supersoul

Regarding the genre "pure (power) pop for pure people," from the mentioned pile by imasoulman, I will pull out by several lengths Game Theory, that fine songwriter in the vein of Big Star, Scott Miller. Their "Lolita Nation" is a masterpiece; too bad the four pennies earned weren't enough to ensure them a long life.

Almost five, which is what the previous one "Mars needs guitars" got. Dave Faulkner, to put it in psycho-nano terms, is more talented than handsome but has a fantastic voice for this kind of stuff. I can’t understand how these guys didn’t break through and make billions. In fact, this album was recorded for the Americans, and you can tell compared to the pop/rock/garage blend of the first two albums. Still, even under the guidance of record sellers and with the polished production, the Hoodoo Gurus show what they’re made of. After all, some of them came from the garage band Scientists, and the original lineup featured James Baker, who ended up in the boozy supergroup Beasts of Bourbon. A pop-rock delight.

I agree on the lyricism of Anastasia Screamed, sometimes a bit huskerduro mannered in more than one track, which makes me lower my rating by a half point compared to a four. Chick Graining is a rather strange vocalist from one piece to another (a bit like the immeasurable Andrew Wood) who has taken some revenge from that loser role with the success of "Days Like This" with Scarce. Speaking of magnificent losers of indie-rock straddling the '80s and '90s, there are certainly Rick Rizzo's Eleventh Dream Day with that fantastic "Lived to Tell" from the same (if I'm not mistaken) year as this one from Anastasia, which is more burning rock attached to tradition, much like the X were.

Too much plot, and honestly, I disagree on a lot of things, but cinema is beautiful because everyone creates their own story. Joker doesn’t follow the straight line of the sergeant’s training; in fact, he’s the only one who manages to endure in that kind of all-white clinic where they inject you with the virus of war, and therefore the criminal one. He succumbs to the state of being a criminal only when he shoots the Viet Cong, even if it seems like a merciful act, and it’s a hellish passage as I think Kubrick wants to imply with the ending when Joker, instead of throwing away the rifle and gaining awareness (like the rebels in anti-Vietnam cinema), joins the others in that march through the flames in the darkness. He sings Mickey Mouse’s march, but he has lost the innocence of a child and has become a criminal, and at this point, there’s no turning back; he has contracted the virus. A pitch-black film. Great.

Well, if Sanderson was referring to a special one from that night, they were destined to leave this valley of tears. If you look closely at the cover, you can understand that this is a double suicide.

After all, just take the beautiful "My life to live" from the LP "Forever Came Today" by the Flesheaters and slow it down enough to get "Carry Home" on "Miami" by the Gun Club from the same year (1982).

Acrobatics or sloppiness? As you say, Wall of Voodoo had nothing to do with it; certain things are closer to the Flesheaters of Chris Dejardins, who produced the first Gun Club album.

My vinyl of Fire of Love also has the same cover with the zombies as Alfredo's CD, it's the French edition from the esteemed New Rose that has published hordes of "children of a lesser god" of US rock; I'm reminded of Tav Falco and the Panther Burns. The original US version with Jeffrey, Ward Dotson, and Terry Graham leaning against the fence of some backyard was fantastic. immagine:gun+club

Ambiguous might not be the right term, but I was referring to the transition by a good director like Pollack from a certain type of consistently decent and socially engaged cinema in the 70s and 80s (They Shoot Horses, Don't They?, The Yakuza, Three Days of the Condor) to his more recent works, marked by a series of campy films like Havana, the remake of Sabrina, and that trash Destined to Be.

But more than Pollack (rather ambiguous director), here we have the iron hand of the great John Milius at the screenplay, who always foregrounds the confrontation between man and nature and its elements (even in Un mercoledì da leoni). In reality, Jeremiah Johnson tries to escape his social belonging and finds himself involved with the Indians, failing despite his sense of honor, sincerity, and respect—feelings derived from John Ford, of whom Milius is a great admirer. Individual freedom does not exist; man is seen as the center of all things, but then he confronts nature, and that’s where things get tough. It was the same for Chris McCandless 35 years later in Into the Wild.