
unceremoniously dumped onto
Netflix, its distributor. But the film
is worth more than its lackluster
distribution indicates. “I Don’t
Feel at Home in This World
Anymore” is a darkly funny and
gritty action movie, one that
takes left turn after left turn with
total confidence — and with great
payoffs.
If “Portlandia” did “The Big
Lebowski”
with
Phyllis
and
Dwight from “The Office,” this
film would be the outcome.
Ruth Kimke (Melanie Lynskey,
“The Intervention”) is the hero
we neither deserve nor expect
— a depressed nurse’s assistant
whose
house
is
burglarized
and, disturbed by the police’s
intransigence,
becomes
a
vigilante, obsessed
with
restoring
some
semblance
of
justice
and
order in this cruel,
chaotic
world.
Her best friend’s
husband
provides
no assistance, so
she
recruits
the
help of an off-kilter
neighbor,
Tony
(Elijah
Wood,
“The Trust”), who himself has
no friends and who tries a bit too
hard in everything he does. The
guy, after all, is quick to wield his
pair of nunchucks at the slightest
provocation.
Though
Wood
is
more
attention grabbing, it’s Lynskey’s
performance that buoys the film.
She’s just so much fun to watch.
Every sigh slightly tinged with
disgust, every scrunch of the face
to digest what idiotic nonsense
someone else says or does —
Lynskey is everyone who has ever
wondered why people truly are
the worst. But Lynskey never has
to suck it up or go on about her day.
She’s the hero in a revenge fantasy
that feels all the more satisfying
when she gets her way, often by
force.
The magic of Blair’s film isn’t
limited to its two leads. Every
character, even those whose time
on screens lasts not five minutes,
is instantly memorable: An elderly
secondhand goods
salesman
who
looks on the verge
of death but can
still pull off some
martial
arts,
a
police
detective
whose
divorce-
stricken grief takes
control of his life,
a bored housewife
who
could
probably
recite
Betty
Friedan
by
heart.
Cinematographer Larkin Seiple
recreates his genre-bending skills
from last year’s surprise summer
indie hit “Swiss Army Man” to
form a kinetic style that constantly
adapts to the film’s quickly
changing moods.
Blair’s film is not just Ruth’s
story:
It’s
a
quintessentially
modern American story — a
Portlander’s fairy tale and an
engaging
slacker
film
that’s
(fortunately for those like myself,
bored by what one may consider
the
artificiality
of
Richard
Linklater’s film) not like “Slacker”
at all.
DANIEL HENSEL
Daily Film Editor
“I Don’t Feel
at Home in
This World
Anymore”
Netflix
Streaming on
Netflix
FILM REVIEW