2008
Human Bell
Nathan Bell (Lungfish,Television Hill) and Dave Heumann (Arbouretum,Bonnie “Prince” Billy) could be the musical equivalent of Civil War re-enactors. Their conspired effort, Human Bell, creates an atmosphere akin to that of an organic battlefield – a dirge-y sweep of chaos, simultaneously cold as metal and mellow as a field of grass droning with insects. Recorded by Paul Oldham and mixed by John McEntire, the guitar strings sound as though they reverberate into a tin cup while the crash cymbals and brushes fight to be the main percussive attraction. Add lots of meandering fuzz to the steady progression of songs, and they grow and change just by standing still. Bell and Heumann give us a Tortoise-like bite to chew on – a veritable novel for an audience accustomed to short stories. Through wave after wave of this seemingly cathartic sonic expedition, songs alternate between the quiet, such as “Ephaphatha (Be Opened),” swaying in a brassy swaddling of horns, and the forceful, calculated twitchiness of “The Singing Trees.” Human Bell’s self-titled release is a test in endurance, but should be savored for its meditative qualities. The duo lives up to their name (an uncanny combination of the musician’s surnames), their music widely resonating even during their live shows, when two skeleton guitars must manipulate the body of their recorded music. (On their album, Bell and Heumann host guests such as Matt Riley, Michael Turner, Pete Townshend and Ryan Rapsys.) Human Bell encapsulates a quiet beauty that is at once reflective, progressive and sparklingly macabre.
Jan 1st, 2008 by Erin Wolf
Bullet For My Valentine
In the 1980s, it was demanded that metalheads swear allegiance to one subgenre and stick with it. Thrashers risked ridicule for owning a Poison album, and hairmetal kids couldn’t fathom the appeal of music so heavy that Aqua Net girls didn’t like it. So it’s amusing to listen to metal in the 21st century and hear Maiden-esque power metal, Sebastian Bach-caliber vocals and death metal growls in one band. Perhaps the emergence of grunge and indie in the ’90s convinced the metalheads that they’d better stick together. If that’s the case, then Bullet For My Valentine is tailor-made to appeal to every last one of them, be they clad in denim, leather or spandex. Scream Aim Fire, the band’s second album, is a nonstop barrage of British riffage, music school-bred twin guitar leads, and all-attack-no-decay double-kick percussion, held together with sugary power-pop vocals that could have been lifted from Skid Row’s debut (note: this is not a bad thing, indie rockers, and no, this isn’t irony talking), were it not for the occasional, and unfortunate, dive into cliché Cookie Monster metalcore. It feels like a calculated choice that will definitely sell records, but hearing Matthew Tuck’s voice soar into Rob Halford terrain would have been much more satisfying. Still, while they may be hurting in the originality department, Bullet For My Valentine is a breath of fresh harmony and — what’s this? Songwriting? — in a musical climate where headbangers seem content with mindless guitar wankery and tuneless vocals. Take the standout “Hearts Burst Into Fire,” a not-quite power ballad about (get this) life on the road, of all things. The riffage may be all Iron Maiden, but the lyrics are vintage Jovi Crüe. VS
Jan 1st, 2008 by DJ Hostettler
Resolution
Let’s pretend this column is being written during the first yawning hours of 2008, and not during the first snow-spewing, snot-freezing, soul-sucking weeks of December. Let’s also pretend that contrary to all hard-won common sense and cynical sensibility, the simple arrival of a new year can truly bring forgiveness, absolution and a newfound sense of purpose. Finally, let’s pretend that the rather dubious phenomenon known as “The New Year’s Resolution” isn’t just another hollow, self-defeating ritual designed to give lazy monthly columnists something cheap and easy to write about. Instead, let’s pretend that resolutions really do mean something, and that if we sincerely follow through on them, they can make us better people, and maybe even get us laid. For an extra kick, let’s pretend the following resolutions are your own, and not the aforementioned lazy columnist’s, whose only goal for 2008 is to finally relinquish his post as Vice President of the Mr. Belvedere Fun Club. Here, then, are four things you should do – nay, must do! – in 2008. (Note: I’m keeping these solely Milwaukee-related, and trying to avoid the typical “Quit smoking and drinking so goddamned much” resolutions we’ve all grown so tired of.) 1. Quit smoking and drinking so goddamned much Jesus, you’ve been hitting the sauce a little hard lately, haven’t you? Remember that one night you passed out in the back of your bass player’s pickup truck, got covered in nearly an inch-and-a-half of snow, and almost lost two of the fingers on your left hand to frostbite? How about that night after Thanksgiving when you went out to a bar with a video camera and kept sticking the thing in everyone’s face? Christ, you were annoying that night. And what’s up with the copious cigarette consumption? It used to be you only bummed from your friends when you were bored or wasted, but now you’re blowing precious hip-replacement money on a few packs a week. Seriously, if you need any more reason to cut down on both of these vices, just remember what happened to you last month: completely loaded, you quickly swung your hand to your mouth, thinking you were holding a cigarette. Unfortunately, you were holding a beer bottle, and your front tooth was smashed to dozens of jagged pieces as a result. 2. Finally see the Brewcity Bruisers OK, so the whole roller derby thing initially bugged the living shit out of you. Fake names? Cheerleaders? Endless cover stories? Christ! But hey, like the latter-day Monkees said: that was then, this is now. Your irrational anger has subsided, and you’re finally ready to jump aboard the bandwagon before the whole thing falls apart and everyone starts putting together burlesque acts again. Sure, you’re still a little leery of the weird pro-wrestling vibe the whole thing gives off, and the downright baffling rules always remind you of that roller derby episode of King of the Hill. (LUCKY: See, your blockers stop the other team’s jammers. The pivots can block, jam, […]
Jan 1st, 2008 by Matt Wild
Have a heart
Maxie’s Southern Comfort 6732 W. Fairview Avenue 414-292-3969 maxies.com Save yourself a trip to N’awlins: Take I94 to 68th. Head north one block north and pull into Maxie’s Southern Comfort. With snow piled high as corn in July, Maxie’s is a hot spot that has already been discovered after eight months in business. Executive Chef Joe Muench puts the South in yo’ mouth with every bite of Southern specialty from barbecued shrimp and ribs to fried green tomatoes and succotash to blackened catfish. Is it any different from what you’d have south of the Mason-Dixon? Yes: it’s a whole lot better here. Muench opened Maxie’s for owners Dan Sidner and Chick Evens as a sister bistro to Evens’ Maxie’s Supper Club in Ithaca, New York. Their broad take on Southern cookery is reflected in the French, Spanish, German and African accents to the cuisine. The atmosphere is warmed with cayenne-colored walls, sparkling little chandeliers and red drapes roped together with massive gold tassels. The chef’s diverse culinary education and experience is evident on every plate. A notable special: the large grilled scallops served over sweet potato hash with frisee lettuce and a poached egg that bursts open to enrich the light butter sauce is mighty fine for anybody hankering to “grab a root” (have dinner). The suggested wine pairing is a rich, smoky pinot noir that tangles nicely on the taste buds with the hickory bacon in the hash. Just as enticing are the seared tenderloin filets drenched in a bourbon glaze, with barely steamed fresh spinach and crunchy corn succotash. Though the chef personally eschews fried food, the creamy potato croquettes and the lacey onion rings are evidence that he’s mastered the art. Using them as accents rather than focal points keeps the diner out of the heart attack zone. Slow your pulse even more with a Scarlet O’Hara, a tot of Southern Comfort, cranberry juice and bitters that, like its namesake, is sweet, sassy and surprisingly potent. Chef Muench learned his trade right here in Milwaukee, starting at his grandmother’s table. “How many kids come home to boiled heart for dinner?” he wants to know. “My grandmother lived with us for six years and it was like Thanksgiving every day. She made bread, applesauce and rhubarb and we ate a lot of unconventional foods like oxtail soup, beef tongue and liver and onions. Coming through the hardships of war, she used everything. That exposure piqued my interest in cooking: helping her, watching her and just eating.” Though Muench has never lived or worked outside the state, family visits to Louisiana gave him a bank of food memories to tap in his current employment. “Southern cooking was always on my radar. Southern has the largest cumulative style – barbecue to game to fish.” Muench tried college but was impatient with the pace. MATC’s culinary arts program gave him the opportunity to work in his field while he was getting his degree. “I could see the rewards of working sooner. […]
Jan 1st, 2008 by Cate Miller
