The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, April 10, 2019 — 5A

As part of the human condition, 
there are universal moments that 
will always leave us wistful and 
dewy-eyed, longing for a picturesque 
moment that no longer exists and can 
never exist again. These ubiquitous 
moments that invade human 
emotion include late night 
drives with the windows 
down in the backseat of your 
best friend’s car, or your lover 
bringing you coffee in bed or, 
most notably, the grandeur of 
the feeling of the beach. 
Circa 
Waves, 
an 
indie 
rock band from Liverpool 
(kind of like The Strokes if 
they were pop), captures the 
art of reminiscing through 
their essence of romantic, 
summertime guitar pop rock. 
Their junior album, What’s 
It Like Over There?, exhibits their 
knack for playing into sentimentality, 
digging into spaces that pluck on the 
human heartstrings and operate on 
nostalgia.
In 2015, Circa Waves released 
their debut album, Young Chasers, 
which launched the wild success of 
their hit single “T-shirt Weather.” 
The comparisons between “T-shirt 
Weather” and the single that drives 
their 
junior 
album, 
“Movies,” 
are endless. Both singles feature 
Circa Waves’s niche of extremely 
catchy, melodic and guitar-driven 
reminiscing. “T-shirt Weather” came 
from an album which interrogated 
life 
among 
the 
clouds, 
with 
summertime lyrics: “I remember 
T-shirt weather, I remember some 

days, we were singing out lungs in 
the backseat together.” “Movies, 
”which carries What’s It Like 
Over There?, operates in the same 
manner, banking on the emotional 
state created when driving around: 
“Remember when we drove your car 
down the road? It was just like in the 
movies.”

While What’s It Like Over There? 
regresses in some areas to the 
symbolism and romantic emotions 
of their debut album and at the 
same time relying heavily on the 
pre-released singles which carry the 
album, What’s It Like Over There? 
exhibits development in exploring 
spaces that are authentic versus 
spaces that are insincere. Circa Waves 
impresses with their extension into 
darker moments, weaving between 
guitar driven, upbeat energy into 
dark and soft moments which 
cross-examine the link between our 
environment and our integrity.
The opening song, “What’s It like 
Over There,” starts with the stark 
removal of the listener from a genuine 
environment. The beginning of the 

song creates an auditory heaven, 
the sounds of crashing waves and 
the soft chirping of seagulls in the 
distance. Swiftly, this paradise is cut, 
with the sound of heavy footsteps 
and a garage door closing, removing 
the listeners from the nirvana of the 
beach. The cover art for the album, 
shot at Greatstone Beach, includes 
a man and woman in the 
ocean, one covering the 
eyes of the other. This art, 
paired with the opening 
track, immediately links 
self-reflection with one’s 
physical 
surroundings. 
Circa Waves plays into 
the common trope of 
indie-rock: 
questioning 
authenticity.
Circa Waves then makes 
multiple 
references 
to 
morality. The song “Me, 
Myself, and Hollywood” 
darkens the mood with a 
savage bass line and a metronome-
esque 
drum 
sequence, 
with 
questioning lyrics: “Have I been sad 
like I thought I would? And have 
I been bad? Or have I been good? 
In Hollywood.” Good versus evil 
intent is contemplated throughout, 
interlacing between spaces that 
question 
a 
humans’ 
rectitude 
(Hollywood) and pure, honest spaces 
that are “just like in the movies” 
(from track “Movies”).
The dark twists into self-doubt 
paired with the airy, buoyancy of 
guitar pop-rock that one comes to 
expect from Circa Waves makes this 
album a strong candidate for summer 
time drives, with the windows down, 
in the backseat of your best friend’s 
car.

Circa Waves and nostalgia

ALBUM REVIEW

SAMANTHA CANTIE
Daily Arts Writer

What’s It Like 
Over There?

Circa Waves

Transgressive Records

On a cold night in Oak Hill, West Virginia, I sat with my father by 
the glow of a Christmas tree, waiting for the New Year’s Eve ball to 
drop in Times Square, NYC. A quiet house, a quiet night, the howl of 
a coal train echoing through the mountains — a timeless longing that 
descends when the moon rises over the hills of West Virginia. And 
as we sat there, a familiar twang suddenly filtered through the radio 
— it was Willie Nelson. But not Willie Nelson as my father and I had 
heard him before. I pride myself on knowing the works of Patsy Cline, 
Waylon Jennings, Buck Owens, Hank Williams and, of course, Willie 
Nelson, by heart. But on that quiet New Year’s Eve, to our surprise, we 
were confronted with a song that was new and unfamiliar.
“Look around you / Look down the bar 
from you / At the faces that you see / Are 
you sure this is where you’re meant to be?” 
That question hung heavy in the air. Our 
trip out west had been last minute and 
ramshackle. It had been a fight to corral my 
family together to celebrate the holiday, 
full of coercion, a few tears, and blatant 
bribes. The mournful, slow guitar of 
Willie Nelson’s “Are You Sure” penetrated 
somewhere deep in my soul. For a moment, 
I wondered — was I sure this is where I was 
meant to be?
Yes, it was.
And then the ball dropped on New 
Year’s Eve.
Later, I tracked down the album from 
“Are You Sure,” to find the Holy Grail 

of Willie Nelson’s The Demos Project, Vol. One. The original album, 
Things to Remember: The Pamper Demos is a collection of some of 
Willie Nelson’s earliest recordings. For digital streaming, The Pamper 
Demos was released as The Demos Project (Vol. one & two) in 2016.
It is a wonder, for fans new and old, to find this goldmine of 
Nelson material. The album has the same familiar lonesome cry of 
Nelson’s best known works, but is more bare-bones and minimalist 
in the instrumentation. Everything about the album is softer, more 
vulnerable; Willie Nelson’s song-writing and woeful lyrics are on 
full display. While “Are You Sure” is a personal favorite — the song 
is a haunting echo that strikes the soul — every track on the album is 
fantastic.
“Hello Walls” opens with the whine of the guitar imitating an 
answering “Hello, hello,” making for a somber, yet fun experience. 

“A Moment Isn’t Very Long” also has the same brand of lonesome 
country that Willie Nelson is known for. While “Things to Remember” 
is a self-deprecating — even sarcastic — spin on pining heartbreak. In 
the song, Nelson makes an amusing list, “Things to remember/ Plans 
that were set/ Things didn’t work out/ Things to forget,” the lament all 
too relatable. I was also surprised to find a rendition of Patsy Cline’s 
hit “Crazy” — only to find later Nelson himself originally that “Crazy.”
But what’s most striking about the album isn’t solely that the songs 
are good — which they are — or its hidden gem status (due to criminal 
under-promotion by the label). Rather, that the album acts as a time 
capsule for the start of Willie Nelson’s career. These songs symbolize 
the beginning of a musical career that would define the country and 
rock ‘n’ roll genres. Here, it’s a man, his guitar, and a dream to make 
it big. And Nelson, like maybe country artists before him, game “late” 
to the game, a family man with some life 
experience already under his belt. Despite 
the youth and vibrancy of his voice, the 
pain and regret eternalized in all country 
songs is ever-present.
Willie Nelson has been a well-loved 
friend for many. His music is there for 
heartbreak, for the lonesome cowboys, and 
the travelling friends “On the Road Again.” 
In the end, though, listening to The Demos 
Project feels like a proper introduction. 
Willie Nelson with his trusty guitar and 
rockin’ pigtail-braids seems like a constant 
fixture in the industry and the country 
genre. As his career stretched into what 
may be the last home run, it is all too fitting 
to go back to the beginning, at least one 
more time.

What I’m Listening To: Willie Nelson, aren’t you?

MUSIC: WHAT I’M LISTENING TO

MADELEINE GANNON
Daily Arts Writer

Twenty years after a high 
school clique was involved in an 
incident that led to the gruesome 
death of one of their members, 
a series of mysterious deaths — 
suicide, accident or otherwise — 
threatens to reduce their circle to 
zero. One thing is clear: 
Someone knows.
Allie Garvey was the 
odd one out in the group. 
At 15, her sister died of 
cystic fibrosis and her 
mother was depressed. She 
wasn’t pretty like Sasha 
Barrow, athletic like David 
Hybrinski or even as rich 
as Julian Browne. Allie 
was linked to the popular 
kids by a secret. After Allie 
twisted her ankle while running, 
Allie happens upon Sasha then 
Julian and David, innocuously 
fiddling with something under a 
tree. It was a .38 revolver. By all 
rights, a gun incites fear. How 
could it not? For Allie, who was 
still grieving the premature death 
of her sister, it did. With Julian 
and Sasha — two privileged teens 
— it was an object that elicited 
excitement. For them, it was a toy. 
When a new kid, Kyle Gallagher, 
moves to this upscale Philadelphia 
suburb, the clique decides to 
play a game of Russian Roulette 
using their newfound toy. It was 
supposed to be a prank — the gun 
wasn’t supposed to be loaded — 
but it goes horribly wrong. Two 
decades later, Allie Garvey returns 
to her childhood home to mourn 

the death of a childhood friend 
and unearth the truth of what 
really happened that horrific night 
so long ago. In her investigations 
of the past, she uncovers a gut-
wrenching secret. A secret that 
could jeopardize her own life.
Lisa 
Scottoline’s 
“Someone 
Knows” is split into two parts. 
The first half is set in the 1990s 

and the second is in present-day. 
For close to 200 hundred pages, 
the readers are immersed in the 
minds of five 15-year-olds. While 
I find the idea of kids doing bad 
things shockingly delicious, the 
juvenile tone and their weighty 
issues don’t quite align. On one 
hand, each teenager is dealing 
with something heavy, from child 
molestation to a philandering 
father. The rotating perspectives 
functions to add depth to each 
character. Still, the issues are 
interspersed with stereotypical 
generalizations. 
For 
example, 
Allie Garvey claims she’s different 
because she doesn’t fit with 
any of the “cliques” like “pretty 
princesses, 
the 
field-hockey 
jocks, the fast girls who smoked, 
the Goths, druggies, mathletes, 

or Ecology-Club hippies.” It’s a 
superficial insight that’s more apt 
for a young-adult novel than a dark 
thriller.
In spite of that, it was hard to 
abandon “Someone Knows.” It 
was like watching a car-crash in 
action. You know that it would 
end terribly, yet you still can’t peel 
your eyes away. I was gripping the 
edges of the novel, hoping 
that all the characters 
would be OK yet knowing 
they won’t.
The 
second 
half 
forgoes the wonderful 
slow-tension that the first 
built up. The readers are 
still 
offered 
alternating 
perspectives, but it relies 
heavily on the point-of-
view of a new character, 
Larry 
Rucci, 
Allie’s 
husband. Unfortunately, the new 
perspective squeezes unnecessary 
background 
information 
that 
wasn’t relevant to the first half. 
Once again, the readers are 
reintroduced to another internal 
conflict and backstory at the 
expense of the plot. The effect 
results in a rushed and dramatic 
ending. Instead of dropping my 
mouth open in astonishment, I’m 
left wondering if I just watched a 
Lifetime movie special.
If you’re looking to read a cheap 
thriller on your next domestic 
flight, Lisa Scottoline’s “Someone 
Knows” includes all the typical 
tropes: suspense, murder, marital 
problems and twists. If you’re 
seeking an intricate mystery that 
blows your mind weeks after, look 
elsewhere.

Scottoline’s latest is tropey

BOOK REVIEW

SARAH SALMAN
Daily Arts Writer

Someone Knows

Lisa Scottoline

G.P. Putnam’s Sons

Apr. 9, 2019

I’m a sucker for a horse movie. Growing up, classics like “Black 
Beauty” and “Spirit” and low-budget family flicks like “Virginia’s 
Run” and “Dreamer” were staples in my cinematic diet. In my 
preteen years, I was one of those “horse girls.” I took riding lessons 
after school, begged my parents for a pony and, admittedly, even 
had a few pieces of horse-themed clothing in my closet. Though 
I’ve since sworn off ever pulling on another pair of riding breeches 
and I no longer dream of having a pet horse named Stormy or Star, 
I’m almost always up for a horse movie. While a bit heavier than the 
lighthearted, inspiring films from my childhood, “The Mustang” 
was a pleasant surprise with its impressive acting and unimposing, 
quietly profound story.
For the past 12 years, Roman Coleman’s (Matthias Schoenaerts 
“Far from the Madding Crowd”) life has been suspended in the 
soul-crushing limbo of prison. Existing in a state of blankness and 
solitude, as he puts it himself, Coleman is far from the man he used 
to be. His emotionless daze is interrupted, however, when he gets 
an opportunity to join a government rehabilitation program to curb 
the overpopulation of wild mustangs by training them and readying 
them for resale. Despite his lack of experience, Coleman slowly 
forms a connection with an especially wild mustang, Marcus. 
Through his relationship with Marcus and the other inmates in the 
program, Coleman rediscovers a slice of the purpose formerly lost 
within the void of the hopeless and hostile prison environment.
Matthias Schoenaerts was 100 percent made for this role. There 
are few actors who can give a masterful performance without 
relying on the crutch of dialogue and Schoenaerts proves he is one of 

them. Fully embodying Coleman’s disinterest in human interaction, 
outbreaks of aggression and complicated relationship with his 
daughter, Schoenaerts expertly conveys both his character’s quiet, 
subdued exterior and emotionally heated and broken interior.
We would guess that the interactions between Coleman and 
Marcus would look more like soliloquies than dialogues. But 

they aren’t. Instead of sharing words, Coleman and Marcus share 
movement. Through the way Marcus positions himself away 
or toward Coleman and the sounds of annoyance or gestures of 
affection he makes, we don’t miss the dialogue because we realize 
we don’t need it. This synchronized body language established 
between Coleman and the mustang is a form of communication in 
itself, and it allows us to perceive Marcus as an actual character, 
with feelings and an attitude, rather than as just an animal. 
What’s more, the relationship is refreshing, straying from the 

over-affectionate and cheesy characteristics that are typically 
highlighted on screen between horses and humans.
Aside from Schoenaerts’s acting, in tune with the low-key vibe of 
the film, the use of setting to showcase an unseen side of prison life 
is especially impressive. Throughout the film, there is a tug of war 
of sorts between sweet and bitter. We follow the pivotal friendship 
between Coleman and Marcus, contrasted with the bleak reality of 
the prison system. In one moment, we are witnessing a tender or 
humorous exchange between Coleman and Marcus, and in the next 
we are sobered up through clips of an anger management session, 
where close up shots of prisoners solemnly revealing the contrast 
between the mere seconds it took to decide to commit their crimes 
with the years they now face as punishment. The juxtaposition 
between these two sequences builds on the larger theme of 
confinement that encompasses the film. Outside on Marcus’s back, 
Coleman literally holds the reins in his hands. He is in control. But, 
back within the prison walls, Coleman is incapacitated, with his 
hands tied behind his back. This later image is one that emerges 
again and again in prison films, a vision of handcuffs, convicts 
in orange jumpsuits, dismal living conditions and knifings in the 
yard. Though still including these conventional elements, “The 
Mustang” presents an unfamiliar twist to the prison narrative, 
painting a picture that is far more dynamic and, by extension, more 
humanizing.
Maybe it’s the former horse-girl in me talking, but this is, quite 
simply, a beautiful film. Though it revolves around the bond 
between Coleman and Marcus, at the center are deeper topics 
of broken families, the desolation of the criminal justice system 
and the human necessity for purpose. Delivering quality acting, 
powerful visuals and an untold story, “The Mustang” is not your 
average horse movie and it’s well worth the watch.

‘The Mustang’ isn’t just about horses, and it’s stunning

FILM REVIEW

SAMANTHA NELSON
Daily Arts Writer

The Mustang

Canal+

State Theatre

These songs symbolize the beginning of a musical career that would 
define the country and rock ‘n’ roll genres