Week Playlist 8/21/17: Out the Closet Door

I came out as gay when I was fourteen years old, at a high school where my graduating class size was thirty students, where my hometown’s population was between 800 and 900 people, where the landmarks were churches and silos and cornfields. I was very fortunate to have a family and a friend group accepting of me, but realizing you are different from the majority is a disorienting experience; in a claustrophobic environment like my hometown, it often felt suffocating, all eyes on the gay kid. While I realize now that wasn’t the case, the music that helped me come to terms with that perspective still resonates with me. I’ll be breaking from my normal ten song format and will be sharing five albums that helped me through the coming out experience.

The Fame–Lady Gaga

Although I knew I was attracted to the male gender by the time I was in sixth grade, I didn’t face that fact until the beginning of my freshmen year of high school. Something had shifted over the summer and I felt out of place amongst my classmates, more awkward and gangly and emotionally confused, and wasn’t sure how to find my place. I was an outsider suddenly, and when rumors of my sexuality began to circulate, I felt even more like I’d been sent to some other planet. One of the first friends I came out to introduced me to Lady Gaga and her debut album The Fame, and I’m not sure she realized how much discovering this new pop star helped me. Avant-garde and unafraid to push boundaries in her imagery, Lady Gaga was an example for me that somewhere, maybe in an alternate universe or maybe even in the Billboard Hot 100 charts, the different kids were the cool kids. I learned the choreography to “Poker Face” and its iconic video; “LoveGame”‘s lyrical teases and unabashedly sexual video showed gay underground culture and, more importantly, the biggest pop star in the world at that moment kissing another woman; the title track fed into my fantasies of escaping a small town and finding glamour and success. Most of all, though, she gave me a mantra that got me through my coming out process, a bit of life advice disguised as a candied pop hook: “Just dance, gonna be okay.”

Jagged Little Pill–Alanis Morissette

When I came out to my mom near the beginning of November of 2008, she showed me two pieces of entertainment art that helped me come to terms with my confusion and sense of not belonging: My So-Called Life, the seminal teen drama starring Claire Danes (which is still one of my favorite shows of all time), and Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill. A classic singer-songwriter album, Jagged Little Pill is probably most remembered for “You Oughta Know”, the perfect kiss-off track (and supposedly about Uncle Jessie from Full House!), but its legacy is much more than just a prime example of the “angry female singer” movement of the ’90s. A thoughtful and funny and, yes, angry reflection on Alanis Morissette’s life, the singer explored parental disappointment (“Perfect”), insatiable desire (“All I Really Want”), and the troubling but necessary way life sends us signals (“Ironic”, which has one of the best music videos). It was an affirming album for me, one that acknowledged it was okay to be lost and upset in life, and I still find myself turning to it in times of drifting wistfulness.

Faith–George Michael

A way that people find belonging is by searching for people that are the same as them, even if it’s not anyone we know personally. While today’s music scene has seen a flux of LGBT artists (the aforementioned Lady Gaga, Halsey, Sam Smith, Perfume Genius, Troye Sivan, Courtney Barnett), in 2008 it was more limited. While 1987’s Faith was not released while George Michael was openly gay, in retrospect it seems his experience as a homosexual man colored much of the album’s content. There’s a general theme of liberation that plays through many of the songs: turning away from an unreliable lover on “Faith”, the sexual proclamations of “I Want Your Sex”, and shaking off emotional baggage in “Monkey”. Perhaps more powerful, though, are the moments punctuated by longing: the freeing power of love in “Father Figure”, the desperation to care for someone else better than their current lover is in “Look At Your Hands”, and the funky and sexy demand for a break in “Hard Day”. Faith depicts the experience of a gay man as three-dimensional, and being able to witness that as a young gay kid was a form of liberation in itself.

Brand New Eyes–Paramore

The cover of Paramore’s third album Brand New Eyes consists of a butterfly, its wings torn from its body, each separate piece of its anatomy pinioned to some sort of board. While Paramore’s second album Riot! was full of power pop and an adolescent yearning (see: “That’s What You Get”), Brand New Eyes’ sound, like its cover, saw the band in a more aggressive light, tearing into rougher riffs and bigger percussion and the always exceptional vocal performances by lead Hayley Williams. Riot! was the album playing when I came out to my older brother and is an important album in my coming out process, but Brand New Eyes captured my own frustration at the world and myself once I was out the closet door: “Ignorance” spoke for me when I continued to fight the prejudice of my small town, “Brick By Boring Brick” destroyed my notion of fairy tale romances and after-school-special resolutions, and “All I Wanted” reflected my unrequited crushes and general feeling that I wouldn’t ever find other people like me. But Paramore’s naivety was still present on Brand New Eyes, and gave me small fragments of bright hope to hold onto in the forms of “The Only Exception” and “Looking Up”. The term “teen angst” could be defined by this album, but I think the derogatory classification of an age group dealing with growing pains is a bit antiquated: Paramore, for me, has always been the sound of growing out, growing apart, and growing up, and I think that transcends just “teen angst”.

Speak For Yourself–Imogen Heap

In November 2009, a full year after my initial coming out, I was depressed. While my family had been accepting and I’d found a friend group where I fit in, isolation still plagued me, and my frustration towards the world had turned inward: why was I this way, why couldn’t I find a community I really felt at home in, why was I still unhappy? During this time period I stumbled upon Imogen Heap’s “Hide and Seek”, a haunting eulogy to the end of a relationship (although its memory has been tainted by many an SNL skit), and dove down the rabbit hole of her work. An arresting album full of twitchy production and airy, elastic vocals, Speak For Yourself was written, produced, arranged, and funded all by Imogen Heap herself, and that authoritative approach can be heard through the entire record. Its atmospheric loneliness was a mirror to my own, and I found a haven within the album for much of the winter season of my sophomore year of high school. While there are many highlights (“Goodnight and Go” is a clever take on the infatuated lover; “Loose Ends”‘ anger is illustrated with fuzzy synths and wailing bridges; finale “The Moment I Said It” has an audible argument behind its cathartic soundscape), third act opener “Just For Now” kept me holding on to the promise that pain wouldn’t last forever, and that even when I felt alone, there were people “secretly on my side”.

Album Review 8/16/17: Lust For Life by Lana Del Rey

Lana Del Rey has always been elusive. Publically and conceptually, Lizzy Grant has hidden behind her persona since 2011, when she broke onto the indie pop scene with “Video Games”, a sublime cut of baroque pop that captured bloggers and critics alike with its mysterious allure and homemade music video. Just as pop stars like Lady Gaga and Sia were becoming high concept by way of avant-garde avenues, Lana Del Rey was high concept in an old school way: capturing the feel of past era singers like Nancy Sinatra, filtered through modern hip hop and trip-pop, there aren’t many contemporaries that fall into the same category as her. Despite this fresh sound, the question of her authenticity caused massive backlash after her debut Born To Die was released, and her astronomic rise to stardom was overshadowed by questions like: “Is she real?” “Is it all an act?”

The answer to both of these questions: “yes”. Of course Lana Del Rey is an act, just as Lady Gaga is an act, Lorde is an act, Beyonce is an act. As artists, all of the singers listed (including Lana) use their platform to tell stories, but it’s ridiculous to think that the narratives produced by these artists aren’t all a sort of a facade, a way for the audience to see into a window of their lives, but a window only. Maybe it is our tabloid obsessed society, or the speed by which information can be attained via the internet, but there is a demand to know everything about our media’s entertainers. Artists have a right to their private lives. However, Lana Del Rey is also very real, in the way that actors are: while the men and women of Hollywood (of which Lana adores) do play parts, the best performances come from those who dig into their personal lives and bring resonant experiences to those roles. The truth is in the lie, and that strange paradox is where Lana Del Rey exists.

The progression of her albums showcase this stage-like presence in spades: Born To Die was all about the American Dream in the modern age, achieving this theme by cross-referencing classic and iconic Americana imagery with modern day culture (the fever-dream video for “National Theme”, where Lana Del Rey plays Marilyn Monroe and Jackie O opposite of A$AP Rocky as John F. Kennedy is a prime example); Paradise turned more towards classic balladry, a doped up Nancy Sinatra finding God in drugs (“Yayo”), motorcycle gangs (“Ride”), and poetry and religion (“Body Electric”); Ultraviolence recounted the struggles of a house-wife style character trapped by cults (“Ultraviolence”), distant and broken lovers (“Shades of Cool”), and the call of California (“West Coast”); and Honeymoon, where Lana Del Rey finally finds herself in Hollywood proper but unhappy (“Honeymoon”), but also ready to pull away from the destructive lovers of her past (“High By The Beach”, the video an awesome and hilarious “fuck you” to tabloids).

This, of course, leads us to Lana Del Rey’s 2017 release Lust For Life, which promises to be different from her earlier records and performances because of an anomaly on the cover: the current queen of the sadcore genre is smiling. The title even seems to be a call back to her debut, as if Lana has found some sort of reason to live, like the reason she was born wasn’t because of an inevitable end, but because of the adventurous journey to death. But this begs the question: what character is she depicting in this album?

The answer? A little bit of everything that came before.

However, there are moments when the curtain pulls back, the scene in the movie ends, and we’re allowed to see backstage, behind the camera. This is without a doubt Lana Del Rey’s most personal album yet, and what is revealed amplifies everything we deduced about this elusive artist from her past work: a hopeless romantic, obsessed with the idea of the American Dream, a woman who has been hurt and is, in a way, taking on a role as an older sister or friend who is reaching out to her listeners as a cautionary tale and guiding hand.

No where is this more apparent than in the opening track, “Love”. Sure, it has all the hallmarks of a classic Lana Del Rey song: sweeping strings, booming percussion, Lana’s signature vocals that fall somewhere between a mournful sigh and a beautiful croon. But the lyrics hint at an optimism that’s rarely been heard before in her catalogue: “You get ready, you get all dressed up / To go nowhere in particular / Back to work or the coffee shop / Doesn’t matter because it’s enough / To be young and in love.” There’s a tinge of sadness still present, but ultimately the track is a heartfelt ode to the healing power of romance for the Millennial generation, a generation that’s consistently been caught in the crosshairs between the past and the future, just as Lana Del Rey herself and her music are.

The consecutive three songs are also highlights for Lust For Life: the title track, Lana Del Rey’s first proper collaboration, finds her trading off choruses with The Weeknd, and his sinewy tenor weaves together with Lana’s breathy delivery. It’s part wistful, part epic, part escapism, and it works unexpectedly well. “13 Beaches” works as a pseudo-sequel to “High By The Beach” narratively, finding our heroine searching for a beach where she can be alone and contemplate the pain of love; the instrumentation itself, though, leans more towards Born To Die-era decadence, its orchestral beginning and spoken word prologue (which references the film The Carnival of Souls) reminiscent of “Summertime Sadness”. The vulgar and sultry “Cherry” speaks of a relationship that is destructive, using metaphors of rotting fruit and black sand beaches, along with the occasional explicit curse, to punctuate the track with a menace that is matched by the drum fills and haze of the chorus.

While the rest of the first half of Lust For Life keeps its pace pretty well, nothing from the next few tracks reach the heights of the previous four. “White Mustang” feels like an outtake from the Paradise-era (buoyed slightly by a catchy and flirty whistling bridge near the end). And while A$AP Rocky is a close friend of Lana’s and chemistry could be felt between them during the “National Anthem” video, they don’t quite ignite the way they should on “Summer Bummer” and “Groupie Love”; Lana’s performance is stronger on the former with a cool and swaggery chorus, while A$AP Rocky delivers a fuller verse on the latter. It also feels strange having back to back collaborations with the same artist, and it breaks the pace just enough to make it awkward.

“In My Feelings” bridges the two halves of Lust For Life together, and it epitomizes one of the album’s glaring weaknesses: the fact that there are two distinct halves that don’t always feel like they belong together. As stated before, the first half has a greater tendency to work within the already established structures of the Lana Del Rey brand, polished to a near perfect product; meanwhile, the second half turns into a singer-songwriter collection, with flavors of classic protest records sprinkled in. This new direction also works for Lana (as seen in Ultraviolence‘s blues influenced alternative rock and Paradise‘s romantic storytelling), but “In My Feelings” tries to connect the two with awkward production and vocal phrasing that doesn’t quite work.

This disconnect can also been seen in singular songs as well. While “Coachella–Woodstock In My Mind” has an amazing chorus that references Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway To Heaven” and some of Lana Del Rey’s most personal lyrics (it recounts her experience at Coachella 2017, where she watched friend Father John Misty perform), the trap-style percussion feels stale, and some of the lines are a little too on the nose for their own good. “When the World Was at War We Kept Dancing” tries to pull off a similar feat that “Cherry” does with its “fucks”, slipping in awkward cursing into an already awkward chorus about “leaning into youth”; the track is saved by its hopeful wishes for a post-Trump America, but it can’t shake its strange structure and lyrical choices. “Tomorrow Never Came”, a collaboration with John Lennon’s son Sean Ono Lennon, feels far too precious and proud of itself, and it comes off as trite and saccharine.

Fortunately, Lana Del Rey’s collaboration with idol and self-proclaimed “witchy sister” Stevie Nicks, “Beautiful People Beautiful Problems”, fairs better. The lyrics on this track aren’t a highlight, which is a shame since Stevie and Lana have both showcased stronger imagery in their catalogues, but their harmonizing and trade-offs play into the older sister vibe Lana began to express earlier in the album and Stevie has always been known for, and it’s lovely. “God Bless America–And All the Beautiful Women In It” is a gorgeous ode to women in general, accented by spanish guitar and allusions to the 2017 Women’s March. The album also closes with three of Lana’s best vocal performances: “Heroin” and “Change” contain some of her most emotional singing put to record, and “Get Free” is as close to ecstatic as we’ll probably ever hear Lana. She wants to be “out of the black, into the blue”, and although blues aren’t always much brighter than the darkness she has wallowed in before, “Get Free” is a cathartic and excellent closer.

Lust For Life is a long album at 16 tracks and 72 minutes long, and perhaps the album’s greatest weakness is that the length is felt while listening to it. The other weaknesses referenced earlier sprout from this length, and Lust For Life could have been a more consistent and cohesive album if some of the unnecessary tracks had been cut, which would have then allowed for tighter editing on the lyrics and the production. Mostly, Lust For Life feels, strangely enough, more like a mixtape than a true album, one that pulls from all of her previous discography to create something beautiful but, ultimately, a little clustered.

Despite these weaknesses, though, the best thing about Lust For Life is the progress that it promises. The highlights of the album tease a more emotionally rounded Lana Del Rey, one who has learned something important from the celluloid icons of her Hollywood idolization: the greatest performances originate not from the exterior of the characters they play, but the personal narratives brought to said characters. If Lana Del Rey continues to pull the curtain back, allow us to see behind the director’s chair, she may become a pop culture icon of her own.

GRADE: B

KEY TRACKS: LOVE, LUST FOR LIFE, 13 BEACHES, CHERRY, GOD BLESS AMERICA–AND ALL THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN IT, BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE BEAUTIFUL PROBLEMS, HEROIN, GET FREE

 

Week Playlist 8/14/2017: Otherworlds

Video game storytelling is a complicated art. The writing of the characters and narrative shape the trajectory, and the art direction and gameplay help the audience directly interact and move forward the plot. But one of the most important facets of video game storytelling is the music. While at first glance it functions similarly to the score of a film, punctuating moments containing a specific emotion and adding atmosphere, video game soundtracks have to be adaptive and (on a simpler level) able to be enjoyed for hours on end. This week’s playlist collects ten of my favorite video game main themes, battle tracks, and cutscene songs.

“Dearly Beloved”–Kingdom Hearts 2

Despite its admittedly goofy premise of mixing Disney princesses and icons with the brooding protagonists and epic villains of Final Fantasy, the Kingdom Hearts saga is a surprisingly emotional game series. Focusing on themes of loss of self identity, what makes an individual worthy of a title, estranged lovers, and the battle between light and darkness, Kingdom Hearts needed a theme that would fit the tone. Composed by Yoko Shimomura, “Dearly Beloved” perfectly captures the essence of each Kingdom Hearts game: while the first game’s thunderous piano and ambient sounds hinted at the beginning of a grand adventure, Kingdom Hearts 2‘s rendition is gentler, with swooning strings and softer piano; the sequel’s themes of loss of innocence and sacrifice are reflected in this gorgeous arrangement.

“Will the Circle Be Unbroken”–Bioshock Infinite

The Bioshock series has always been a master of atmosphere, but Bioshock Infinite‘s dimension jumping and time fluxes lent towards an incredibly inventive music direction. While the game seemingly takes place in the early 20th century, it isn’t long before protagonist Booker DeWitt is shot heavenwards to Columbia, a floating city of Americana iconography and twisted historical figures that feed into the xenophobia of its population. Nowhere is this depicted with such distorted beauty than during Booker’s baptism upon his entrance to Columbia, where this song plays. Allusions to the game’s setting (“is a better home awaiting in the sky?”) and parallel dimension ramifications (“will the circle be unbroken? By and by, by and by.”) are a double edged sword in this choral version, and it’s gorgeous but ultimately very, very unsettling.

“Fear of the Heavens”–Secret of Mana

The opening to the first JRPG I ever played, “Fear of the Heavens” evokes melancholy, mystery, and grandiosity in its short, barely two minute running time. The bells that echo near the beginning counterplay evocative strings, eventually leading towards a beautiful flute solo and an arpeggio of twinkling bells. Throughout there are strange flourishes, like the whale cry at the start of this track, and the synthetic sigh that closes it. The perfect start to a “we have to save the world!” narrative.

“Id Purpose”–Fire Emblem Awakening 

The Fire Emblem series is known for its sprawling war epics, tactical gameplay, and tense permadeath mechanic. But the heart of its stories have always been its colorful cast of characters, how they come to form a closely knit army that stands together until the bitter end. “Id Purpose” from Fire Emblem Awakening, the battle theme to the final chapter of the game, encapsulates that comradery, creating an emotional soundscape that leads to the sacrifice that closes the game’s narrative.

“Theme”–The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild

The Legend of Zelda series is known for its main themes, whether it’s the lilting opening to The Wind Waker or the melancholic piano that introduces us to Ocarina of Time. While those themes illustrate the tones of their games extremely well, Breath of the Wild‘s may be the best of the bunch because not only does it set expectations for the story and world, but it also mirrors the experience of playing the game itself: quiet crescendos, discovering new layers and depths as Link progresses, all culminating in epic victories and emotional codas.

“Terra’s Theme”–Final Fantasy VI

One of the most adaptive tracks on this list, “Terra’s Theme” does some heavy lifting throughout the emotional journey that is Final Fantasy VI. Nobuo Uematsu decided to create musical motifs for each of the game’s fifteen playable characters and the main villain, Kefka, and while “Celes’ Theme” did give gamers the legendary opera scene in the game, “Terra’s Theme” feels simultaneously personal and epic. It plays as the overworld theme throughout the first half the game, soundtracks crucial moments of character development for the titular character, and is beautifully rearranged for another soundtrack highlight, “Awakening”.

“Prohibited Arts”–Shadow of the Colossus

While the main theme of Shadow of the Colossus or any of its absolutely excellent battle themes are more well known than this small cutscene theme, “Prohibited Arts” is one of the most striking songs in the game’s phenomenal soundtrack. Played as the protagonist, Wander, unveils the deceased lover he has delivered to the altar of Dormin, a god supposedly able to revive the dead, “Prohibited Arts” expresses the gorgeous dread that permeates the entire experience of playing Shadow of the Colossus. 

“English Opening”–Tales of Symphonia 

The Tales of series is consistently overshadowed by other JRPG juggernauts like Final Fantasy and Dragon Quest, which is a shame. Case in point: Tales of Symphonia. A fantasy epic spanning multiple worlds, confronting religious hypocrisy, racism, and comparing the families we are born into in contrast to the families that we choose, Tales of Symphonia was a shining jewel in the Nintendo Gamecube’s library. While the Japanese release of this game saw a J-Pop song as its opening, the opening found in the English version better captures the game’s grand scale, thanks to a sweeping orchestral arrangement.

“Suicide Mission”–Mass Effect 2

Opening with crawling synthesizers that eventually give way to pounding percussion, stabbing strings, ominous horns, and a harmonized choir for good measure, “Suicide Mission” from Mass Effect 2 earns the weight of its title. Resonating with the sacrifice and consequences of the final act of the game, “Suicide Mission” is cinematic and sweeping, reminiscent of the best action film movie scores.

“Last Surprise”–Persona 5

Possibly the most stylish game ever made, Persona 5 follows a group of vigilante teenagers as they discover they can enter an alternate dimension called the Metaverse, where they can dive into the minds of criminals and politicians in order to make them confess their sins against society. It’s Inception by way of Lupin the Third, with each of the characters adopting the disguise of a classic trickster or thief, and the rhythm of strikes and spells in battle are perfectly complemented by “Last Surprise”, a highlight in the acid-jazz influenced soundtrack of Persona 5. 

Book Review 8/13/2017: An Ember in the Ashes; A Torch Against the Night

I was very apprehensive to start An Ember in the Ashes by Sabaa Tahir. After its initial release in 2015 it was praised and won a handful of awards in the young adult and general fantasy demographic, but after my experience with Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard, which also received positive reviews and awards (it wasn’t my cup of tea), I didn’t have high hopes.

I am so happy to say that I have been proven wrong.

An Ember in the Ashes follows the story of two characters: Laia, a Scholar, a race/class of people that have been victimized and overpowered by the Martials, a Spartan-like group of warriors and rulers; and Elias, a student at Blackcliff Academy, where they train Martials to become soldiers and assassins for an Emperor that rules the surrounding lands. Laia is soon thrust into the ranks of the Scholar Rebellion, who wish to overthrow the Emperor, and she is sent as a spy to Blackcliff, just as Elias is selected as one of four chosen warriors who will fight to succeed the throne should the Emperor perish. Other characters include the Commandant, Elias’ mother and the general villain of the book; Marcus and Zak, opposing warrior twins who wish to defeat Elias in the competition; Izzi, a slave that befriends Laia once she infiltrates Blackcliff; Keenan, Laia’s confidant in the Rebellion (and love interest); and Helene, the lone female warrior who also happens to be best friends, and in love, with Elias.

While the novel starts off slow and fairly derivative of other young adult fiction novels that are cut from the “kids fighting for supremacy/starting a rebellion” cloth the Hunger Games trilogy made popular, An Ember in the Ashes rises above the others in that category to become something truly spectacular. There’s something here for everyone in this novel: revolution, well-paced action segments, cool mythology and an interesting setting that the surface has only been scratched upon. A love of weaponry and supernatural magic add flavor to the story without overpowering it, and this first novel in a planned quartet only hints at the possibilities of how Tahir’s world could expand.

Overall, the characters are great as well. Elias is self-tortured soldier seeking redemption (think Akiva from Laini Taylor’s Daughter of Smoke and Bone trilogy), and his struggle to stay true to his moral nature and escape the confines of his society are compelling; Laia, while fairly bland at the beginning, grows into a strong young woman who fights back and ultimately decides to save herself; and Helene, cool, badass, stoic Helene, is to this world what Isabel Culpeper was to Maggie Stiefvater’s Wolves of Mercy Falls series: an ice queen with a heart of gold. The only major weak links character wise are the Commandant, who comes off as a one-note villain (though remedied by her monologue near the end), and Keenan, who feels artificially placed simply to create a weird sort of love square between him, Laia, Elias, and Helene.

A promising debut that starts out as standard fare and grows into itself, so much so that it blows any other of the “young people start a rebellion” series out of the water.

 

(SPOILER WARNING FOR THE EVENTS OF AN EMBER IN THE ASHES)
Ember‘s sequel, A Torch Against the Night, then, is even better because it does away with the derivative nature of its predecessor and allows its potential to finally ignite.

Beginning right where Ember left off, Torch immediately hits the ground running with Elias and Laia escaping Blackcliff and heading north to Kauf Prison, where Laia’s brother Darin is held captive for crimes against the Empire. Complicating their quest is Helene, the new Blood Shrike, who has been charged by appointed Emperor Marcus to hunt down the man she loves and assassinate him. Soon after departing the city of Serra Elias is poisoned, and Laia must take a leadership role so they may survive and achieve their goal.

It’s an instantly compelling plot, full of escapes and prison breaks and political intrigue. However, remnants of these story elements were already in Ember, but instead of feeling repetitive, they feel fresh and exciting in Torch because of the mythology Sabaa Tahir begins to expand on: black magic, healing powers, an entity called the Soul Catcher, and the ominous Nightbringer all add flavor and intensity to the plot, while also building the world the author has created into something truly unique.

The only complaint I have about Torch is that one of the twists, which is actually pretty fantastic, requires a jump of logic for readers, at least this one. Again, it is shocking and adds some serious consequences for our protagonists, but after getting over the surprise of it and looking back at how it happened, it’s just a little farfetched, not quite telegraphed well enough to fully payoff.

Regardless of its flaws, though, Torch is a gripping read full of adventure, magic, suspense, and love (familial and romantic). Unputdownable, and one of the best things to come out of young adult fantasy, or fantasy in general, in a long time.

GRADE FOR AN EMBER IN THE ASHES: B+

GRADE FOR A TORCH AGAINST THE NIGHT: A-

Film/TV Review 8/12/2017: Attack On Titan Season 2

This is a review of the subtitled version of Attack On Titan Season 2.

In the spring of 2014, I was on the hunt for a good anime to binge.

I was a huge fan of anime as a child, and still am today. While it is true that their stories can blow out of proportion, the characters fall into clearly cut stereotypes more often than not (hotheaded main character, curmudgeonly old wise man, bubbly female love interest, etc.), and there is a tendency to lean on filler in the longest running series (Dragon Ball and One Piece are some of the worst offenders), the best of anime brought me into expansive worlds full of earnest, genuine storytelling. Neon Genesis Evangelion, Cowboy Bebop, and Fullmetal Alchemist had left a lasting impression on me, and I longed for an anime that would hit the same sweet spot.

I’d heard rumblings of a show called Attack On Titan on Tumblr: there were posts about how it was the Game of Thrones or The Walking Dead of anime; people championed its main characters and supporting cast as some of the more nuanced in the genre; the animation itself was applauded for being of higher quality than typical syndicated anime fare. After doing some research I discovered the subtitled first season was on Netflix, and I sat down with my laptop and started episode one, unsure of what to expect.

By the time the show’s epic and utterly catchy theme song was over, I was already invested.

The first season of Attack On Titan introduced audiences to a world that was part dystopia, part industrialized fantasy. Some hundred years ago, monsters known as Titans (giant humanoids who devour humans) overflowed the land, and humanity built three walled cities encircling each other in order to survive. The Scouts, a team of highly trained warriors, ventured out into the wilderness and would fight against the Titans in hope of pushing them back or expanding civilization; illustrated with violent gusto and horror-movie blood splatter, it’s apparent to the audience immediately that their attempts are futile, and this world is a dark, generally hopeless one. Soon after episode one begins, a trio of protagonists are introduced: Eren Yeager (a hotheaded lead initially), Armin Arlert (the resident sensitive and geeky character), and Mikasa Ackerman (an uncharacteristically quiet female protagonist for much of anime); childhood friends, they are all quickly displaced from their home by an “Abnormal”, known as the Colossal Titan, who breaks one of the city walls and allows Titans to enter and devour the citizens. Eren’s mother is one of the casualties, his scientist father inexplicably absent, and Eren vows to join the Scouts (alongside Armin and Mikasa, stalwart companions to the end) and fight for humanity’s survival and, eventually, the eradication of the scourge of the Titans.

I won’t go into major spoilers for season one, but overall, the first twenty-three episodes of Attack On Titan were a compelling serial consisting of intense action sequences (the animation is truly great, especially when the Scouts utilize their omni-directional mobility gear, which basically turns them into medieval Spiderman), good character development (particularly for Mikasa and Armin), and daring themes such as sacrifice for the greater good, the hypocrisy of organized religion and government hierarchy, and the traumatic events that bind people together. While its twists and turns were more often than not too heavily telegraphed (the identity of the final villain for the season was far too obvious) and the pacing could grind to a terrible halt when the show felt the need to hammer thematic elements over the audience’s head, Attack On Titan filled my anime craving satisfactorily.

The wait for season two lasted three years, and while it was agonizing to wait for the continuation of such a strong start to a series, it was worth the patience. Unlike other serialized manga-turned-to-anime (like Naruto or Bleach) the developers of Attack On Titan wanted to let the manga get far enough ahead so that the anime wouldn’t catch up. By doing this, they allowed Hajime Isayama (the creator of the manga) to have complete authoritative control of where the narrative would progress. And thanks to this decision, season two of Attack On Titan feels tighter, leaner, and as emotionally compelling as ever.

One of the sources of season two’s emotional heft comes from the directorial decision to focus less on the original trio and instead flesh out the peripheral cast. Eren, Mikasa, and Armin are still central to the plot of course (they are the special weapon, warrior, and genius of the Scouts respectively), but their arcs come into fuller focus halfway through the eleven episode run. In the first half, underdeveloped supporting cast members like the deceptively simple Sasha Blouse (she experiences a heart-thudding return to her hometown) and the odd couple of Krista Lenz and Ymir (both are revealed to harbor secrets that may destroy their lives) are fleshed out in surprising and cathartic ways. Ymir’s backstory is particularly touching and saddening, punctuated by moments of violence and terror. Furthermore, the narrative smartly leaves a majority of the cast outside of the safety of the walls and without the weaponry and supplies needed to survive Titan attacks; by doing this, a greater tension and suspense is felt throughout. Without the original trio’s (honestly) overpowered abilities, the side characters are required to fend for themselves in more inventive and horrifying ways (a standout sequence early on involves Sasha taking out a Titan with a bow and arrow; a later episode see Sasha, Connie, Reiner, Bertolt, Christa, and Ymir basically playing tower defense against a swarm of Titans), and this creates some really exciting moments and genuine pathos. This also allows for the scenes involving the original trio to be more impactful, too, since the show only gives them their big moments in a more moderate manner than the first season.

Despite the narrative strength of season two, however, there are some weak points. While the pacing is better than in season one, Attack On Titan still feels the need to monologue constantly, explaining away plot beats and character motivations instead of allowing the actions of the characters to speak for themselves. Two of the later episodes consist of mostly talking, and while the information relayed is important, much of it is expressed in more nuanced ways earlier in the season; this over-explanation also leads to many of the show’s themes falling flat, because the writers don’t quite trust the audience enough to understand the subtlety of the world they’ve created. Furthermore, Eren remains the least interesting character of the entire series, despite his position as the main protagonist: he falls too neatly into the stereotypical male anime lead, one who is brash and loud and too angry for his own good. While the finale does give Eren a painful and necessary development of character, it can’t excuse the static nature of his arc. And although the animation is still outstanding for the most part (especially in small moments, such as Krista’s warrior awakening near the end of this season), poor implementation of CGI and elongated close ups of characters’ expressionless faces or unmoving bodies often causes the show to feel stalled, waiting for something to kickstart it back into relentless action and powerful narrative momentum.

Overall, though, Attack On Titan season two succeeds on season one’s promises of a dangerous world, interesting characters, unrelenting action sequences, and smooth animation. There’s still room for the production and narrative to grow, and with only a year’s wait for season three to premiere in the spring of 2018, it feels like more promises are going to be met and, perhaps, exceeded.

GRADE: B