The Wonder Years cinch
the gaps in ‘Sister Cities’
MUSIC ALBUM REVIEW
It was a chilly day on Mar. 30 in
Wicker Park, one I was thoroughly
unprepared for after a four-hour
drive into Chicago earlier in the
morning. I clutched a copy of Toni
Morrison’s
“Beloved,”
reading
and shivering with my hands
in my sleeves, waiting in a line
that circled around the back of a
storefront. Upon finally entering
the shop — a pop-up put on by a
band known as The Wonder Years
in preparation for the release of
their newest record Sister Cities —
I approached a copy of the record’s
accompanying poetry/photo book.
Flipping through, I encountered an
image spanning two of the book’s
massive pages that immediately
caught my eye: a photo of lead
singer Dan Campbell crying in
the rain on his knees in front of
a shrine. I was forced to take a
moment to recompose myself,
blindsided by the visceral sorrow
of the photograph.
I’ve spent the last five years of my
life trying to explain to everyone
around me why The Wonder
Years are the best band to have
ever existed. Five years that began
with “‘Dismantling Summer’ is
pure poetry, you need to listen to
this,” which transitioned to “OK,
so when ‘Cigarettes and Saints’
dropped I literally shut down for 24
hours,” and finally to, “Yes, I drove
six hours to a small town in Illinois
on a whim to see them play, it’s not
that big of a deal.” After five years
of this, I’ll be absolutely damned if
The Wonder Years doesn’t shatter
the punk ceiling with Sister Cities.
Accompanying
the
release
of
their
sixth
album
is
an
intricate rollout comprised of the
aforementioned pop-up shops in
both Chicago and Philadelphia,
and in-store acoustic performances
across the East and Midwest.
The hard work and detail of their
efforts shows a band full of passion,
earnestly giving their fans an
intimate opportunity to experience
their art through these curated
mediums. Along with copies of
the poetry/photo books, the shop
space also included framed photos
from
the
extensive
traveling
that largely inspired Sister Cities
and unique merchandise. I was
fortunate enough to attend both
days of the pop-up shop in Chicago,
and during a Q&A midway through
the second evening’s performance,
frontman Dan Campbell gave
a simple explanation for their
intricate promotional efforts as
a way for the band to reach out to
their fans: “Please, please come
listen to this; come be a part of
this.”
On Sister Cities we find a band
shedding the introspection of
their past records, looking out
into a world they’ve toured twice
over, the title itself suggesting a
breakdown of cultural divisions.
They’re
moving
beyond
the
sadness, guilt and frustration
that mark most of their previous
material,
writing
songs
that
appeal to human sensibility rather
than their signature cathartic
emotionality that might seem more
niche. They’ve taken immense
risks with their writing on Sister
Cities, risks that more than exceed
what has come to be expected of a
punk-rooted band with indie-rock
heart. Second single “Pyramids
of Salt” reveals a newfound
control over tension and volume,
with some of the highest highs
and lowest lows on the record;
Campbell’s soft notes grace the
verses while bellowing vocals burst
from the chorus. The band takes
this a step further on the closing
song “The Ocean Grew Hands to
Hold Me,” an epic, six-minute track
that swells and crashes as intensely
as its namesake. “What strikes me
most is the symmetry,” Campbell
sings softly on “Flowers Where
Your Face Should Be,” a song
that tenderly reveals its gorgeous
lyrical and compositional layers as
it progresses. Campbell is referring
to the symmetrical nature of the
human experience — language,
culture and race aside, we all share
this common ground. Love, in all of
DOMINIC POLSINELLI
Senior Arts Editor
Courtesy of Janelle Santacruz
its forms, is the symmetry of being
human, and this is the underlying
basis for Sister Cities. Because of
love we feel loss; because of love
we feel comfort; because of love we
are the same.
The
Wonder
Years
slowly
revealed this theme even before the
album was officially announced.
A website was posted in late Jan.
listing coordinates throughout the
globe that lead to clues to unlock
the album’s trailer. I happened to be
in Manhattan when these arrived,
and met a complete stranger also
looking for the elusive poster in
Chinatown. A small amount of
mysterious seven inch records —
one side containing “We Looked
Like Lightning” and the other a
poem in many languages — were
sent across the globe to lucky fans.
I watched, literally in real time, as
fans frantically tried to translate
the poem together over social
media, a little shocked but more
awe-inspired by how easily we are
connected in today’s world. On the
seven inch’s single, Campbell sings,
“Sew the world together tightly
/ Cinch the gaps with pins and
string,” something the band was
able to accomplish with their fans
all within a few days’ time.
And this is exactly what makes
Sister Cities a one-of-a-kind album,
a collection of songs cinching
the gaps between me, you and
everyone else. I mention this not
out of grandiosity, but rather out
of exactly what I have observed,
emotionally
and
physically,
throughout my years as a fan of
this band. The Wonder Years,
like the human experience, have
connected people not just across
state lines, but across borders and
oceans.
The Wonder Years have written
a record so universally resonant, so
globally-minded, it’d be misguided
to try and ignore it. With Sister
Cities, the band has shattered the
thematic expectations of their
roots, reaching out to the world
from their interior rather than
focusing on it. I feel fortunate to
exist in a world where, beneath
political
tensions,
a
constant
stream of trauma and tragedy
and a world that feels constantly
on the brink of collapse, we have
a band like The Wonder Years
cutting through the divisive chaos
to uncover a common, human
heartbeat.
A new mediocre rom-com
Recently,
music
video
short films have blossomed
in quality. Take Beyoncé’s
“Lemonade” visual album or
her protégés, Chloe x Halle,
and their video for “The Kids
Are Alright.” These short films
mix strong music with striking
visuals, combining different
artforms to create an elevated
final product. Netflix’s new
film “Paradox” does not meet
this new standard. Not even a
little. In her directorial debut,
Daryl Hannah (“Kill Bill”)
teams up with musician Neil
Young to make, as she puts it,
a “more pot than plot” film.
Let’s just say, the influences of
medicinals are present.
If I didn’t know any better,
I would assume “Paradox”
was actually a student-made
parody of a Neil Young music
video. It’s that bad. Where
to start? The majority of the
film follows men dressed in
shabby costumes, improvising
lines people would only find
funny after a concentrated
dose of THC. These men are
Neil Young and his backup
band Promise of the Real. The
legendary Willie Nelson also
makes a brief appearance.
In other words, these are all
amateur actors. At times, I
wondered if the cameraman
forgot he hit record since
the feet of the actors often
made
unexplained
cameos.
Then there were the poorly
timed, unfortunate angles that
captured many crotch shots
and rear ends all in horribly
lit scenes. It’s a shame some
of the most well-lit moments
included watching a man take
a piss in the woods. What was
the relevance of this moment
to
the
film?
Absolutely
nothing.
The
cinematographer
of
“Paradox” also decided to
switch
nonsensically
from
digital to 16mm. The scenes
shot on film must have been an
attempt to appear alternative
and hipster. This need for a
vintage vibe might explain the
long time lapses of clouds and
the Northern lights. I can’t
help but wish the filmmakers
had spent less time switching
cameras
and
more
time
planning the point of the
film. Instead, “Paradox” boils
down to a bored musician’s
attempt to satisfy a desire
to be on camera. For fans of
Neil Young’s music, never
watch this film. Not even the
trailer. “Paradox” will ruin his
music forever. The rich vocals,
instrumentals
and
behind-
the-scenes shots of Young
rehearsing are the only bright
side of the film. However,
those songs have been around
for quite some time, and this
just might ruin their legacy.
The only part of “Paradox”
worth watching is when the
musicians
gather
around
the campfire to sing Willie
Nelson’s song “Angel Flying
Too Close to the Ground.”
Promise of the Real, a band
led by Nelson’s sons Lukas
and Micah, play an acoustic,
soulful cover with bongos, a
double bass (because cowboys
on the run carry 30-pound
instruments)
and
various
guitars.
The
camera
pans
around the musicians and the
microphone rings with the
crackle of sparks from the fire.
This serene and breathtaking
moment should have been the
template for the whole film. If
“Paradox” were structured as
a concert film with occasional,
silent
flashes
of
Western
scenes,
it
would
thrive.
However, this is not the case.
In the end, the ghastly visuals
eviscerate the tenderness and
rawness of the music. Anything
wonderful about the campfire
sequence is forgotten when
the following scenes include
someone watching a magnified
caterpillar crawl by — greeting
it with a “Hey there, big
fellow” — before proceeding to
take a dump with his buddy in
an outhouse. But hey, give the
filmmakers credit for shooting
the outhouse from several
angles and on film; nothing
screams dreamy and nostalgic
than two grown men having
a conversation while on the
can. If I were Neil Young, I
would buy back the rights to
“Paradox” from Netflix and
bury the footage where no one
would ever find it.
MEGHAN CHOU
Daily Arts Writer
FILM REVIEW
‘Paradox’ feels like parody
Some films seem destined to
succeed. Look at any Marvel
movie, complete with a star
director, superstar cast and
a plot as uninteresting as it
is easily digestible. The same
could be said of Netflix’s
“Happy
Anniversary.”
Director Jared Stern (“The
Internship”) is an established
comedy writer with a number
of films under his belt. The
film’s leads Ben Schwartz
(“Parks and Recreation”) and
Noël Wells (“Master of None”)
are energetic, young and have
turned in good performances
before. The plot is a unique
twist on the usual rom-com,
chronicling a couple stuck in
a rut and struggling to decide
whether their relationship is
worth the middle-aged decay
sure to follow. It’s a strange
feeling, then, to leave “Happy
Anniversary”
and
wonder
what exactly the point was.
First, the acting is fantastic.
Sam (Schwartz) and Mollie
(Wells)
have
a
palpable
chemistry,
replete
with
their own inside jokes, little
quirks and a marked dislike
for other people. Much of
the story is told in flashback,
with
perfume
bottles
or
certain store signs triggering
memories of the past as the
couple search for a reason
to stay together. We learn
about their funny traditions,
like escaping to a mountain
retreat and pretending to be a
wealthy hedge fund manager
and accompanying hooker. It’s
particularly rewarding to see
a different side of the actors
— especially Ben Schwartz,
who played the brash, reckless
and flirtatious Jean-Ralphio
in “Parks and Rec.” In “Happy
Anniversary,” he turns in an
unexpectedly sweet, caring
and composed performance.
In one scene, Sam tries to flirt
with another girl but realizes
he really cares about Mollie,
an attachment Jean-Ralphio
would never understand.
Unfortunately,
that’s
the
only redeeming feature of the
film. The central conflict,
Mollie’s
unhappiness,
fails
to
be
convincing.
While
her flightiness in the face
of an uncertain future is
understandable, it feels like
she blows everything out of
proportion by calling Sam
unromantic and running to her
parents on their anniversary.
Since there’s never truly a
falling out, their reunion is
inevitable.
Everything
in
the middle is an unrelenting
trudge
through
rom-com
staples en route to the happily
ever after both Mollie and
Sam keep saying is impossible.
There’s Mollie’s parents, who
barely speak to each other
but are trapped in a marriage
without a spark, and eventually
they reignite Mollie’s love for
Sam by warning her not to end
up like them. There’s Sam’s
all-knowing confidante, who
instantly tells him to leave
Mollie but later helps them
get back together. And then
there’s Mollie’s old flame Arik,
who precipitates the worst of
their fight by texting her to
come back to him.
The writing does little to
allay the cliché factor, with
moments of remembering the
good times undone by over-
the-top lines like, “It doesn’t
feel the same without her.” The
subtlety and unexpectedness
of these tender episodes are
totally ruined by a grandiose,
wannabe
romantic
script,
which
threatens
to
sound
like
Anakin
and
Padme’s
Shakespearean
dialogue
in “Attack of the Clones” if
not for the authenticity of
the acting. Even the humor
is often a beat too late, the
punchline
exposed
by
an
entrance too early, a pause too
long, a character too flat.
Eventually,
Sam
and
Mollie realize that they’re
happy
together
and
one
can never really know if
they’ve found the one. But
these are epiphanies already
documented by hundreds of
other films and beaten to death
over the course of the movie,
well before the romantic kiss
on the balcony and heart-to-
heart where they tell each
other as much.
Most disappointing is that
after slogging through the
whirlwind day of breakups,
misadventures and a cycling
cast of people determined
to kill what spark is left in
the
relationship,
nothing
seems
to
have
changed.
Mollie is still bossy; Sam is
still indecisive. They have
no new ideas on how to keep
from ending up like Mollie’s
parents. In the end, “Happy
Anniversary” is a watered-
down
collection
of
easy
answers and unadventurous
writing,
focused
more
on
commercial appeal than an
intimate,
powerful
journey
from happiness to hurt and
back again. The result? A love
story for the masses.
WESLEY NASS
Daily Arts Writer
FILM REVIEW
NETFLIX
NETFLIX
Sister Cities
The Wonder Years
Hopeless Records
“Paradox”
Netflix
“Happy
Anniversary”
Netflix
5 — Friday, April 6, 2018
Arts
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