And we’re off!
Not to turn this thing into a Slumberland soapbox, but I have to admit to being completely bowled over by Big Troubles’ labelmates Veronica Falls, a quartet of Glaswegians and Londoners who put out their debut album back in September. I hear Beat Happening (chugging guitars, morbid lyrics, mopey pop) and Camera Obscura (disaffected female vocals, Britishness) and that’s enough for me, lazy comparisons be damned. I’m not sure that Veronica Falls are doing anything new (the complaint du jour in our crossed-arms indie circles), but, for me, they’re doing something right. Lindsay Zoladz called their sound, “shoegaze that looks you square in the eye,” and (speaking of irresistible) I’ll get on board with that.
You can still stream their whole album over at Stereogum. It might be my favorite debut of the year.
Shifting gears, I’m less than 24 hours away from the Nashville premiere of The Skin I Live In, Spanish auteur Pedro Almodóvar’s eighteenth feature. I’ve seen 14 of those, marking me out as one of “those” fans. Reviews for this one have been mixed and I wasn’t that impressed with the book it’s based on, but I’ll see it at least twice during its run at our Belcourt Theatre … and I’ll probably love it. That’s what happens when you basically learn what film direction is during a viewing of Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown at age 16.
(For the record, I think the trailer is pretty lame.) I can heartily recommend Slate‘s recent features where June Thomas watched all of Almodóvar’s movies and then ranked them. While I’d certainly quibble with that list, I had a blast reading both pieces and I’d love to know what you guys (at least one of whom shares my enthusiasm for the man) think of them.