Category: Pop

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 slamfreeordie@gmail.com 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 elizabethw@goffstownlibrary.com or visit goffstownlibrary.com

• BELKNAP MILL Online. Monthly. Last Wednesday, 6 p.m. Based in Laconia. Email bookclub@belknapmill.org.

• NASHUA PUBLIC LIBRARY Online. Monthly. Second Friday, 3 p.m. Call 589-4611, email information@nashualibrary.org 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).

At the Sofaplex 21/07/29

Rita Moreno: Just A Girl Who Decided To Go For It (PG-13)

National treasure Rita Moreno tells the story of her life and her career in this charming documentary.

This movie is full of Latino performers who talk about how Rita was their role model, particularly for actresses like Eva Longoria, Karen Olivo and Justina Machado (who costarred with Rita on the recent remake of the series One Day at a Time).Rita talks about what the lack of diverse parts for Latina actors meant for her and how she was able to slowly break free of a career of playing “spicy” temptresses (her commentary on things like the direction to be more “spicy” is a delight). She also discusses the added yuckiness of gender dynamics in Hollywood, the many times she felt she had to just grin and bear it to keep working. Despite all this struggle, Moreno also expresses her joy with her career, how much she loves performing and how she’s been able to wrestle with personal demons to be in what appears to be a very good place, with a supporting role in the upcoming remake of West Side Story (the 1961 movie being where she earned that O in her EGOT).

At 89 (90 later this year), she seems to be having an absolute blast, whether she’s chatting up Jimmy Kimmel or hanging out backstage at One Day at a Time or calling BS on some aspect of the politics of the movie’s present (2018, as far as I can tell). This 90-minute movie is a warm, energetic visit with your funny, sarcastic aunt. A Available for rent or purchase and coming to PBS at some point in the future. The first three seasons of One Day at a Time are available on Netflix. Some of the fourth season episodes are available on Paramount+ and one more is available on Hulu. The animated “The Politics Episode” from Season 4 doesn’t seem to be available anywhere? But the 1961 West Side Story is available for rent or purchase, as is 1952’s Singin’ in the Rain, another musical featuring Moreno.

No Sudden Move (R)

Don Cheadle, Benicio Del Toro.

A simple job that will earn everyone a good chunk of cash for a few hours of work goes all kinds of wrong in this new cops and crooks movie set in the 1950s from director Steven Soderbergh.

Curt Goynes (Cheadle) doesn’t trust the mysterious Mr. Jones (Brendan Fraser) who hires him or the two men, Ron Russo (Del Toro) and Charley (Kieran Culkin), who join him on what he’s told will be three hours of work earning him $6,000. That job: babysit the family of Matt Wertz (David Harbour), a man who has access to an important document. If he’ll go to his office and take the document out of his boss’s safe, his wife Mary (Amy Seimetz) and his children Matthew (Noah Jupe) and Peggy (Lucy Holt) will be fine — at least, so the men who hold them at gunpoint say. The men wear masks and assure the Wertz family, as they themselves have been told, that nobody will get hurt.

Of course, even a “simple” job can go awry, with all sorts of layers and unseen alliances. The movie has some nice small roles for the likes of Ray Liotta, Matt Damon and Jon Hamm. This isn’t the bouncy fun of the Ocean’s movies but it is a very Soderberghian cool crisp cocktail of capering and doublecross with just a dash of dry humor. B+ Available on HBO Max.

The Lost Boys of Montauk, by Amanda M. Fairbanks

The Lost Boys of Montauk, by Amanda M. Fairbanks (Gallery Books, 295 pages)

The Lost Boys of Montauk is not exactly a feel-good book. It is the true account of a 1984 fishing trip where all four crewmembers were lost in a horrific storm off the shores of Long Island. The easiest way to describe this is to say that it is another version of The Perfect Storm. However, while the outcomes are similar, the differences in the stories lie in the details and decisions that got each crew to a specific point where tragedy happens.

In the first chapter we are told that all souls on board the Wind Blown from Montauk were lost at sea. Of course this makes reading the rest of the book a little difficult as we then learn about each of the sailors on board, their roles in the community, and their plans for the future. We try to keep ourselves from becoming attached because we know what the future holds for them.

However, it’s tough to stop turning the pages. Fairbanks does an amazing job of essentially reconstructing the “crime” scene and soon you realize that, as in the story The Perfect Storm, it took a series of seemingly unconnected events coming perfectly together to cause this tragedy.

Much research and many interviews went into this book; it reads more as a detailed journalistic article than it does a thrilling story. One is absolutely amazed at the level of information the author was able to unearth.

Montauk is an old fishing community whose residents live and die by the sea and their craft. The old hands talk about boats the same way more affluent people talk about their beloved cars. Boats are given names and personalities; they are respected and coddled, for without them there is no income and no livelihood.

Young men (and occasionally women) who are born into the fishing village and others who show up for the summer acknowledge the hard work that is required on a commercial fishing trip. This book takes a look at the relationships between the “old-timers” and the “elites” who coexist on the island. Sometimes they work well together, sometimes they don’t. But it turns out they all respect a sea that can turn on you at any moment.

There are four on the ship. Mike, the captain and father of three young boys, is the leader of the pack, which includes Dave, a young son of money who would rather work on a boat than in a wealthy profession. Another crew member, Michael, not quite 20, is the son of a fisherman and had planned to work his way up to his own crew someday. Then there’s Scott; raised by a single mom, he’s the youngest of the crew but he always carried his full weight of work.

They are all so darn likeable.

In her research Fairbanks uncovers discussions that sting when read in hindsight, like this one Mike and his wife Mary had when making the decision to buy the Wind Blown:

“‘I’m going to die on that boat,’ Mike repeatedly said to Mary. ‘I need my own boat.’ Mary didn’t disagree. It wasn’t that she didn’t want her husband to own his own boat. It was the next logical step. But Mary, who is a deeply intuitive person (several people described her to me as “witchy”), had a bad feeling about the Wind Blown from the very start. She felt a heavy, sinking feeling, a knowing in the pit of her stomach.”

Through Fairbanks’ interviews we get to know the families of these crew members. We hear their struggles with loss, grief and a certain amount of acceptance that “the boys died doing the job they so loved.”

The story is filled with so many “if they had only gone down another path or made another decision, then the ending would have been different” moments. One crew member who was not able to be on the boat due to a travel delay was replaced with another at the last moment. What if travel had not been delayed? What if Mary had been able to talk Mike out of buying that particular boat?

We will never know what might have happened and that’s part of what makes this a compelling read. Again, this is not a feel-good, inspirational story, but it is a fascinating look at the age-old brotherhood of fishermen, the dynamics at play, and the families who literally live and die within the sight of water. A

— Wendy E. N. Thomas

Books

Author events

• CATHLEEN ELLE Author presents Shattered Together. Virtual event, hosted by Toadstool Bookstores, located in Nashua, Peterborough and Keene. Thurs., July 29, 6 p.m. Visit toadbooks.com or call 673-1734.

• SHAWNA-LEE PERRIN Author presents Radio Waves. Virtual event, hosted by Toadstool Bookstores, located in Nashua, Peterborough and Keene. Sun., Aug. 1, 2 p.m. Visit toadbooks.com or call 673-1734.

• 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.

Featured photo: The Lost Boys of Montauk.

Album Reviews 21/07/29

Andrew Renfroe, Run In The Storm (self-released)

I’ve come to know dozens of rock guitarists quite intimately over the years. They’re odd, obsessed creatures, in a constant three-way battle with their instrument, their musical desires and their own abilities. I imagine that jazz players must take those conflicts to a whole other level, and when one becomes a master of their own destiny, it’s got to be a sweet thing. This guy’s from New York City, from where he released a Jazz Weekly-lauded EP last year (and no, I don’t know if I’ve literally ever received a jazz EP in all the piles that’ve washed into this office). This is a different sort of thing than I would have anticipated, as Renfroe isn’t just flashy but incredibly tasteful. Sound-wise it’s Weather Channel-ready but remarkably more advanced than that; his statements tend to be highly concise, short and sweet rather than prolonged, and his interplay with sax player Braxton Cook is pure melted butter. One to investigate if your pleasures run to tightly controlled, mellow progginess. A+

James DiGirolamo, Paper Boats (self-released)

This Nashville-based singer-songwriter has piles of notable experience as a session musician and touring sideman, having worked with Mindy Smith, Robby Hecht and the ever-awesome Peter Bradley Adams, along with lots of others. There’s a reason session guys are, you know, session guys, but DiGirolamo does have enough of a songwriting knack to please most soccer parents, his obvious target audience. His chosen niche is mainstream pop that encompasses the Paul McCartney to Simon and Garfunkel space, but he obviously picked up a pretty sweet Americana influence during his time with Adams (“Top Of The World”; elsewhere). Of course, none of that automatically spells smashing success just on face, but this is a decent effort. DiGirolamo’s relaxed tenor is pretty much like Robbie Williams fitted with a certain government-issue Bob Dylan nasality; song structures lean toward more modern anti-hook arrangements. He’s aware indie exists; “On Paper” sounds a bit like a Tin Pan notion of a Bon Iver rough draft, if you can imagine such a thing. B

PLAYLIST

• On July marches, to the 30th, when new albums will, like magic, appear in your stores or wherever you obtain music totally legally like the good upstanding citizen that you are. As all the pre-teens know, weird-haired Billie Eilish will release a new album called Happier Than Ever, and everyone will buy it no matter what I say in this space, so you and I would both probably be better served if I just talked about the feral hijinks of our three abandoned rescue cats, Patches, Rubysmooch and Babypuss, all of whom were lured out of their various drainpipe and rhubarb-plant landing spots because they sensed correctly that I’d overfeed them. But I won’t talk about that, since this is a music column and not the Cheezburger website, so let’s pretend that this new Billie Eilish album will make everyone on the internet forget to cancel her for making xenophobic remarks a few years ago or whatever it was. I can understand that people were permanently damaged by someone saying idiotic things when they were an idiot teenager or early-20something, because at that age, as we all know, humans are fully developed psychologically and have the manners of an Oxford graduate in Anthropology, and never do stuff like eat anything without properly arranged knives, forks and spoons as prescribed by Emily Post. Yes, never in my life have I ever heard a teenager say something that didn’t make me think to myself, “Boy, that’s an important socio-political point; I’m really going to need to marinate my brain in that one for a good while.” Anyway, the new single, “Your Power,” is proof that Eilish has grown up the rest of the way; it’s not a hyper-minimalist bloop-pop thing like all her other nonsense, it’s more like Bat For Lashes doing an Americana-tinged booze ballad. So everyone can just go back to stalking your ex on Facebook and leave Billie alone, because she’s never going to say or do anything stupid again, guaranteed, ever.

• Also ahead this week is proto-punk Alan Vega’s Alan Vega After Dark, which is a posthumous release. Formerly the more interesting half of the duo Suicide, he was 78 when he died in his sleep in 2016. By my count this is his third posthumous record, after two released by his attorney wife Liz Lamere. Suicide tended to cause a lot of violent incidents at the end of their shows; as Wikipedia notes, “They were among the first acts to use the phrase “punk music” in an advertisement for a concert in 1970.” And so he was awesome, like Iggy Pop, and this new album is composed of tunes cobbled together during a session with Pink Slip Daddy members Ben Vaughn, Barb Dwyer and Palmyra Delran. One of the songs, “Nothing Left,” is very, very much like Stooges-era Iggy, so I’d have to like it even if I didn’t, which I don’t.

• Didn’t I just mention a new album from Los Lobos, or am I insane? Native Sons is the new album, featuring the single “Love Special Delivery,” which is awesome, because it’s rockabilly and it has Tex-Mex horns. They should play that acoustic set at Tupelo again, bro.

• To close out the week we have See Me, the new record from R&B singing lady Leela James! The new single, “Put It On Me,” is totally ’70s soul-pop, with Four Tops-style orchestration and some super-deep singing. It’s official, she’s awesome.

Retro Playlist

Twelve years ago it was 2009, just saving you the math, being that math should be abolished. This time that year there were a couple of big things going on in the music world. One was the 40th anniversary of Woodstock, from which sprang a six-CD set called Woodstock: 40 Years on: Back to Yasgur’s Farm, which included 38 previously unreleased tunes “from such crazed drug-heads as the Grateful Dead, The Who, Tim Hardin, Jefferson Airplane and one-hit joke-band Country Joe & The Fish, who ended the Vietnam War.” But wait a minute, you know what else was in the news? That’s right, Michael Jackson had just died, so anyone who had survived the 2008 stock market crash with a car, a chicken coop to live in and $200 in Monopoly money had, at the time, “so many new Jacko releases that Amazon isn’t even bothering anymore to include song lists or explanatory blurbs in the listings, and all you can really do is hope you’re not accidentally buying old Wham! albums disguised as Thriller remixes.” I focused my Jacko-related coverage on an unidentified DVD called Moonwalking – The True Story of Michael Jackson, which may or may not have been a bunch of unauthorized shaky-cam bootlegs released by unemployed accountant-hobos who had simply taped a bunch of ET segments off their TV and spliced them together.

The two focus albums under review that week comprised a mixed bag. I appear to have rather liked Horehound from Dead Weather, the ’70s-hard-rock collaboration between hamburger addict Jack White and Kills singer Alison Mosshart, but looking back, I now know that the more that band released albums, the more I realized they weren’t really doing anything interesting, and have scribbled my thoughts accordingly once or twice since.

There was also Take Off Your Colours, an album from English punk-pop throwaways You Me At Six. The songs, I thought, were decidedly ‘meh,’ viz: “Though they’re too hooky and mature to be lumped in with all the hand-me-down Hoobastank chaff, they’re not 100 percent wheat either.” They sound exactly like every other emo band ever, which we now know has become mandatory for all of them.

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).

Stay in the loop!

Get FREE weekly briefs on local food, music,

arts, and more across southern New Hampshire!