NYLON - April 2009 - (Page 158) edited by bookmark: THE UNKNOWN KNOWNS The delirium is in the details of The Unknown Knowns (Scribner), the debut novel from former NYLON executive editor Jeffrey Rotter. Jim Rath seduces his wife by recreating various sexual conquests of the Greek god Zeus, down to a golden shower of glitter; he recognizes the end of their relationship when she drives a knife through his nearmint edition of dan deacon bromst (CARPARK) bookmark: A THOUSAND DRAWINGS In some ways, but not many, Tracey Emin is similar to Gustav Klimt. Like Klimt, who produced hundreds of erotic sketches during his lifetime, Emin is innately brilliant at portraying the female form with a few lines. Like Klimt, too, Emin’s drawings of the female body inform larger, and more complex works—where he used gold leaf, Emin uses neon, and a needle and thread. But not all of Emin’s drawings— collected together for the first time in A Thousand Drawings (Rizzoli) on Bible-thin paper— are of nudes. There’s an aeroplane with the words GET READY FOR THE FUCK OF YOUR LIFE scrawled beside it. Some are of birds: one depicts a chick riding a flying phallus. Another though, is more revealing. A quiet picture of a small bird sitting on a branch looks like just that, until you read its title: “Self-portrait as a Little Bird.” Emin—an artist who is not afraid to wear her heart on her sleeve, or, indeed to embroider it on a blanket— personally chose the pictures for this book, and the delicate sketches are at once a glimpse of the profundity she’s capable of, and a reminder of her vulnerability. LUKE CRISELL A friend recently surmised on the powers of this bearded and bespectacled electronics wizard thus: “If Dan Deacon led a religion—or maybe a weekly community whoop—I would totally join.” With a live show that acts at once as a three-ring circus, hardcorepunk performance, and evangelical revival tent, the 27-year-old Baltimore-based Deacon has been busy amassing true believers since the release of 2007’s Spiderman of the Rings. Since then, he’s collaborated with Jimmy Joe Roche on the band’s Ultimate Reality DVD, done a Baltimore Round Robin tour with fellow Wham City denizens Double Dagger and Beach House, and somehow squeezed in time to make his anticipated follow-up, Bromst. Less manic but no less ecstatic, the new record features plangent piano chords, marimba, sine waves, vocoder chirps; even a snatch of creaky shape-note singing that infuses tracks like “Red F,” “Wet Wings,” and “Slow With Horns”—they crackle like live wires. And the transcendent “Surprise Stefani” is sure to make a certain girl hollaback. ANDY BETA the asteroids galaxy tour fruit (SMALL GIANTS) Sub-Mariner No. 6. Unhinged, Rath continues on a strange odyssey through the pools of some of this nation’s finest chain lodgings, an unknown marine kingdom he calls Nautika, and—bizarrely— the Department of Homeland Security. Rotter is a natural storyteller: Like his philosophical compatriot George Saunders, he writes with a finely observed outrage for the absurdities of the times—the book’s title is a reference to a security analysis from former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld. DIANE VADINO filmstrip: THE WATER You can accuse Broken Social Scene co-founder Kevin Drew of being many things—Pretentious? Maybe. Too reliant on his connections? Perhaps. But there’s no mistaking that the guy is awesomely prolific. His latest project is one of his most ambitious: The Water, a haunting short film he directed about lost love, resurrection, and a mummified body. Based on and featuring Feist’s lonesome track of the same name, The Water follows the efforts of a father (Canadian actor David Fox) and son (Cillian Murphy, who met Drew at a BSS show) as they set about exhuming and resurrecting a beloved (Feist, Drew’s ex-girlfriend). “Kevin dreamt it up, told it to me like a children’s story. And then it just hovered in the ether for a year until we got the guts up to tackle it,” says Feist. Shooting in a snowy forest and an isolated log cabin, Drew enkindles his nearly silent film—in which dialogue is frequently traded out for plaintive expressions—with a crackling fire and, of course, Feist’s dolorous vocals. “I’m a ghost. I’m a memory. I’m not really real,” she adds, “and so [that] lets Cillian and David breathe the life onto the screen.” The heartbreak they conjure, meanwhile, lingers long after this ethereal meditation ends. MEREDITH WOERNER It might seem improbable that a couple of Scandinavians would produce a summersummoning album, but the Asteroids Galaxy Tour, a Danish six-piece, have done just that with their self-titled debut. In it, founding members Lars Iversen and Mette Lindberg have crafted a swank sound that calls to mind the soulful ’70s—brassy horns, psychedelic effects, and a healthy dose of Technicolored funk. Songs like “Push the Envelope” and “The Golden Age” are sunny hits, perfect for daytime dance parties. But one critical factor prevents Asteroids from slipping into Sly and the Family Stone tribute-band territory: the sultry, sparkling voice of lead singer Mette Lindberg. Her vocals swing between those of Amy Winehouse (on “The Sun Ain’t Shining No More”), CocoRosie’s Bianca Leilani (on “Bad Fever”), and Santigold (on “Lady Jesus”). Add to that a healthy dose of distortion and backbeats that could have been clapped out by a party-going crowd in a beerbasement, and you’ve got a scintillating update to the funkadelic sound—and one hell of a debut album. ALEX LITTLEFIELD
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