ALBUM REVIEW
After almost three years, the
British folk band Mumford and
Sons steps back into the spotlight
with their new album Delta.
However, after eagerly awaiting
the band’s return since their
2015 release Wilder Mind, which
featured a stronger pop-vibe to
the band’s trademark folk, Delta
is lackluster and disappointing.
Mumford and Sons seem to
be in the midst of an identity
crisis, almost completely losing
touch with the folksy, grassroots
authenticity
of
their
earlier
albums, which included hits
like “I Will Wait,” “The Cave”
and “Little Lion Man.” The
band’s more recent releases have
taken baby-steps away from the
traditional folk instrumentation
— banjo, guitar, drums and
horns — to add a modern touch
with busier instrumentation and
an ebb-and-flow in the surreal
ambiance of the music. Delta
takes it a step too far, abandoning
almost all of Mumford and
Sons
unique
trademarks
—
imaginative, honest, rustic lyrics
and a home-made, native folk
feel — in danger of becoming yet
another, unoriginal alternative-
rock band threatened by looming
obscurity.
The album consists of 14
songs, opening with mediocre
“42,” which comes off as loud,
busy and underwhelming. The
harmonizing of the vocals is
vaguely reminiscent of gospel and
hymnal songs which is further
emphasized in the lyrics, “We
wanna see a sign / Give us some
guiding light.” However, while
the spiritual undertones and
harmonies recall the antiquity
of more traditional music, the
song comes off as passing, but
ultimately
forgettable.
After
name-dropping the song in “42,”
the album continues on with
“Guiding Light.” “Guiding Light”
is by no means a bad song, and
follows familiar Mumford and
Sons themes of heartbreak and
emotional confessions of love.
However, the song builds into
a wave of sound that drowns
out some good lyrics and the
comforting country twang of
the vocals. “Beloved” tries to
recover some ground, bringing
in a shadow of the familiar folk
tunes to the echoing techno-
style sounds which dominate the
album. “Darkness Visible” is one
of the few songs worth listening
to, if only because it’s so very
strange. The song is dramatic,
dark and ominous, and feels
more suitable for the surreal
dream-sequences of the movie
“Inception” than a folk-alt rock
band. On the other hand, “October
Skies” is the most faithful to what
might be considered Mumford
and Sons original style (which
they seem all too eager to throw
out the window), and contains
some surprisingly great lyrics for
such an underwhelming album:
“These postcard memories /
evade my eyes / In the valley I’m
free / but in the hills I soar.”
The
stylistic
shift
from
Mumford and Sons’s original
(and beloved) Sigh No More
(2009) and Babel (2012), to Wilder
Mind (2015) and finally Delta
(2018) has been a gradual move
away from their folk to a more
confident commitment to the
alternative-rock genre. Yet, in
this transition the band seems
to lose touch with what makes
them unique. Their earlier music
had a strong down-to-earth vibe,
and songs like “I Will Wait” and
“Little Lion Man” captured a
sense of sincerity, which made
the band’s music so poignant.
They captured the pride, dignity
and antiquity of the British folk
and bluegrass music, and even
the name “Mumford and Sons”
is an obvious play off of the
traditional business and company
names of the 20th century. This
attempted reinvention to gain
a
stronger,
more
prominent
presence in the modern alt rock
genre clashes with the folksy, old-
fashioned vibe that the band’s
image caters to. It’s almost as
if the band is making a painful
effort to be more appealing in
the modern market by sacrificing
what may be deemed too “old-
fashioned” for a global audience
dominated by the loud, dramatic
thunderstorms of sound we know
as pop and rock. But whether it’s
from a lack of originality, or the
contrast between Mumford and
Sons’s image with the starkly
different Delta, something feels
missing in this latest album.
It’s not that any of the album
is “bad” (although “Darkness
Visible” toes the line), but the
familiar twang of the banjo and
the heavier folk influence is
sorely missed in Delta. Change
and artistic development is good
and important, but Mumford and
Sons may be taking a step in the
wrong direction.
In the end, casual listeners
will enjoy Mumford and Sons
latest album as a new addition to
a probably overplayed alt rock-
folk playlist. However, more
dedicated fans, especially those
who regularly foray into classic
country and more traditional,
pure folk will be disappointed by
this album. Part of what makes
folk and alternative bands great
is their unashamed, undaunted
pride in their acknowledgment
of antiquity and of their roots —
Mumford and Sons turn away
from their beginning, and it feels
almost like a personal rejection
at times. They seemingly bow to
the pressure of business, industry
and the tastes of uniform the
majority, rather than standing by
their roots.
Mumford and Sons’ ‘Delta’
falls flat, away from folk
MADELEINE GANNON
Daily Arts Writer
Delta
Mumford and Sons
Glassnote
Entertainment
Group LLC
“Boy Erased” follows the story
of Jared Eamons (Lucas Hedges,
“Lady Bird”), the son of a Baptist
preacher who, upon coming out
to his family, must join a gay
conversion therapy program or
risk ostracism from everyone he
knows. The film was adapted from
Garrard Conley’s memoir of the
same name and directed by Joel
Edgerton (“The Gift”), who plays
a supporting role himself. While
Edgerton approaches the heavy
subject material with appropriate
weight and nuance, the film suffers
from its excessively narrow focus
on events rather than characters.
The movie’s first hour is nearly
flawless.
Edgerton’s
ability
to
immerse viewers in the gravity
of Jared’s experiences without
breathless exposition is remarkable.
The audience gets a clear sense of
the pressure he is facing without an
explicit understanding of the reason
he is there. Hedges’s performance
is suffused with a quiet, uneasy
intensity
that
unleashes
itself
rarely but memorably throughout
the movie. He effortlessly conveys
through the timidness of his gait and
the restraint of his smile that there
is something deeply uncomfortable
about the program. That queasiness
is bitingly palpable and sustains for
most of the runtime.
Other performances in the
film, while generally strong, are
somewhat
underused.
Nicole
Kidman (“Big Little Lies”) plays
Jared’s mother Nancy, and her
genuine sympathy for him lends the
film a much-needed source of levity.
Russell Crowe (“The Nice Guys”),
who plays Jared’s father, skillfully
shows his character’s internal
conflict in accepting his son.
Edgerton’s control over the
visual palette of the therapy center
is masterful. He recalls Kubrick’s
“Full Metal Jacket” in the way
that that slow tracking shots across
rows of boys turn individuals
into monotonous uniforms. This
comparison, whether intentional
or not, is striking because the
conversion program descends into
gradual brutality as the film goes
on.
The film’s most distracting flaw
is the way it uses minor characters,
mostly the other participants in
the program, as mere vehicles
to
develop
and
alter
Jared’s
perspective. They rarely feel like
actual people, only lines of dialogue
that push the narrative forward.
This is a painful misstep for a movie
whose emotional impact rests
on the devastation of conversion
therapy. The connection we form
to these minor characters feels
so forced and artificial that it has
the tendency to take one out of an
otherwise engrossing experience.
Another issue of “Boy Erased”
is that Edgerton frequently loses
his sense of subtlety. One of Jared’s
flashbacks reveals his first few
months at college and involves one
of the film’s most intense, haunting
moments. The duration that this
moment holds turns from excessive
to insensitive because Edgerton’s
camera stays stubbornly fixed in
place where it could have — and
should have — cut away. The film’s
dramatic climax also lacks nuance,
seeming to arrive out of thin air
and neatly wrapping the central
conflict in a box. We are left with
the story that approximates a
blunt and sanctimonious catalog of
tribulations more than a memoir.
Jared’s agency, while key to crafting
the film’s ending and real-life
resolution, is nonexistent until the
story conjures it into existence.
In
a
word,
the
film
is
overdramatic. Edgerton doesn’t
implore us to consider his message.
He waves it in front of our noses
until we have no choice but to accept
it. This is accurately exemplified by
the movie’s perplexing score by
Danny Bensi and Saunder Jurriaans
(“Barry”). While agreeably light
and mellifluous in more intimate
moments, the score occasionally
transforms into a ridiculous ticking
heartbeat that sounds like a Nine
Inch Nails song recreated on
GarageBand and more fitting for a
B-movie horror flick.
That being said, “Boy Erased”
is a story that is overdue and needs
to be shared. Despite the film’s
faults, it exposes the lasting harm
of conversion therapy in a more
visceral and visual way than has
been shown before. What could
have been an intensely moving
story about an individual facing
a collective struggle, it lacked the
nuance of a single boy’s story or the
depth of a nationwide issue. And yet,
conversion therapy being depicted
on a large screen is a notable step
towards educating viewers about its
harm. As the film tells us before the
credits, 700,000 people have gone
through gay conversion therapy at
some point in their lives. Hopefully,
this movie will alert its viewers —
and politicians — to the destructive
nature of such programs in the 36
states that still allow them.
Flawed ‘Boy Erased’ still
delivers poignant message
ANISH TAMHANEY
Daily Arts Writer
FOCUS FEATURES
“Boy Erased”
Focus Features
The Michigan
Theater
ISLAND RECORDS
There are many ways to mess up
a thriller that begins with a slew
of characters thrown together
under
unusual
circumstances.
Introduce too many characters
at once and readers will have no
way to remember who is who.
Introduce them in the same way,
and
a
formulaic,
predictable
pattern will develop that bores
readers and make them want to
find something else to do with
their time. In her latest novel,
“Nine Perfect Strangers,” Liane
Moriarty (the author of the 2014
bestseller “Big Little Lies”) paces
the introduction of her characters
perfectly
and
finds
amusing
ways to gently remind readers
who is who and exactly why they
are important, proving she has
mastered the art of such a story.
It all starts with a heart
attack. Masha Dmitrichenko is
a charismatic, alluring woman
familiar with the stress and bad
habits that come along with the
fast-paced world of business.
After she undergoes cardiac arrest
and almost dies, she is inspired
to change her life by opening a
wellness resort, which she dubs
“Tranquillum House.” The novel
tells the tale of nine individuals
who sign up for the Tranquillum
House’s 10-day wellness retreat
in Australia. The story focuses
on Frances Welty, an established
romance writer who is struggling
to adapt to the changing publishing
industry and other trials that come
along with aging.
Frances is soon joined at the
resort by a cast of other characters
all grappling with their own
problems: a has-been football
player, a couple struggling to
salvage their marriage, an insecure
mother of four abandoned by her
husband for a younger woman
and a family trying to repair their
lives after a suicide tears them
apart. Each chapter is told from
the point of view of a rotating
cast of characters. Through a
combination of flashbacks and
present
day
events,
readers
begin to piece the lives of each
character together and gain a deep
understanding of who they are as
a person. Each person is relatable,
intriguing
and
painstakingly
human and their stories are woven
together in a way that makes
readers hungry to know more
about them.
Most of the novel is focused on
the events that take place at the
Tranquillum House. The guests
endure fasting, extended periods
of silence and other lifestyle
changes promised to transform
the guests. Moriarty is able to
make seemingly small interactions
and
commonplace
moments
entertaining and riveting, as if they
are not commonplace, but crucial.
Even as the story goes on and it
becomes clear the Tranquillum
House and the ethereal Masha are
not all they seem to be, the focus
remains on the humanity of the
guests. Such a focus allows readers
to connect with the characters and
know them on a level that would
not otherwise be possible.
“Nine
Perfect
Strangers”
is
a
well-developed,
detailed
novel about recovery and the
transformative power of human
connection. It raises questions of
whether or not a person can truly
move on from despair and loss,
or if they even should. It tackles
issues of body image, material
possession and mental health.
More than that, it presents readers
with realistic and vulnerable
characters, which makes for an
intimate and moving story.
In ‘Nine Perfect Strangers,’
Moriarty showcases talent
SOPHIE WAZLOWSKI
Daily Arts Writer
BOOK REVIEW
“Nine Perfect
Strangers”
Liane Moriarty
Flatiron Books
Nov. 6, 2018
It’s almost
as if the band
is making a
painful effort
to be more
appealing in the
modern market
by sacrificing
what may be
deemed too
“old-fashioned”
for a global
audience
dominated
by the loud,
dramatic
thunderstorms
of sound we
know as pop
6A — Monday, November 19, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com