“Jexi” is a “what if” movie, that sad brand of
stale comedy that’s framed by a conceptually
intriguing idea — like “Isn’t It Romantic,” which
asked what if someone was stuck in a romantic
comedy? With major studio comedies frequently
tanking at the box office, this type of writing
has become increasingly popular as producers
search for a unique idea to get people into theater
seats. This time, unfortunately, that didn’t work.
In its opening weekend, “Jexi” grossed a meager
3.2 million dollars. For the benefit of those who
didn’t see it (meaning most of the world) the
film’s “what if” question is what if a cell phone fell
in love?
Phil, played by Adam Devine (“Isn’t It
Romantic”), works an unsatisfying job at a
Buzzfeed-style website making listicles about
cats while pining for something more. When
he buys a new phone, its unusually vivacious
artificial intelligence software, Jexi, sets out to
improve his life, and falls head over heels for him
in the process. Of course, these feelings aren’t
quite reciprocated, as Phil has fallen in love with
Cate (Alexandra Shipp, “Love Simon) and starts
to use his phone less.
Devine and the cast, especially Wanda Sykes
(“Bad Moms”), are funny enough to carry
mediocre scenes that have been done before in
countless other comedies. The science fiction
elements, centered around a sentient, emotional
AI, are interesting at a base level, asking common
but still pressing questions about artificial life
and the future of human connection. Jexi herself
is also hilarious, delivering expletive-filled
rants with the dryness of a taciturn artificial
personality like Siri. The movie is a strange
combination of science fiction with a social
point a la “Black Mirror” and a Lifetime network
romantic comedy.
The two genres in “Jexi” mix like oil and
water. The science fiction is kept a wall away
from the love story, shoved into a subplot. The
film employs elements from two distinct genres

with widely different rules and conventions,
without considering how they would appear in
juxtaposition. Since a balance is never achieved,
they manage to diminish the effects of each other.
Imagine going from a meditation on life with AI
to a showy dance montage — it’s jarring. The
romance comes off as frivolous and unrealistic,
while the sci-fi appears impersonal, just a
gimmick in service of the plot.
On top of the blithe romance and its science
fiction sojurns, “Jexi” clumsily tries to say
something about society. It’s a basic message:
Technology
dependence
bad,
personal
connection good. The opening scene is a montage
of Phil diving into a cell phone to escape his
parents’ troubled marriage. Then there’s Adam
painstakingly working to create the “perfect”
Facebook picture, slathering it in filters and
emojis. Finally, and most ham-fistedly — a phone
literally tries to stop Phil from having a human
relationship.
This idea would work if “Jexi” had any real
humanity, yet everything about it invokes
the superficiality of the internet age. The
cinematography chokes in colors straight out of
Snapchat’s most garish filters, and the music used
wouldn’t be out of place in an Apple commercial.
The characters are like Instagram personalities,
too. They fit their assigned roles perfectly,
without any blemishes, and there is never any real
depth. Kid Cudi’s awkward cameo furthers the
unreality.
“Jexi” dispenses surface pleasures perfectly,
conjuring brief laughs or mild interest, but in the
end, nothing sticks. Its many disparate parts are
too underdeveloped and contradictory to work.
Satires about similar topics, like the episode
“Nosedive” from “Black Mirror,” work because
the comedy and science fiction are intertwined,
combining to say something meaningful about the
human experience. In “Jexi,” they’re too chopped
up, which keeps it from saying anything at all.
“Jexi” will be buried in the streaming sludge
among other forgotten movies, joining the ever-
growing pile of colorful, smiling thumbnails that
don’t do much but look pretty. This seems like the
most appropriate fate.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Monday, October 21, 2019 — 5A

The band is Never Ending Game. The album
is Just Another Day. The following are real
reactions to the music found on the internet:
“Music created by sentient neck tattoos,” “You
must listen and punch at least three of your
friends in the face,” “Definitely never wearing
a shirt at a show again after listening to this
one time” and the especially poignant, “Never
Ending Game FUCKS.”
If such pleasantries don’t make you want to
listen to this album, I’d like to offer my sincere
apologies, but your tastes are out of whack.
Never Ending Game, otherwise known as NEG,
is composed of the former members of the bands
Freedom, True Love, Detain and Breaking
Wheel, a few of Detroit’s finest hardcore bands.
In plain terms, the band has some serious
pedigree. NEG’s brand of hardcore is for the
purists: Anyone who wants it, as long as they can
deal with the band’s sawed-off-shotgun energy.
They do what they do, and someone doesn’t like
it — well, too bad, they’re going to keep doing
it. NEG crafts brooding, methodical, groovy,
riffy, bass-heavy hardcore with lyrics filled with
venom and cynicism, and on Just Another Day,
they push the limits of that sound.
Lead single “God Forgives…” aptly prepares
listeners for the band’s current mission. Looping
guitar chugs and drum snaps provide a just
backdrop to lyrics like, “Don’t crawl back /
What we possess is what you lack.” NEG posits
themselves as a band that has transcended the
scene. They’re setting the pace for all other
hardcore bands. In one of the best calls of the
year, a robotic sample drops an ominous “God
forgives…” and vocalist Mikey barks a fear-
inducing “N-E-G don’t” in response. It could not
be more perfect. The band makes it clear that no
one can mimic their sound, and if they try, they
will be sorry.
The first four tracks are an unforgiving
onslaught of NEG’s best material, but then

something strange happens. The brutality
lets up, but just for a moment. A minute and 41
seconds, to be exact. On “N.E.G. Jams,” the band
breaks down into a groovy garage metal set, free
of vocals. It’s not much, but it sure is a hell of a lot
of fun — the perfect way to break up the violence.
Much of the same happens for the rest of
the album, but that’s not a bad thing. Rather,
it’s a testament to NEG’s consistency and their
mastery of craft. Late album highlights include
“Bleeding,” a storm-siren track littered with
quotable lines and gang vocals, and “Stolen
Life,” a winding, haunting (almost medieval)
track with lyrics like, “I learned at an early age /
Life can’t be given back, only taken away … Only
the faces change, it all stays the same.” The song
in which Never Ending Game is at their best,
however, is album closer “1 of Those Nights.”
“1 of Those Nights” finds NEG at their best,
their most dynamic and their most earnest. On
this track, the band metamorphosizes into a
metal act á la Power Trip or Gatecreeper while
still maintaining their hardcore roots. NEG
isn’t trying to pummel listeners with this one.
Instead, they’re trying to teach listeners a lesson
in getting through hard times. Downtrodden
early lines like “Every night, I close my eyes / I’ll
give this life one more try / The tears I’ve cried
have left me blind” are contrasted by later lines
like “You brought me to the light / With you, I’ll
make it through the night / Wish I had the words
to thank you for opening my eyes.” It’s powerful,
and especially given the hardcore delivery of the
message, the record may well be the band’s best
work.
Never Ending Game is obviously a good hardcore
band, but their quirks are what make them great.
They’re much more nuanced than many of their
contemporaries, and Just Another Day does
an excellent job proving that. They wear their
influences on their sleeves, but it’s not just their
influences within the genre. The soul samples and
the movie samples demonstrate NEG’s ability to
pull inspiration from other media and warp it to fit
their needs in fresh, exciting ways. If Never Ending
Game can keep up with the pace they set on Just
Another Day, we may be talking about them in the

God forgives, but not NEG

ANDREW WARRICK
Daily Arts Writer

ALBUM REVIEW

‘Jexi’: Artifice meets itself

JIM WILSON
Daily Arts Writer

FILM REVIEW

In many ways, Netflix’s “Living with Yourself”
is your standard sitcom — Miles Eliot (Paul Rudd,
“Avengers: Endgame”) is in his late thirties, his
marriage and career tread water as he faces
the impending reality of middle age. The only
difference is that while others attempt to learn
how to play an instrument or buy a new car, Miles
attempts to escape his familiar lifestyle by cloning
himself. In all fairness, this was not his goal. Miles
learns from his co-worker Dan (Desmin Borges,
“You’re the Worst”) about an extremely exclusive
spa that gives their clients a DNA detox in order
to let them live life to their fullest potential.
Desperate enough to pay the $50,000 fee, Miles
lies down in the treatment chair and wakes up as
a new man — one with a rejuvenated sense of life.
He sticks his out of the car window like a dog,
outshines Dan at the office and cooks meals for his
wife Kate (Aisling Bea, “This Way Up”). The only
problem is that original Miles wakes up in a body
bag in a forest and isn’t too fond of this new Miles,
who is literally a better version of himself, taking
over his life.
Based on the first few episodes, the show mostly
alternates between the perspectives of the original
Miles and his clone. At its worst, it can get repetitive
and confusing. At its best, this show demonstrates
Rudd’s ability as an actor to simultaneously play a
worn-out pinhead and a charismatic maniac. Every

episode thus far has ended in a cliffhanger. But the
source of most of the drama comes from its (sort
of confusing) narrative structure as the episodes
begin by rewinding the cliffhanger sequence and
playing it from the other Miles perspective.
In some ways, Timothy Greenberg’s “Living
with Yourself” is like Michael Schur’s “The
Good Place,” both utilizing fantastical premises
to explore the potential for self-improvement.
Although “Living with Yourself” is less magical,
it too uses absurdist humor to break up awkward
situations. Contrasted with “The Good Place”,
where there is an explanation for everything,
Greenberg doesn’t seem too concerned in the
science or rules surrounding the premise. This is
problematic as there is minimal explanation for
how Top Happy Spa operates — they create a clone
with genetic improvement and transfer memories
of the original client who is normally killed in the
process. Additionally, the rules feel inconsistent:
New Miles knows everything that original Miles
has learned but feels none of the frustration from
Kate’s failed pregnancy. It’s extremely unclear as
to why refreshing one’s DNA would rid Miles of
past disappointments that led him to make the
decision to become cloned to begin with.
“Living with Yourself” feels simultaneously
original, yet tired. It combines standard sitcom
tropes
coupled
with
technological
anxiety,
grounded with the talented Paul Rudd. If you are a
fan of Rudd, that is enough reason to watch. Aside
from that, the eight-episode season makes it a
minimal commitment.

Paul and ... even more Paul

JUSTIN POLLACK
Daily Arts Writer

My introduction into the world of highlife
music came incidentally through my love
of the distinctive, jangly sound of Johnny
Marr’s Rickenbacker 330. You can often see
the associations online, even though Marr
himself says he never himself was really aware
of the genre when he started experimenting
with his signature tone. Nonetheless, the
obvious comparisons still persist, providing an
introduction to the diverse, political genre.
It’s difficult to pin down the precise origins
through the multitudes of sub-genres, but
most sources seem to agree that highlife began
in Ghana in the early 1900s as a mix of local
Ghanaian musical traditions with European
instrumentation and a distinct jazz influence,
which itself at the time was reaching its peak
popularity. The term itself came from the
idea at the time that, going to certain clubs
and other establishments to listen to bands
playing this type of music was indeed “living
the highlife.”
Listening to renditions of classics of the
early highlife era such as Jacob Sam’s “Yaa
Amponsah,” one can hear the influences on
Anglophone works that would appear several
decades later, from Paul Simon to The Talking
Heads. Highlife itself takes most of its rhythms
and structures from the folk music of the Akan
people, the predominant ethnic group in the
Gold Coast area of West Africa. Musicians who
were familiar with traditional instruments
such as the seperewa, a harp-lute transitioned
easily to guitars, a representation of this
type of synthesis of new instrumentation and

traditional motifs.
During the postwar period, and especially
during the time when Ghana gained its
independence from England, highlife became
not only the country’s most popular form of
music, but also a symbol of national unity and
a mode of celebration, even though the genre
in its early stages heavily catered towards
the wealthy and colonial elite in the urban
centers of the country. Even Louis Armstrong
came to Ghana to perform alongside the “King
of Highlife” E.T. Mensah and his band The
Tempos.
During the 1940s and ’50s, the genre spread
from its origins in the coast of Ghana into
neighboring countries, becoming especially
popular in Nigeria. Fela Kuti, arguably the
most famous Nigerian musician ever, was
heavily influenced by highlife when creating
the style of music he dubbed “Afrobeat.” In
both countries, the genre consumed influences
from funk and reggae as well, yet again
blending new elements.
Some of the genre’s best tracks came out
of this period of popularity in Nigeria in the
1960s and ’70s, a time when the genre declined
in popularity (albeit with a short revival) in
Ghana, including Celestine Ukwu’s sunny
“Ejina Uwa Nya Isi.” Even until the 1980s,
classics such as “Osondi Owendi” were being
released by artists such as Stephen Osita
Osadebe, who aimed to further “Africanize”
the genre rather than take most of its influences
from external forms such as jazz.
Highlife is a difficult genre to precisely
define since it resists all such attempts. Yet its
influence has been felt far and wide, and has
lent itself to both political and nonpolitical
movements.

The unwavering fluidity
of unity in highlife music

SAYAN GHOSH
Daily World Music Columnist

WORLD MUSIC COLUMN

Living with Yourself

Series Premiere

Netflix

Just Another Day

Never Ending Game

Triple B Records

NETFLIX

TV REVIEW

Jexi

Goodrich Quality 16, Ann Arbor 20+ IMAX

Lionsgate

Listening to renditions of classics of the
early highlife era such as Jacob Sam’s “Yaa
Amponsah,” one can hear the influences on
Anglophone works that would appear several
decades later, from Paul Simon to The Talking
Heads.