WHO WE IS:

ALEX ADLER
Alex Adler hails from the bright lights of New York. He can't stand rain or slush yet loves sun and snow, enjoys breakfast spreads, strong coffee, stoops, The Cure, bathtubs with TVs, and likes to think he can relate to the "Naive Melody" by The Talking Heads. [Online Editor]

AKU AMMAH-TAGOE
Aku Ammah-Tagoe tells everyone, all the time, that she can unwrap a Starburst with her tongue. She's into modernism and postmodernism and vacillates wildly between majors. She might tell you she's from Washington, D.C. or Rockville, MD, but she's not. It's hard to explain. [Literature Section Editor]

SYDNEY ENGLE
Sydney comes from London, England - sorta. She thinks Latin is just great and absurd body art is the best. Once, for a little while, she sat on a table, topless, surrounded by salad. Kinda like Alex, she likes to relate to the song "Popsicle Toes" by Michael Franks. [Editor-in-Chief]

JONATHAN GIUFFRIDA
Jonathan Giuffrida is a Classics major from Richmond, Virginia. He likes poetry, progressive movements, and bunny rabbits. He despises the 1980s with every fiber of his being. [Associate Editor]

MANON GRAY
Manon is the film editor for The Review. She hails from the proud city of Austin, Texas, where she learned to fake her hipster cred. Even though she hopes to study film seriously as a comparative literature major, she loves her blockbusters as much as the next person. [Film Section Editor]

ANDREW GROSS
Andrew grew up in Port Washington, New York. He is majoring in music composition, and wants to pursue a career in music or film. He enjoys writing short autobiographies in the third person. [Marketing Director]

MARK GUIDUCCI
Mark Guiducci was raised in sunny San Diego where he was horrified by grey clouds. Since moving back East, he has developed an extensive collection of raincoats. He enjoys getting to know cab drivers, people watching like Alvy and Annie, Girltalk, and would like to spend the night in Central Park's Belvedere Castle. Nonostante il suo nome, Mark é italiano solo minimamente. [On-the-Town Section Editor]

PAAVANA KUMAR
Paavana lives in London, but wishes she lived in Prague. She likes scotch, surrealism and Sartre in equal amounts, plays Ravel when she's stressed and is widely known as The Girl with the Red Leather Bag. She is the only person she knows who thought Gran Torino was the film of the decade. [Creative Team]

ALICE LLOYD GEORGE
Alice hails from London, though grew up in Hong Kong and
is into all things Asia. She loves travelling, fantasizes about being
a 19th century explorer, and wishes she could speak Welsh. She
is fond of her cactus Raoul, though he suffers from certain
gravity issues and currently wears a neck-brace. [Editor Emeritus]

MAX MADUKA
Max Maduka would prefer to remain anonymous. [EIC Emeritus]

AVA MCALPIN
Ava is a philosophy major from New York City. She loves reading about food, writing about it, cooking and most of all eating--really doing anything related to gastronomy, even philosophizing about it: "Is it possible to eat in every restaurant that exists in New York in a single moment, or can that goal never be reached since new establishments are constantly opening while old ones close?" [Staff Writer]

KATY PINKE
Katy is a class of 2010 East Asian Studies major who can't remember how she got there but likes it. She is a peripheral member of the band "Brainsluts." She has a burning crush on Maya Deren. [Culture Section Editor]

LAURA ROBERTSON
Laura's grandfather dropped out of high school and joined the circus as the motorcyclist in the wire sphere thing and her half-brother is a professional juggler and DDR champion in Atlanta. Other things of note: Laura won $100 from Disney in an art competition when she was 5, and she still makes glue-stick, magazine cut-out "collage" masterpieces in her spare time. [Managing Editor]

WILL SABORIO
Will Saborio is from New Orleans. He enjoys reading and writing, music and politics, this and that. He accidently poked a kid's eye out in kindergarten. He's over it, but he's not so sure about the other guy. [Marketing Team]

TAMARA SPITZER-HOBEIKA
Tamara comes from Paris, France. She thinks that life is just a bowl of cherries, speaks five languages, likes to travel by train, and hates tourists who go around museums taking pictures instead of appreciating the works of art. She can also bake a mean blondie. [Staff Writer]

ADAM TANAKA
Adam Tanaka is from London, among other funky places like Brazil, France, Japan and Texas. His music tastes are pretty diverse: favourite musicians include David Bowie, Madonna, and the Wu-Tang Clan. He wants to be a music critic when he grows up - "writing for the Review every month for the rest of my life wouldn't be too bad," he says. [Marketing Team]

MONIQUE SAREH YASHAYA
Monique Yashaya is fond of middle names and accents (and insists on using both whenever possible). Although originally from New York, she now likes to think of herself as a citizen of the world, particularly since The Great Awakening of 2006 when she realized she really does look ambiguously ethnic. Pre- 5pm she can be seen toting a Grande, Non-fat, 1-splenda, Extra Dry cappuccino- as for post, possibilities abound. [EAL Emeritus]
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"Cat Power"

I had never heard of Cat Power before playing Jukebox,and with a name like that I donned my American Apparel bronze lamé leggings in preparation for the dance-party ahead. I expected high energy, bass heavy, fist pumping music; this was not the case.

Cat Power, aka Chan Marshall, is a soulful singer from Georgia who started her recording career in 1995 with the nine-tracked album, Dear Sir.Since then, she has come out with six more albums and has even been featured on Handsome Boys Modeling School’s White People.

Her life strangely mirrors those of the artists she covers on Jukebox. By age 36, she had already admitted to suffering from alcoholism, a severe painkiller addiction, and been to rehab. Her latest album, Jukebox, marks the continuation of her reinvention as a healthy artist, which began with the release of The Greatest which featured original work.


The name of the album, Jukebox, refers to the collection of songs she has borrowed from past greats, ranging from Frank Sinatra to Bob Dylan. Jukebox is Cat Power’s follow up to The Covers Record from 2000. The term “cover” is a gross misnomer; she goes far beyond covering the songs that appear on the album, often rendering them unrecognizable. At times, you almost forget that Marshall did not compose most of the tracks.
In fact, she penned only two songs on the LP, and they stand out as the best. “Metal Heart,” with a soft piano beginning, introduces an almost androgynous voice, with a few high notes that remind us that Chan Marshall is in fact a woman with a story to tell, a story of a “metal heart” that she warns “will be in a very sad, sad zoo.” Her “Song to Bobby” serves as a plea to the rocker, begging him, “Can you please be my man?” over a stripped-down acoustic guitar layer.
The first track, New York is a far departure from its Sinatra predecessor. With its smoky lounge singer vocals and slow-tempo jazz piano arrangements, it’s hard to imagine that Liza Minelli made the song famous while performing it flamboyantly in a sequin leotard. Hank Williams’ country theme “Ramblin’ Man” is transformed into “Ramblin’ (Wo)man” on Jukebox. Marshall uses the original track as a guideline for her soulful bluesy record.
Unfortunately, the tracks begin to mesh together as she moves from one blues song to the next and her raspy voice is near-parody when she yelps, “Oh my God!” like a talking doll. The instrumentals bury the raw pain that Marshall tries to draw out from the ballad.
Jukebox succeeds in spite of these shortcomings. Throughout the album, Marshall is a master story-teller; a trouble that is at once impending and omnipresent saturates each lyric. The effect is powerful and fantastic. Even in up-tempo songs, like “I Believe in You,” the struggle in Marshall’s voice is palpable. From the first track to the last, Marshall carries an old soul. What is more, she carries a voice with the power and the will to translate old soul into new, arresting sound.



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"American Boy"

“American Boy” is the newest single from Britain’s latest export to the United States, Estelle, featuring rap super star Kanye West. Already well known to the British musical scene, Estelle Swaray (birth name Fanta Swaray) is the first addition to John Legend’s new record label ‘Homeschool’ records.

The song chronicles the adventures of a British girl coming to America where she finds herself “loving this American boy”. Truth be told the song’s message does not aim to educate the listener, as Estelle has done in her earlier works – her 2004 single “Free” being the most notable and popular of these such songs. Yet the fun, flirty song is bound to be a club hit.

Estelle’s easy-breezy-beautiful-Covergirl vocals blend with Kanye West’s cocky to create a song with swagger. The beat, provided by uber-producer Will I am, is an energizing blend of 80s electronic, hip hop bass and rock-star guitar. The mixture is tantalising—the song moves to your body with determination. Eminently danceable, it is near impossible not to follow the song’s command.

The story of the British superstar attempting to crack the American market generally follows one of two paths. Some artists go the Joss Stone route and shake off their British exterior for a much more stateside sound. Others, say Lily Allen, attempt to borrow some American influences and then fuse these with their uniquely British tunes.

Estelle seems to be following the latter path—her vocals lend the song a distinctively British flavour. Yet “American Boy” is a departure from Estelle’s more rugged British garage sound. The song is more polished; the beats, sharper. Whereas Estelle had often intertwined her light yet sultry vocals with her own rough raps, in “American Boy” she rests firmly in ‘singer’ territory. With the release of her highly anticipated album Shine, we will be able to judge whether she still holds the Union Jack high.—Yasmin Belo Osagie



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Jimmy Eat World - "Chase This Light"

Jimmy Eat World has never adhered to a specific genre. From a mid-90s start in the indie scene, they moved into emo-core, became famous, and were eagerly splashed on the covers of music magazines as (ill-fitting) poster-children for punk rock. But their 2004 album Futures abandoned the punk heritage, firmly placing itself in some murky, undefined category of miscellaneous alternative rock. Their recent release, Chase This Light, follows that uninspiring trend toward this too-slick punk-derived alternative.


Chase This Light will not return Jimmy Eat World to the pinnacle of the pop charts, which is probably a good thing. Lead singer Jim Adkins rationalizes that “there’s still some living left when your prime comes and goes.” This living is not hinted at in the album, which, apart from the first track, is basically dead on arrival. Simply put, Chase This Light is boring.

The Jimmy Eat World mainstays are present and accounted for: pervasive vocal harmonies and catchy riffs build on a foundation of fiery drums and beats. The lyrics still manifest the dependable intelligence which attracted me to Jimmy Eat World in the first place. Lines like “It’s easy feeling righteous when removed” (“Carry You”) and “This is where our diligence has led, / The waves roll in to claim our patient steps” (“Firefight”) have always set Jimmy Eat World apart from generic emocore/pop punk/indie rock bands; their well-written songs keep their sound distinctive.

It is then ironic that dependability is the major pitfall of the album. Yes, Chase This Light still has moments of classic Jimmy Eat World sound seen in earlier pieces like “Table for Glasses” or “23” – the nearly transcendent combination of beautiful harmonies, innovative drums, refrain piled upon refrain. But in this effort, those sections are too little developed, too fleeting, to significantly inform and elevate the pop-punk tone of the album. The songs no longer build to their climactic harmonies and explosive codas, but rather hold fast to the overdone verse-refrain-verse-refrain-bridge-refrain/x2 formula that dominates the pop charts.

Even the harmonies sound thin. The minimalist instrumentation (as in “Cautioners”) which normally serves to showcase their beautifully-wrought choruses is not present in a single song on Chase This Light. Jimmy Eat World has forgotten how to maximize spare production; they have forgotten how to make a straightforward approach to songwriting. As a result, all their songs essentially sound the same.

All in all, the album is too smooth and sleek, sticking conservatively to a tried-and-true formula. With the sole exception of the title track, the melodies are uninspiring, completely missing the soaring atmospheric feel of Futures (Kill, Night Drive) or the revolutionary post-punk genius of Bleed American (A Praise Chorus, Hear You Me). What makes Jimmy Eat World the only punk band I can stand is their constant deviation from formulaic conception, predictable lyrics, and run-of-the-mill instrument work. It is not often that a band becomes less experimental with time. That Jimmy Eat World achieves this feat may very well be the sole success of this tepid effort. This is no prize to be proud of.

What results is a rather unmotivated album that defies categorization. To quote “Dizzy”, the best song on the album, “Does it end like this?” ―Jonathan Giuffrida


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D-Bar Review

I had been to the Debasement Bar three times before, once over the summer with a friend from home and twice with friends from school. My feelings about the experiences can be fairly summarized in all cases by the word ‘embarrassment’: with my hometown friend I was embarrassed to be associated with the scene, and with my school friends I was simply embarrassed for the scene. So naturally when I returned to the bar for a fourth time, my spirits were not high.

The Debasement Bar, invariably called ‘the D-Bar’ by its patrons, is the Graduate College’s local watering hole, where graduate student members must sign-in even undergrads. The bar is so local, in fact, that it is literally in the basement of the main Graduate building. This alone must explain the bar’s moniker, for there’s certainly nothing debased about the place. The physical space itself is reminiscent of a poorly lit Café Viv—cramped with too-clean tables and adorned with dorky memorabilia. In the words of an anonymous grad student, “It looks like a suburban basement and has the personality of my grandma’s house.”

Fortunately, the D-Bar has a wide selection of discounted drinks. There are always several fine beers on tap, from Yuengling, the $2 house special, to Storm King, a microbrew that costs a couple bucks more. In addition, there’s a full wet bar and a fridge packed with bottled domestics and imports, all at a reasonable price. Another attraction might be the legend that the D-bar used to be “hopping,” with women regularly dancing on top of the bar. However, my source for this legend also told me that the D-Bar offers “free beer and loose women.” This is false.

But back to that return visit. I had come with a couple friends and, much to our surprise, when we arrived we found a DJ playing extraordinarily loud, hip music in a bar packed wall-to-wall with people. A long line wound its way to the bar, and soon a band took to a makeshift stage tucked in the back corner. They used live instruments to make mash-ups: verdict, so awful it was good (think Audioslave + Beastie Boys). Then my friends and I met a couple gregarious grad students (really!) who perked up at the mention of driving to the Street and on their way out the door this group of five men bumped into a 27-year-old Asian toxicologist and self-proclaimed band groupie who joined them on their journey without a second thought. The whole experience that night was redemptively whacky; this was, after all, a place for which I'd once felt something like pity."

I guess the moral of the story is this. As a rule of thumb, go to the D-bar either because you (a) want reasons not to attend graduate school, or (b) want to feel better about yourself. You might also go if you’re feeling lucky. Though odds are it will be another evening at grandma’s house, you might just find yourself an adventure.—Matt Knauff


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Married Life

Married Life opens with the voice of Pierce Brosnan, presumably cast for his haughty British accent, recounting a well-worn tale. A man who does not believe in love comes face-to-face with his lurking inner romantic upon being introduced to his best friend’s girl. How inconvenient.
Harry Allen (Chris Cooper) is in love with his girlfriend Kay (played by the lovely but stiff Rachel McAdams) but unfortunately there is the usual snag: Harry is still married to Pat (Patricia Clarkson). Harry cares too much about Pat to leave her with nothing, so Harry decides that the only way all parties can escape the situation unscathed is if Pat dies—“sweet release”, he calls it, and basically a mercy killing for the woman who had taken such good care of him, so she would not have to see all her hard work profit another woman.

But wait, this potentially dark plot turns sunny: as luck would have it, Pat is having an affair as well, which Richard (Brosnan) finds out when he shows up unexpected at the Allen’s summer house. Like her husband, Pat is also in love with her paramour, but cares too much about Henry to leave him sad and alone.
Inevitably, the dashing Brosnan sweeps Kay off her feet. Henry realizes that his wife is all he has in this life and arrives home just in time to save her from imminent death. The film ends with a shot on a scene of couples laughing and playing charades. Brosnan’s voice-over proclaims the cliché moral that “no one really knows what goes on in the mind of the one who sleeps next to you”. This also turns out to be a variation on the films tagline. This plot is set to an over-wrought 1940s façade is almost as contrived as Brosnan’s narration.
Brimming with classic misadventure and misunderstanding, Married Life attempts to uncover the many shades of gray in forties-era life. In a time of sexual and social pretense and strict mores, the unusually virile Pat sums up love in one word: “sex”. Her summation comes to us like a footnote to the Kinsey report, illustrating the underlying sexuality in a supposed time of repression.
But despite its ambitions, the film achieves little. Married Life is a Katharine Hepburn film without the grace. When Rachel McAdams dons platinum locks and fire hydrant red lipstick to mimic the sirens of 1940s films, we are hardly convinced. Brosnan may be a good Bond, but he is a poor Cary Grant. Director and co-writer Ira Sachs attempts to find modern humor in the over-the-top 1940s framework. Brosnan’s disembodied voice remarks upon a lame pick-up line he used on Kay—“Can I have your cigarette…because it touched your lips”. A messy scene tracks Henry rushing home to stop his wife from taking poisoned indigestion medication only to be pulled over by a group of glib cops (due to a faulty tail light)!
But, like the jokes, the film falls short. Mindless and easy, Married Life is nothing special. If you want snappy dialogue and men in hats, you would be well advised to rent a film that was actually made in the forties.


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The Counterfeiters (Die Fälscher)

“La Guerre est Finie” (The War is Over) reads a newspaper buried in the sand on the coast of France; the beach is empty except for Salomon Sorowitsch, the protagonist of The Counterfeiters. This opening scene, reminiscent of Polanski’s start to The Pianist, prepares the viewer for a flashback of the past ten years of Salomon’s life.
The film is based on Operation Bernhardt, an actual attempt by the Nazis to flood the British and American markets with fake notes; “the counterfeiters” were a mismatched band of about fifteen who were plucked from various concentration camps to carry out the plan. In exchange for their services, the Nazis treated them like first-class prisoners: they could shower and were given real clothing, better food and cigarettes.

As viewers, we can feel the internal conflict that torments these prisoners as they jump into Nazi operations. Though Salomon was in fact a criminal before the war (and viewed as one even by fellow prison mates), some of the other men, from Communist printers to doctors, view the operation as a tradeoff for survival.
The director does not judge for us who is right and who is wrong. Instead, he points to the power of human will and to the universal push to survive. Salomon strikes a deal with a young ambitious SS Herzog (coincidentally the same one who denounced him ten years before): to save his friend’s life, Salomon will attempt his greatest challenge─forging the US dollar. The Counterfeiters blurs the lines between victim and criminal, bringing a novel perspective to an era often viewed in black and white. Unlike Herzog, Salomon has killed no one in concentration camps, but the construct of the operation allows him to perpetuate the cycle of Nazi terror. Even after his release, it seems he continues his trade; its allure remains untainted by the atrocities he helped perpetuate.

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