Category: Pop

Album Reviews 21/08/19

Anika, Change (Sacred Bones Records)
Collection of self-indulgent, googly-eyed runway-model-pop confections from a pan-European girl who apparently believes there’s a huge audience for the random superficial thinkies of a privileged former political journalist who — get this, you’ll never believe it — thinks the world is a little messed up at the moment. Behold what the Warhol/Bowie aesthetic has led us to in the ringtone era: a retro take on the overhead-speaker ambiance heard at overpriced clothing stores at the mall, which, I suppose, really did need a break from the usual soft-pedaled, blippy house-techno; I mean, if you want someone to pay $250 for a blouse that cost 30 cents to produce, your average customer would probably be more hypnotized if one of the songs from this absolutely unnecessary album were playing in the background. Take “Finger Pies,” for instance, in which Random Mononym croons her flatline-brained Nico imitation over a Velvet Underground loop that’s trying so hard to sound ’60s-artpop-authentic you almost feel obligated to dance to it for a second so it’ll shut up. Right, just what we need in a time of insane debt, plague and climate catastrophe: vacuous, tuneless retro garbage delivered by a fashion-victimized chick in gold lamé thigh-high boots. Utterly detestable. F

Cinema Cinema, CCXMDII (Nefarious Industries)
I know for a fact I’ve covered these guys before, but my crack team of unpaid pizza-gobbling interns can’t seem to find it, and I keep getting too distracted by internet nonsense to ever find it myself, so we’ll start from scratch with this sixth album from the experimental art-punk act, comprised of two cousin bros (one on guitar/voice, the other on drums) from Brooklyn. I know I liked what I heard from them before; these guys are hard-edgy and, of course, weird, as we hear on opening track “A Life Of Its Own,” an 18-minute thingie that’s totally Throbbing Lobster-esque, like Swans but with a New-Age slant — there’s a flute (or sample thereof) throughout, you see, not played very well but nevertheless redolent of a tranquil (if claustrophobia-triggering) forest. Elsewhere we have things like “Cloud 2,” a discombobulated noise jaunt that might make you think of an all-analog Battles; and “Crack Of Dawn,” which is pure crackpot-improv. It’s all very “meh” really. C+

PLAYLIST

• Friday the 20th is barreling down on us, tumbling head over heels, clutching fresh new rock ’n’ roll albums in its hands while it tries not to smash into a telephone pole and laughs at us for being bummed about the summer ending in like 20 seconds. Yep, before you know it, there’ll be plenty of things to hate: spiced pumpkin decorations at Hobby Lobby, co-workers lying about how much they love autumn, and everyone’s favorite: 4-foot Santas at Target, standing in piles of fake snow even while most people are still in their flip-flops and Rick & Morty T-shirts. There is nothing I can do about any of that, other than hold your hand and gently remind you that you’d promised yourself for the last 10 years that you’d move to Tallahassee, so it’s all your fault, but, along the way, cheer up and eat your watermelon-flavored Airheads while I tell you about the awesome new albums you can buy or pirate or whatever! I know you could use a laugh right now, what with lockdown talk making the rounds even as you prepare to make that dreaded trip to your closet to dig out your North Face jacket and snowshoes, so let’s discuss hipster-black-metal idiots Deafheaven and their new album, Infinite Granite! Wow, the new single “Great Mass Of Color” is a mixture of cut-rate Killers and government-issue shoegaze — hahahaha, I knew they’d drop the black-metal pretense sooner or later! The YouTube comments on this song are priceless: “Deafheaven but make it whirr but make it Morrissey”; “When your friend goes to college for a year and comes back home with a Flock Of Seagulls haircut and a tattoo of the infinity symbol,” stuff like that. So the results are in, folks: Ho ho ho, merrrry pumpkin spice, the people hate you, Deafheaven! They really, really hate you!

• What other unspeakable tortures lie in wait for me today — oh no, this is too funny, it’s Gestureland, another new album from former X-Files actor David Duchovny! My sides are splitting, guys, I’m telling you. What, did people actually buy his last few albums? Ahem, shall we investigate the new single, “Layin’ on the Tracks”? Hey, I don’t want to either, but duty calls. Ack, ack, the music is trite, absolutely dreadful, kind of like Neil Young but without the stupid screechy guitars. His voice is what you’d expect from him and his adenoids. Even if you’ve never played guitar before, I could teach you to play this song in 10 minutes and you’d break into a boss-level guitar solo out of sheer boredom. Why is this man doing this to himself, seriously?

• I don’t even wanna look, gang, what could possibly be next? No way, it’s semi-retired child star Debbie Gibson, with a new slab o’ vinyl, The Body Remembers! Ha ha, remember when she got into a slap-fight with other-former-child-star Tiffany in the Sy-Fy classic cinematic treasure Mega Python vs. Gatoroid? The only possible direction from there, of course, was down, so she’s been doing Hallmark movies, like 2018’s Wedding Of Dreams, which was about, oh, who cares, just bask in all the rich and delicious schadenfreude while I inflict the new single “One Step Closer” on my poor head-bone. Whoa, wait, she’s pretty hot in this video, and the song is sort of afterparty-techno, like Miss Kitty meets Janet Jackson. It’s OK!

• We’ll end this week’s musical water-boarding with Love Will Be Reborn, from Canada-pop lady Martha Wainwright! The title track isn’t bad, sort of Christine McVie/Fleetwood Mac-ish, if I’m being honest, not that I’m feeling so inclined.

Retro Playlist

Way back we go, once again to 2007, a year whose biggest events included Microsoft releasing Windows Vista and Office 2007. I’ll bet half of you readers are still using Office 2007, given that it didn’t require a subscription you had to buy and download from “the cloud” (I’m really, really sick of hearing about “the cloud,” aren’t you?). But let’s not wander too far; there were a few albums up for dissection that week, exactly 14 years ago, in these pages. The most notable one, an album I actually kept in my car’s cubby for a long time, was Bluefinger, from Black Francis of the Pixies, a band I dubbed “the ultimate anti-Fleetwood Mac, a jumbled train wreck of notes, pretty/unpretty voices and bar-band guitars that sucked in every unwary soul who got too close.” The best part of this rather good LP, I said, is “when he gives himself a do-over of the boys-choir chorus that Surfer Rosa’s ‘Where Is My Mind’ mismanaged, this on the new album’s ‘Angels Come to Comfort,’ whose out-of-nowhere fadeout is one of the most stirring things you’ll hear all year.” It really is a terrific song.

Elsewhere, there was Benelux-based DJ Sander Kleinenberg, with a two-CD set called This is Sander Kleinenberg. Ah, the good old days, when the house-techno record labels all had me on their lists, and I was up to my ears in sexy-cool beach music intended for velvet-rope clubs where all the fashion-model/scientist kids would drink until they danced and grope each other like lobsters in a supermarket tank. This wasn’t my favorite house album of all time: “By and large,” I said in an Exorcist voice, “fans are into his earlier releases for their funk, of which there’s plenty at the outset of the ‘Left’ half of this collection, but the tracks are all over the joint, sometimes getting bogged down in arrhythmic ambient bloviations that stay a little past their welcome.” I gave it a C+, which is my way of hinting that I probably Frisbeed the album out my car window at some point.

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

At the Sofaplex 21/08/12

Val (R)

It’s the documentary you didn’t know you needed about Val Kilmer, narrated with Val’s words read by Jack Kilmer, Val’s son and an actor himself. Val tells the story of Kilmer from a childhood of making movies and having fun with three brothers in the suburban greater Los Angeles area through his career that often seems like a long, only occasionally successful attempt at finding acting jobs that really speak to him. He played Iceman in Top Gun and was a Batman but his real passion seems to be for a Mark Twain movie that he was attempting to get off the ground by touring with a one-man theatrical production called Citizen Twain (according to Vulture, since Kilmer suffered extensive loss of his voice due to throat cancer and its treatment, that production has turned into Cinema Twain, a filmed version of the play that he was touring with pre-pandemic). It’s an intriguing project and one that helps you to understand Kilmer the artist as opposed to just Val Kilmer, Hollywood celebrity. This movie is itself the project of Kilmer’s long love of shooting video and the fact that he saved boxes of footage from his life over the years. Thus do we get to see him clowning around with babyfaced Kevin Bacon and Sean Penn backstage at a play they all worked on long ago and footage of his family, including a movie-loving younger brother who died as a teenager. The movie feels like a scrapbook, collecting his own video, clips of movies and interviews and other souvenirs from his life. It’s a fascinating approach to a biography and an interesting glimpse at acting as a life’s work. B+ Available on Amazon Prime.

Jolt (R)

Kate Beckinsale, Stanley Tucci.

Also Laverne Cox, Bobby Cannavale, Jai Courtney and Susan Sarandon on occasional narration.

Lindy (Beckinsale) has extreme impulse control issues. It’s not that she drinks too much or dates too many of the wrong men (though, as she explains to her therapist Dr. Muchin, played by Tucci, she’s done these things too). When provoked by the irritations and annoyances of everyday life and everyday jerks, Lindy responds by beating the tar out of the provocateur. She’s tried drugs, extreme sports and military service as ways to dampen or channel-elsewhere these impulses but nothing works until Dr. Muchin outfits her with a vest that gives her an electrical jolt at the press of a button. With this button she’s able to not grievously injure the jerk giving a hard time to the valet outside a restaurant or the rude waitress inside as she nervously attempts a first date with Justin (Courtney). 

After the first date goes unexpectedly wonderfully, Lindy is excited for their next date, but her joy at a possible new relationship turns into rage when she learns that Justin has been murdered. Detectives Vicars (Cannavale) and Nevin (Cox) won’t tell her much about Justin but Lindy knows just enough to start her own violence-filled investigation of his death. 

I feel like this movie, with its aggressive, self-conscious Bad Girl Attitude and overall low-rent feel, would have annoyed me had I seen it in a theater. But at home, drinking my own beverages and eating my own snacks and ignoring whatever chores need doing so I can give enough of my attention to Beckinsale’s performance, which is mostly made up of the rocker girl wig and a bunch of impressively high-heeled boots, I find I don’t need quite as much from a movie. Which is to say Jolt is kind of silly and junkfoody and totally fine. Beckinsale seems like she’s having fun, Cox and Cannavale seem like they’re having fun. Yes, the movie finds Lindy more spunky and charming than I do, but she’s not actively grating. 

In some better version of this movie, more could have been made about the ideas of free will, impulse control and Lindy’s ability to pick and choose how much to put up with and not. But this movie doesn’t dive that deep. It floats along the surface at a fast enough clip to be a solid choice for the thing that’s on when you don’t want to have to pay too much attention to what you’re watching. C+ Available on Amazon Prime.

The Maidens by Alex Michaelides

The Maidens, by Alex Michaelides (Celedon Books, 333 pages)

Alex Michaelides’ first book, The Silent Patient, was a runaway best seller. That’s a situation that an author both loves and fears. Loves because, well, best seller! Fears because now that he’s hit the highest spot how does he maintain that kind of momentum?

The Maidens is an OK book. It is definitely not a great or even a compelling book. I’ve tried to not compare the writing to The Silent Patient, but it is near impossible. Essentially, the author’s fears came true. Readers like me are comparing it to his first book and are finding that this one comes up short.

In this suspense novel, Mariana is a grieving fairly recent widow and group therapist who gets contacted by her niece Zoe from Cambridge University. A murder of one of Zoe’s friends has prompted her to reach out to have Mariana come to Cambridge and assist if possible in finding the perpetrator. The story then follows the traditional cat and mouse game that seems to be played in all murder mysteries.

Except that this storyline has an intelligent woman who suspects a professor of committing a murder and yet she agrees to meet privately with him several times. Not such an intelligent thing to do. Apparently this guy has put her under the same spell that he casts on his female students (and which causes a devoted entourage of women to wear long white dresses as they flock around him at a funeral).

It’s difficult to get behind both Mariana and Zoe as protagonists. They simply make too many illogical decisions. History of both of them having mental illness including depression is mentioned often and (I think) the reason for that is to cast doubt on both women’s actions and deductions.

Sigh. Can men in particular please write away from that tired trope? Mental illness especially in women does not mean that you throw all caution aside. It doesn’t mean that all of a sudden you throw all sensibility to the wind.

There is also an attempt to make the story something more than it is by invoking the aura of Greek mythology and secret societies. None of it ever seems to click. It never really makes any sense.

I love good pacing and I have to say that the pacing in The Maidens is off. Lots of time spent describing something of no importance and not enough time explaining why someone would take a particular action. And don’t get me started on the dialogue and situation descriptions — clunky and contrived to get a point across.

Professor Fosca suggested they have coffee and dessert in the sitting room, and Mariana reluctantly followed him into the next room. He gestured at the large dark sofa by the fireplace. “Why don’t you sit down?”

Mariana felt unwilling to sit next to him and be that close to him — it made her feel unsafe, somehow. And a thought occurred to her — if she felt uneasy being alone with him, how might an eighteen-year-old girl feel?

She shook her head. “I’m tired. I think I’ll skip dessert.”

“Don’t go, not yet. Let me make some coffee.”

Before she could object, Fosca left the room, disappearing into the kitchen.

Spoiler alert, even though Mariana feels uncomfortable, even though she’s a therapist who works with dangerous people, and even though she suspects Fosca of murder, she stays for dessert with him, alone.

Michaelides tries so valiantly to make Mariana come across as strong and intuitive and it doesn’t work. We are left shaking our heads and wondering where her common sense is.

Look, I hate giving a book a bad grade. I know it takes guts and pure determination to write a book. It takes even more to write a second book after you’ve hit the jackpot with your first, but this book is just meh. Not inventive, no real character development and situations that feel forced. It feels rushed (“The numbers are great on your first book, let’s take advantage of that and pump out another while your name is still fresh”).

Should you read it? If you’re on vacation and it’s the only book available, sure, you should read it, but (and I’m going to be brutally honest here) there are so many other really good books out there to read before you pick this one up.

By all means read The Silent Patient, which is a fantastic book and worthy of all its praise, but this one? I’m just not putting it on my “books you must read” list. If you’re interested in following how writers write over the course of different books, then go ahead and read it, but if you’re looking for an exciting page-turner then move along, there’s nothing to see here.

C

— Wendy E. N. Thomas

Book Notes

Serious question: Do we care what Bill Gates reads anymore?

Because, ugly divorce and apology tour aside, he still thinks we do, sending out his usual reading suggestions even though the whole books-with-Bill-by-the-fireside thing has lost its appeal in light of Gates’ association with Jeffrey Epstein, now earnestly regretted on CNN.

In his blog this month, Gates reveals that Vaclav Smil, a Canadian economic policy analyst, is his favorite author, although he suggests Smil is too brilliant for most of us with average IQs. (His writing is “too detailed or obscure for a general audience,” Gates says.)

But Smil’s latest book, now out in paperback, is apparently more understandable and Gates recommends it for “anyone who loves learning.” Numbers Don’t Lie (Penguin, 368 pages) is billed as “71 stories to help us understand the modern world” and it’s composed of short takes on eclectic topics, such as what happens when we have fewer children, why chicken rules and how sweating improved hunting. (Don’t ask; I haven’t read it yet.)

As to whether we care what Gates reads anymore, the answer, apparently, is yes. The Kindle version of the book is No. 1 in public policy as of this writing.

Meanwhile, if you’d rather read a book about a billionaire rather than one recommended by one, check out Amazon Unbound, Jeff Bezos and the Invention of a Global Empire by Bloomberg editor Brad Stone (Simon & Schuster, 496 pages).

Of much more interest to the average American reader, however, there’s a new book out by Stephen King. Billy Summers (Scribner, 528 pages) is about an American war veteran turned killer-for-hire, but like all good antiheroes, he only kills bad guys. It’s being called his best book in years, which could be a compliment, or not.

— Jennifer Graham

Books

Author events

• KATE SHAFFER & DEREK BISSONNETTE Authors present The Maine Farm Table Cookbook. Outside the Music Hall Historic Theater, 28 Chestnut St., Portsmouth. Thurs., Aug. 12, 6 p.m. Tickets cost $60 for a small table (two people), $120 for a medium table (four people), $180 for a large table (six people). Visit themusichall.org or call 436-2400.

• MICHAEL “SY” SISEMORE Author presents In the Real World I Hike: Transformation of Purpose and Self in 5 Million Easy Steps. Sat., Aug. 14, 2 p.m. MainStreet BookEnds of Warner, 16 E. Main St., Warner. Visit mainstreetbookends.com.

• PETER FRIEDRICHS Author presents And the Stars Kept Watch. Virtual event, hosted by Toadstool Bookstores, located in Nashua, Peterborough and Keene. Tues., Aug. 17, 6 p.m. Visit toadbooks.com or call 673-1734.

• JEFF SHARLET Author and journalist will present his books, as part of the Tory Hill Author Series, including his newest, This Brilliant Darkness: A Book of Strangers. Sat., Aug. 21, 7 p.m., to be held virtually via Zoom. Tickets are $5. Visit toryhillauthorseries.com/jeff-sharlet.

• AMY MAKECHNIE Author presents her second middle-grade novel Ten Thousand Tries. Sat., Aug. 21, 2 p.m. MainStreet BookEnds of Warner, 16 E. Main St., Warner. Visit mainstreetbookends.com.

• R.W.W. GREENE Sci-fi author presents new novel Twenty-Five to Life. Gibson’s Bookstore, 45 S. Main St., Concord. Thurs., Aug. 26, 6:30 p.m. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com or call 224-0562.

• MONA AWAD Author presents All’s Well. The Music Hall Historic Theater, 28 Chestnut St., Portsmouth. Thurs., Sept. 2, 7 p.m. Tickets cost $13.75. Visit themusichall.org or call 436-2400.

• SHARON RASK HUNTINGTON Author presents Mirabelle’s Metamorphosis. Joint event with MainStreet BookEnds of Warner and the Pillsbury Free Library. Thurs., Aug. 26, 10:30 a.m. Jim Mitchell Community Park, East Main Street, Warner. Visit mainstreetbookends.com.

• L.R. BERGER New Hampshire poet to hold release party of latest book Indebted to Wind. Sat., Aug. 28, 4 p.m. MainStreet BookEnds of Warner, 16 E. Main St., Warner. Visit mainstreetbookends.com.

Poetry

• POETRY IN THE MEADOW Featuring readings with poets Chad deNiord, Kylie Gellatly and Samantha DeFlitch. Sun., Aug. 22, 4:30 p.m. The Word Barn Meadow, 66 Newfields Road, Exeter. $5 suggested donation. Visit thewordbarn.com.

• SLAM FREE OR DIE Series of open mic nights for poets and spoken-word artists. Stark Tavern, 500 N. Commercial St., Manchester. Weekly. Thursday, doors open and sign-ups beginning at 7 p.m., open mic at 8 p.m. The series also features several poetry slams every month. Events are open to all ages. Cover charge of $3 to $5 at the door, which can be paid with cash or by Venmo. Visit facebook.com/slamfreeordie, e-mail [email protected] or call 858-3286.

Book Clubs

• BOOKERY Online. Monthly. Third Thursday, 6 p.m. Bookstore based in Manchester. Visit bookerymht.com/online-book-club or call 836-6600.

• GIBSON’S BOOKSTORE Online, via Zoom. Monthly. First Monday, 5:30 p.m. Bookstore based in Concord. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com/gibsons-book-club-2020-2021 or call 224-0562.

• GOFFSTOWN PUBLIC LIBRARY 2 High St., Goffstown. Monthly. Third Wednesday, 1:30 p.m. Call 497-2102, email [email protected] or visit goffstownlibrary.com.

• NASHUA PUBLIC LIBRARY Online. Monthly. Second Friday, 3 p.m. Call 589-4611, email [email protected] or visit nashualibrary.org.

• BELKNAP MILL Online. Monthly. Last Wednesday, 6 p.m. Based in Laconia. Email [email protected].

Featured photo: The Maidens.

Album Reviews 21/08/12

Lex Leosis, Terracotta [EP] (self-released)

This female alternative hip-hopper is a long-board enthusiast from California by way of Canada, and her passive-aggressive flows have made her a real up and comer. Two of the songs (the Billie Eilish-ish “Won’t Wait” and the flighty-bassline-powered “Wanted”) were produced by Rainer Blanchaer (Drake, The Weeknd), who became a constant in her life during lockdown. If he’s into her, that should be plenty excuse for you to give this a shot. A

Wavves, Hideaway (Fat Possum Records)

Nathan Williams runs this San Diego indie band, a trio you’ve almost assuredly heard about before. The narrative he’d like us critics to front is that although he’s still the same kid who had an ecstacy-and-Valium-fueled meltdown at a 2009 Barcelona rock festival and had a remarkable streak of hooky beach-garage noise-pop broken by a too-glossy major-label attempt, he’s now old enough to have finally figured out that, oh gosh, just like anyone else ever born, he’s his own worst enemy. Did you enjoy that little Pitchfork-ish segue? I didn’t, so let’s see if the band sounds noise-grunge awesome, like in the old days, or kind of commercial emo, like in the more recent past. Gack, what the heck is this, “Sinking Feeling” is kind of twee, isn’t it? “Thru Hell” sounds like Hives after their moms forced them to get haircuts; “Honeycomb” sounds like commercial jungle meant to entice hipsters to eat Corn Flakes. Ack, ack, all set with this. C

PLAYLIST

• Even though it is a Friday the 13th, Aug. 13 is the next general-record-release Friday. I’m totally sure that bodes well for what awaits me when I check my list of things to review, and I won’t be disappointed. In fact, it is the only Friday the 13th of 2021, so I’ll probably get a double-whammy dose of awful, but, subject change, did you know that historians and folklore often have drunken brawls over whether the superstitious fear of Friday the 13th is actually based on the date of the Last Supper or the arrest of the Knights Templar in 1307? For me, I will attribute it to the release date of the new Willie Nile album The Day The Earth Stood Still, because I have to talk about it right now and I have no idea who he is. I don’t feel too bad about it, because the 73-year-old alt-folk singer-songwriter actually is pretty obscure, as well as being a philosophy major from Buffalo, New York. Please hold while I try to find an angle on this, if there even is one. OK, Wikipedia wants to Rickroll me into looking up some band called the Worry Dolls, but I won’t, let’s just say that his obscurity and six-year hiatus after getting sued or whatever in 1981 has made him into one of those “only cool, edgy musicians know about him,” being that Loudon Wainwright III, Roger McGuinn, and members of the Hooters and the Roches have helped him make albums. Stuff like that instantly brings out my cleverly hidden inner skeptic, but let’s have a go at “Blood On Your Hands,” which is guested by Steve Earle. It’s a boring old-school blues-rocker that someone like Jimmy Barnes would have thrown in the trash, meaning this Friday the 13th is probably just getting started being a Friday the 13th for me.

• Watch me perform critic magic with the following bon mot: Devendra Banhart & Noah Georgeson’s new album, Refuge, should just be considered a Devendra Banhart album, because Noah Georgeson is his constant producer. Of course, being that this is an ambient album comprised of slow techno loops and no vocals, I wouldn’t want it to be considered part of my legacy either, if I were Devendra Banhart, and I would definitely blame the really stupid video (big, gross snails crawling around on old Greek statues and generally being slimy and yucky) on Noah Georgeson. Thus, folks, the power of being a famous artist: If you have an urge to make a really pointless career move, always have someone else around to hold the bag.

• After releasing nine records, somewhere along the line this year, alternative-country singer-strummer Suzie Ungerleider got tired of calling herself Oh Susanna, mostly because one of her wine-mom friends finally got around to telling her that there’s a complicated racial history behind the song “Oh! Susanna.” So now she is Suzie Ungerleider, whether or not the critics will spell it right (some of them won’t, just to be jerks). In an act of quiet desperation, her new album is titled My Name Is Suzie Ungerleider, which will probably fix everything (it won’t). She’s originally from lovely, sparkly, rustic Northampton, Mass., but is now Canadian, but I will forgive her for that and listen to her new single, “Baby Blues.” I’ll try to be nice: The tune is sleepy, boring and hookless, and her voice is a cross between Dolly Parton and Lisa Loeb.

• Last but not least is British electronic musician Jungle, whose new album, Loving In Stereo, is coming out tomorrow. Despite his name, his style is electronic neo-soul, and the single “Talk About It” is actually really cool, like a Covid-mask-muffled amalgam of ’70s stuff like Bee Gees and Cornelius Brothers. You should check it out.

Retro Playlist

Exactly 14 years ago, this space was, if I recall, something of a catch-as-catch-can fricassee of random reviews. This was way before my stream-of-half-consciousness Playlist segment came into play, and come to think of it, some of this stuff may have ended up in one of the New Times newspapers or someplace else, but either way, let’s first revisit my magma-hot take on Humanity Hour 1, an album that had just streeted from legendary German hard-rockers Scorpions “(or is it just ‘Scorpions’ with no ‘the’, the original riddle of the Sphynx).” I was a bit fascinated with the fact that the band had fallen from the heavens by then; they were managed by Lieber & Krebs, who also handled Aerosmith and most of the other arena-rawk bands of the ’70s and ’80s, but suddenly here they were, “slumming it” on Universal Records. The results? Well, I noted, they were back. But “OK, not as super-far ‘back’ as [they were situated] when Michael Schenker had to cut elementary school classes so he could go into the studio and lay down the lead guitar heroics of ‘Speedy’s Coming,’ but … no, not as ‘back’ as the Animal Magnetism album either, you remember, with ‘The Zoo’ and all.” I’ll stop: basically they were back to doing tedious “No One Like You”-ish ballads, about 12 or so years after they’d become extinct. So I gave it a C+ grade (in principle it deserved lower, really).

That week I also riffed a bit on an album I rather liked, Victorious, from the Swedish band The Perishers. I loved basically everything I was sent from Nettwerk Records, and these guys were the types to spend “countless torturous nights writing their material, resulting in the sort of regal air that most indie bands try to fake through ‘experimental’ shock and awe.” Turned out to be their last album, much the pity. Sigh.

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

Wayward by Dana Spiotta

Wayward, by Dana Spiotta (Knopf, 270 pages)

In 2013, New Hampshire author Howard Mansfield published a gorgeous ode to the physical structure that, if we are lucky, we come to see as a home, not a house. Dwelling in Possibility examined what Mansfield called “the soul of shelter,” the nourishment that we get from a pile of lumber, concrete, steel and stone.

Dana Spiotta does this, too, in her new novel Wayward, which is about a woman who, traumatized by the 2016 election, impulsively buys a run-down house and walks out of her marriage.

There were, of course, other catalysts for the decision that are revealed over time. But in setting up a wholly unexpected type of unfaithfulness — a woman falling in love with an illicit house — Spiotta taps into a rarely explored subject: the emotional connection that many people have to their homes, even when, to the world, it may seem irrational. “The house was falling apart. The house was beautiful,” Sam thinks to herself as she falls for a century-old cottage after being the only person to show up for the open house. (Apparently, bored women go to open houses as a form of recreation — who knew?)

She was seduced by its tile-lined fireplace, custom-built storage benches and old wood, which made her own house, with its gas fireplace and perpetually distracted husband, look hopelessly bourgeois.

Sam makes an offer on the house and decides to leave her husband without thinking much about the consequences, only vaguely aware that “saying yes to this version of her life would mean saying no to another version of her life.”

When she tells Matt, he is standing at the blender, making a post-workout smoothie, and doesn’t stop what he is doing, suggesting that Sam is making a bold and empowering decision that will radically improve her life. In fact, life is never that simple.

The decision fractures an already tense relationship with Sam’s 16-year-old daughter, who has just begun a secretive relationship with a much older man. And the complexities of leaving the suburbs and navigating a new life in the city, with a couple of amusingly woke friends, complicates Sam’s life as she attempts to ignore the worsening condition of her own mother, Lily, who has pancreatic cancer.

Meanwhile, her husband seems determined to love her back into the family home, writing Sam checks to cover her expenses, including the full cost of the house (“It’s your money, too,” he tells her) and sending her flowers on the first day she sleeps there. “Dusty peach-colored peonies, her favorite. Her leaving had made him attend her, but he didn’t understand that wasn’t her intention at all. Sam just wanted to be alone in her house.”

Matt’s graciousness thrusts Sam into a place of “phony poverty, fake independence” as her part-time job as a tour guide at the Clara Loomis House couldn’t have paid even her small bills.

The family tensions ramp up to a satisfying crescendo, but the real pleasure in Wayward is Spiotta’s grasp of the mundane, as in her treatment of Sam’s of chronic insomnia (which will be utterly relatable to anyone who has ever bolted awake at 3 a.m. and not been able to get back to sleep) and necessary but painful tensions that both physically and emotionally tear apart older teens and their parents. She also has a shrewd wit that leavens the novel’s serious themes.

“You do seem deranged,” Matt says to Sam as they discuss the election of someone they loathed (a person never mentioned by name, but the novel starts in 2017). She is deranged, but in the way that we all are these days: overwhelmed, underfunded, desperately trying to do right by other people while doing right by ourselves, to stay asleep the whole night, take care of our children, take care of our parents, take care of the planet. This is a thoroughly contemporary novel, with its Facebook groups of outraged women (WWW: Women Won’t Wilt, and Central New York Crones) and soliloquies on higher education and other contemporary frustrations. (Sam sees the college admissions process as a sort of Hunger Games.)

It is also a solidly regional novel; you will learn more than you want to about Syracuse, New York, to include its architecture and history. And apparently Clara Loomis, the namesake of the historical house at which Sam works, is an invention of the author, which is a bit confusing given that she is linked to real people, such as Elizabeth Cady Stanton. At the end, the novel shape-shifts with letters and journal entries from Loomis, which complicates the work in ways that are not all positive. There is also no obvious resolution to many of the family’s struggles; people who like an ending neatly tied with a ribbon may grumble at the conclusion.

Wayward is not chick lit; it’s too smart a book for that. But it’s definitely a novel for women, and women of a certain age. For that demographic, it’s a slam dunk, especially if the women lean Democrat. A-

Book Notes

The announcement of book award nominees in the summer is the equivalent of pumpkin-spice products emerging in August. It’s way too early. We still haven’t finished our beach reads.

But the long list for the Booker Prize came out this week, and if nothing else, it’s confirmation of the Hippo’s good taste. Three books on the list were reviewed here and given A’s: Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro (Knopf, 321 pages), No One is Talking About Thisby Patricia Lockwood (Riverhead, 224 pages) and Great Circle by Maggie Shipstead (Knopf, 608 pages).

The award, given each November, is for the best novel written in English and published in Britain or Ireland. The inclusion of American authors is a perennial source of friction in the U.K., although interestingly the British novelist Ishiguro has been supportive of the change, made in 2014. (In addition to his current nomination, Ishiguro won the Booker Prize in 1989 for The Remains of the Day.)

Besides Lockwood and Shipstead, two other Americans are on the long list this year: Nathan Harris and Richard Powers; Harris for The Sweetness of Water (Little, Brown and Co., 368 pages) and Powers for Bewilderment(W.W. Norton, 288 pages), which hasn’t even been released yet. Its release date is Sept. 21.

Meanwhile, props to the U.K. publication The Guardian, which each year runs a “Not the Booker Prize” contest, because, in its words, “the judges of Britain’s most prestigious literary award pick the wrong book too often.” The readers of The Guardian’s book blog vote on their favorites. Last year’s winner was Hello Friend We Missed You, by Richard Owain Roberts, which was published in the U.S. in paperback this year (Parthian, 200 pages) and is described on Amazon as “bleakly comic.”

Alas, the author only won a Guardian coffee mug. The Booker Prize winner this year, to be announced Nov. 3, will collect $69,000.

Books

Author events

• JOYCE MAYNARD Author presents her new novel Count the Ways. Phenix Hall, 38 N. Main St., Concord. Thurs., Aug. 5, 7 p.m. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com or call 224-0562.

• SADIE & CORBIN RAYMOND Authors present 121 Days: The Corbin Raymond Story of Fighting for Life and Surviving a Traumatic Brain Injury. Gibson’s Bookstore, 45 S. Main St., Concord. Tues., Aug. 10, 6 p.m. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com or call 224-0562.

• KATE SHAFFER & DEREK BISSONNETTE Authors present The Maine Farm Table Cookbook. Outside the Music Hall Historic Theater, 28 Chestnut St., Portsmouth. Thurs., Aug. 12, 6 p.m. Tickets cost $60 for a small table (two people), $120 for a medium table (four people), $180 for a large table (six people). Visit themusichall.org or call 436-2400.

• PETER FRIEDRICHS Author presents And the Stars Kept Watch. Virtual event, hosted by Toadstool Bookstores, located in Nashua, Peterborough and Keene. Tues., Aug. 17, 6 p.m. Visit toadbooks.com or call 673-1734.

• R.W.W. GREENE Sci-fi author presents new novel Twenty-Five to Life. Gibson’s Bookstore, 45 S. Main St., Concord. Thurs., Aug. 26, 6:30 p.m. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com or call 224-0562.

• MONA AWAD Author presents All’s Well. The Music Hall Historic Theater, 28 Chestnut St., Portsmouth. Thurs., Sept. 2, 7 p.m. Tickets cost $13.75. Visit themusichall.org or call 436-2400.

Poetry

• DOWN CELLAR POETRY SALON Poetry event series presented by the Poetry Society of New Hampshire. Monthly. First Sunday. Visit poetrysocietynh.wordpress.com.

• SLAM FREE OR DIE Series of open mic nights for poets and spoken-word artists. Stark Tavern, 500 N. Commercial St., Manchester. Weekly. Thursday, doors open and sign-ups beginning at 7 p.m., open mic at 8 p.m. The series also features several poetry slams every month. Events are open to all ages. Cover charge of $3 to $5 at the door, which can be paid with cash or by Venmo. Visit facebook.com/slamfreeordie, e-mail [email protected] or call 858-3286.

Book Clubs

• BOOKERY Online. Monthly. Third Thursday, 6 p.m. Bookstore based in Manchester. Visit bookerymht.com/online-book-club or call 836-6600.

• GIBSON’S BOOKSTORE Online, via Zoom. Monthly. First Monday, 5:30 p.m. Bookstore based in Concord. Visit gibsonsbookstore.com/gibsons-book-club-2020-2021 or call 224-0562.

• TO SHARE BREWING CO. 720 Union St., Manchester. Monthly. Second Thursday, 6 p.m. RSVP required. Visit tosharebrewing.com or call 836-6947.

• GOFFSTOWN PUBLIC LIBRARY 2 High St., Goffstown. Monthly. Third Wednesday, 1:30 p.m. Call 497-2102, email [email protected] or visit goffstownlibrary.com

• BELKNAP MILL Online. Monthly. Last Wednesday, 6 p.m. Based in Laconia. Email [email protected].

• NASHUA PUBLIC LIBRARY Online. Monthly. Second Friday, 3 p.m. Call 589-4611, email [email protected] or visit nashualibrary.org.

Featured photo: Wayward.

Album Reviews 21/08/05

Occurrence, I Have So Much Love To Give (Archie & Fox Records)

I usually don’t go for tunes that sound like Postal Service, with those cheesy 808-ish beats that are no more technologically fascinating than the first Donkey Kong video game. But in this case there’s a lot of layering at times, and it’s not always a Nintendo-fest either —‌ wait, let me start over, because the Figurine-ish title track that opens the album, with its Donkey Kong beat, a thing that to me always comes off as insincere anti-flamboyance, is the least appealing to me, and it does get a lot better. It’s the third album from an odd little crew of college grads with families and professional day-gigs that suck up 99.9 percent of their time, so the goal here isn’t to dump everything and open for Killers or whatnot. But that really wouldn’t be out of the question, being that they sound like a modern-day Blondie of sorts (singer Cat Hollyer is a dead ringer for Debbie Harry), and they do have a slight penchant for buzzy noise-rock (“The Preferred One,” which actually gets really pretty as it marches along). This one’s a grower, well worth your time. A —‌ Eric W. Saeger

Lauren Jenkins, Miles On Me Part 1 (self-released)

Texas-born and Carolina-raised, Jenkins has toured since she was 15, so I’m told. She’s still a small fry at the moment, having played a role in an Eric Roberts movie and clocked in on one or two other actress-things. There’s been a Today show appearance, and a lot of big magazines and newspapers, I’m told, have touted her as an artist to watch and such. The sound on this self-made album is top-drawer, like, I can tell by the drums, which sound big and splashy, totally radio quality. I know what you’re wondering, but I’ve tried to avoid that: Her music is basically Sheryl Crow-ish, and her voice sounds just like Sheryl Crow. There’s of course nothing wrong with that, on paper, but I’d venture to say that I’d prefer a Sheryl Crow soundalike to try something other than country-tinged Sheryl Crow radio-pop, savvy? I mean, the songs are fine, and other than Sheryl Crow’s music, I’ve never heard anything like this in my life. We cool? B-

PLAYLIST

• Oh noes, we’re into August already, somebody make it stop, or those precocious 13-year-olds who run the fish-and-chips takeout stand at York Beach are literally going to close up and go shopping for edgy backpacks for school! No, I say! I absolutely despise August, the month that’s just basically one giant Sunday, because you know that there’s not a lot of fun and laziness and whole-clam baskets remaining on the clock before dreariness and drudgery and snow set in and turn us all back into our true people-hating Gollum selves. But enough babbling, I must drop my growing desperation and get to business, because I am a buzzing chatbot in the entertainment matrix, and my assigned task is to tell you what albums to buy when they come out on Aug. 6. (The truth is that you shouldn’t buy any of them, really; if you really cared about yourself you’d only listen to old John Coltrane albums and four-hour classical streams through YouTube or whatever, but it’s your ears’ funeral). So let’s get busy, my corporate-enslaved darlings, let’s start with The Apple Drop, a new album from Brooklyn-based experimental-post-punk loons Liars! This trio is signed to Mute Records, which automatically spells awesomeness, of course, but in the case of the single “Sekwar,” your idea of awesomeness would need to be predicated on an ideal of Tom Waits leading 10 or so guys in a crazy but not unlistenable chant about cave gods or something. Some of you would actually like it a lot, is the scary thing, but that’s OK.

• Famous famous-person and unfunny comedienne Barbra Streisand is now a spritely 79 years old, so, like the giant grackle-monster Rodan, she must emerge from her cavern of Smaug gold and lay an album-egg, for the benefit of people who buy albums solely for the purpose of annoying themselves. This new album is called Release Me 2, but don’t get excited, ’90s-girl-group fans, I’ll bet that the “2” in the title refers to a sequel to some dumb album called Release Me. Yup, there it is, thanks Wikipedia, these are previously unreleased songs that would probably sound acoustically marvelous if the strains were bouncing off the walls of your great-uncle’s Marlboro-smelling wood-paneling. The first Release Me featured tracks recorded between her 1967 Simply Streisand and 2011 What Matters Most albums, but this one cast an even wider net (1962-2020), for instance a Babs version of Carole King’s “You Light Up My Life” that’s nasal-screamy and basically bad for you.

• Next we have country music human Chris Young’s Famous Friends, whose title track is based on an “ironic” trope, that his friends in Skunk County or wherever he’s from aren’t really famous, even though the song is ironically co-sung by famous person Kane Brown. It’s standard fare, like take any Toby Keith song, put it in the microwave for 20 minutes and serve. Nevertheless he played it at the ACM Awards, whatever that means.

• Our last thing to look at this week is Lingua Ignota, classically trained in the vein of Zola Jesus I assume, given that this thing here says she’s into industrial and noise rock. Sinner Get Ready is her newest upcoming album, and I’m sure I’ll love it, so off I go to the YouTubes to listen to the single “Pennsylvania Furnace.” Yikes, OK, look at this video, she’s in a sheer white angel dress, jump-cutting around in a field. Slow mournful craziness. Talk about gloomy, crazy and nutty, I shall pass on this, thanks.

Retro Playlist

I spun the dial on the Way-Back Machine as hard as I could, and look, it landed exactly 14 years ago this week, in 2007! I cared about a lot of different genres back then, including, well, every genre, even unbearable vintage wingnut-jazz. Like the newbie I was, while reviewing the Charles Mingus Sextet’s Cornell 1964 (a live album that had just been discovered at the time), I played it safe: “Jazz has unsubtle similarities to booze,” I babbled; “Miles Davis is brandy on ice in relation to the watered-down umbrella drinks of ’80s-era Ramsey Lewis and the egghead-banter martinis of Dave Brubeck.” Well no duh, I say to my 14-years-ago self. I was obviously trying to avoid the subject at hand, namely trying to review a too-hardcore post-bop record, but I did man up and hint to readers that this particular version of “Sophisticated Lady” was “disjointed.” In the end, though, hoping to keep Mingus fans happy (by the way, I don’t care about pleasing them or anyone else anymore), I added “[T]imid newcomers have sufficient opportunities to get acclimated, such as the readily accessible blues of ‘So Long Eric’ (referring to sax/flute/clarinet legend Eric Dolphy, who plays throughout this album).” If you’re still timid about records like this, my advice is to stay that way.

Also that crazily long-ago week, Euro-goth/industrial blockheads KMFDM had just released Tohuvabohu, which I found uninspired (“‘Super Power’ is the sort of jump-the-shark moment that makes longtime fans hustle for the exits”). As well, Aughts-indie bands were at their peak of being horrible (You Say Party We Say Die’s Lose All Time was Romeo Void for dummies), but I did actually like New Young Pony Club’s Fantastic Playroom, as their tunes were “party-girl singalongs over New Order guitars welded in place by matching synth lines,” so I said “most of this record is instantly likeable, putting between-craze Billboard pinups like Franz Ferdinand to shame” (like that’s a challenge).

If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).

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