The Marbled Swarm - Dennis Cooper (2011)

It's not often that I read other reviews of a book before I attempt to write my own.  I used to think that was "cheating" when I wrote film reviews for Washington Square News Weekend at NYU.  It was "cheating" because it was almost like I was afraid to say how I felt about something--or more specifically, afraid that I would praise a film that would be dismissed as a cinematic disaster, or pan a film that would show up on every critic's year-end top 10 list.

We are reaching an important point on Flying Houses.  Recently I applied for a Press Pass for the Pitchfork Festival.  If I get one, it will be the most audacious experience in our history, as I will try to bring in a cameraman and film interviews with the likes of St. Vincent and Beck.  But I won't find out until June and dreams tend not to come true.  Moreover, April 1st will mark our sixth birthday here, and I will post as I have the past couple of years an "MD&A."  After more than 270 posts, one would think I would have the courage to state how I felt about a book without consulting other reviews.  But The Marbled Swarm is one of the more troubling books I have read.  I both liked it, and didn't like it.  It's probably easiest for me to list all of the other books by Dennis Cooper that I have reviewed here and state that I liked it less than all of them.

That's my knee-jerk reaction before even checking all of the others.  But between Closer, Ugly Man,  and Try, I certainly rank it below Closer and Try, and probably beneath Ugly Man too, though maybe I would say it's on par with that.  More importantly from the Ugly Man review, I list and rank all of his books that I've read (six others, three or four of which I would re-read), and from this list I would not put it any higher than #7.

It will be fun to try to explain what this book is about.  First, to continue with the comparison theme, I will say it is most similar to Period in that it is extremely experimental.  I would also say it is better than Period, but maybe I wouldn't stand by that statement if I re-read that book.  But the plot:

The narrator (who is nameless, I am pretty sure) is rich--apparently he is a 22-year-old billionaire (though it doesn't really seem like he is that rich) whose parents were famous French actors.  Well, at least his father, Pierre Clementi, was (I'd need to re-read to check on his mother).  He wants to buy a chateau.  He meets the owners--the father, the mother, and their 14-year-old son Serge--and decides he wants to buy it.  They had another son--16-year-old Claude--who died (Maybe, I think?  For some reason I'm not concerned about spoilers in this review).  Basically, Serge is "interested" in the narrator, and the father seems to think he is a nuisance so he says he will "include him" in the price of the house.  The narrator puts Serge in the trunk of his car and is driven back to Paris (he has a driver, Azmir, of course).  Serge is then raped, murdered, and eaten (Maybe?).  The narrator then starts reminiscing about his younger brother, Alfonse, who was very into Manga and was also eventually raped, murdered, and eaten.  By the narrator and a couple cohorts.  One of those cohorts has a son named Didier who is eventually groomed to look exactly like Alfonse.  Finally, there is the issue of the narrator's father, who apparently dies at some point after Alfonse (though this is confusing, too), and has another property in his will that nobody really knows about in a remote part of France.  There is another story about this house and the people that stayed in it/the reasons why his father built it, that seems to coalesce with the chateau from the beginning of the novel as well as the lofts in which the narrator, Alfonse, and their father reside at in Paris.  Then, the novel ends, and the ending I have to admit is one of the more beautiful endings that Cooper has written.

Why is the ending beautiful?  Because, as may be clear from my plot summary, this book is fucking bonkers and basically impossible to "get."  The most obvious "themes" are younger/older brothers (and this is not the first time Cooper has touched incest--see My Loose Thread), rape/murder/cannibalism (the first two are in nearly every single one of his novels; the last is something new, but seems more "out there" for some reason, and just there to shock), and most conspicuously, secret passageways.  But the ending ties things together as best as it possibly could.

This book is not totally inscrutable.  Cooper does pull back the curtain a couple of times and acknowledges that  he knows that he is not presenting anything close to a linear narrative.  Even so, it is very hard to tell what happened, and I'm not really sure what the whole point of it is:

"The play was set in a chateau whose history of on-site murders, ghosts, and other unexplained phenomena required a lengthy spoken foreword, which Claude's father had recited through the speakers for what would have felt like months were not the bloodthirsty details of this story so custom-made for mordant teenagers.
To cite the most agentive of these details, the couple's older son had either killed himself, been murdered, died by tragic accident, or faked his death within the previous few months.
The anguished man and wife had put the crime scene on the market, and the young Parisian, struck by certain parallels between their son's obituary in Le Monde and the clueless death of his own brother years before, found himself inspired to visit the chateau and then acquire it." (171)

I think I've made most of the points I wanted to make about this book, but it is worth noting that in my search for reviews, I came across an interview that Cooper did for The Paris Review in 2011.  You may find it here.  I highly recommend it, as I do most interviews in The Paris Review, which is probably the most important literary journal apart from The New Yorker (though I find The New Yorker to be pretentious most of the time, and really consider an interview in The Paris Review one of the highest honors a writer can receive).  In it, Cooper had this to say about this novel:

"With The Marbled Swarm, I was trying to write a novel the way a sound technician mixes a song or piece of music into its final form. I’ve been studying recorded music and trying to transpose its principles into my fiction ­going all the way back to my first novel,Closer, where one thing I did was try to simulate the sonic effect of the Jesus and Mary Chain’s Psychocandy album with my prose. In The Marbled Swarm I found a voice that let me do that. I thought about each element of the novel, whether it was a narrative thread or character or reference point or an ongoing motif or tone or rhythm. The idea was that they would all always be there, but they would be emphasized or de-emphasized at different points, mixed into the foreground, middle ground, or background, being moved around constantly so the reader’s attention would be directed all over the place. My idea was that it would give the writing a three-dimensional quality, as the reader is carried along by the musical surface of the novel, but he or she would also be chasing different story lines and recurring ideas as they waver and scamper about and hide inside the prose."

This novel certainly creates that sort of feeling.  Cooper also says in the interview that he wants to write one more novel, and then be done with them, so that he can finish with an even ten.  That makes me sad, but he has been pretty prolific over the past 25 years, and the world of literature is richer for the contributions he has made.  I'm sure some people would take issue with that statement, but one of the factors that makes his work more interesting than 90% of his contemporaries is its divisiveness.  While this is not my favorite book by him by a good stretch, it was still a worthwhile read, and the ending was very nice:

"I've failed the marbled swarm as I semi-understand its rules and premise, and, although you'll never know the difference, barring errors that weren't meant as an insidious direction, there is nowhere deeper or more intricately stifled by my story than this hotel room, and I'm out of means to keep you waiting for the secret that involved my sleight of hand unless you think a very frightened thirteen-year-old boy who looks vaguely like Pierre Clementi seems magical or promising enough." (194)

I also loved the references to Isabelle Adjani.

Animal Collective - Centipede Hz

The last time I wrote about music on Flying Houses was on July 20, 2010.  It was a review of the Pitchfork Festival and it is strangely enough one of the most popular posts on Flying Houses.  I felt it was a missed opportunity when I did not review this year's festival--but I only went to Saturday's shows, and felt that something so incomplete should not be included (but to summarize: Cloud Nothings in the driving rain playing 10 minute version of "Wasted Days" = euphoria/horror, 9.3/10; Atlas Sound playing slower songs in heavy torrential rain, Bradford Cox wearing suntan lotion he forgot to rub in, seemingly auditioning for a second career in stand-up comedy = hilarity/boredom and discomfort, 6.7/10; Lotus Plaza in between those two sets, Lockett's dreamy voice floating across the atmosphere through the trees, about two or three songs performed as they should be live = pure abbreviated satisfaction; 8.0/10; Wild Flag opening up with "See No Evil," closing with "Romance," and tearing s*** apart in between = ecstasy, 9.6/10; Sleigh Bells sounding way too eager to please, shouting "F***!" and "S***!" a lot as if exhausted/exhilarated, being way back in the crowd due to later set time and burgeoning popularity of that band = i'd rather be listening at home alone, 5.3/10; leaving before Godspeed You! Black Emperor because I felt that nothing could top Wild Flag, was bored, was tired, was there alone (horrible way to go).  In some fantasy world I'll get a job in Chicago and be there next year even though the Bar will be like, one week later, and actually have friends who like indie rock and will enjoy myself more--but in reality, the festival will probably continue to be populated by increasingly obscure bands, with the best moments saved for the rare new acts that happen to be magnificent, like Cloud Nothings.

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Animal Collective played Pitchfork in Summer 2011--the only other year I missed besides 2008, which appeared to be the best line-up of any year, but I digress....I did sort of see Panda Pear at the 2010 Festival while waiting for LCD Soundsystem, but as has been the rumor, live, their band(s) does not seem to inspire excitement, but confusion, delirium, boredom, and incredulity.

It's all hearsay I guess, since I've never made an effort to see them live because of such fears, and because I like listening to their albums over and over just fine.  That said, I believe I stated that Merriweather Post Pavilion was the best album of the 2000s (better than Kid A), and that LCD's This is Happening would be remembered as one of the best of the 2010's (even though we are still in the early stages of the decade).  Where then, does Centipede Hz. fit in?

I am not going to open myself up to ridicule and claim that this album is better than Merriweather.  But I will say that the visual component of this album gives it another dimension that should be taken into account in any review.  Now true, most people do not want to put on a 53 minute collection of psychedelic visuals to complement the same 53 minutes of music.  You simply have to be on drugs in order to give yourself away to such a meditative exercise.  However, it is worth doing at least once.  I have done it at least five times, I think.

On the basis of the music alone, I might be inclined to agree with Pitchfork's 7.4/10 assessment of the album, but taking the visuals into account, this album deserves a score in the early 9's.  While the visual accompaniment is nothing new, it is a throwback to more innocent times for me.  It reminds me of going to see concerts at Irving Plaza ten years ago where, in between sets, the big projector screen would descend, and DJs would play either music videos or random songs with crazy visuals that only made sense on the most  esoteric level.  This was way better than standing awkwardly for thirty minutes, trying to think of something to say to your friend when you are amidst a spectacle and are curiously bereft of other interesting topics of conversation.

Centipede Hz. is basically made for this--but I have to be honest and admit my suspicion that it is also made especially for stoners.  Animal Collective albums have always been "druggy," but this album goes further than any of those and into all-out psychedelia in its visuals.  Sometimes they are exhilarating, hilarious, profound, spine-tingling, beautiful, or just awe-inspiring.  None of the videos seem professionally shot by the Collective's contemporaries, but rather appear to be pieces of "found footage" with a few self-made lo-fi shots thrown into the mix.  There is lots of repetition and sometimes the lyrics reflect the visuals, which is usually when it is most hilarious.  Like when there is a lyric about a "See-saw" and you see two horses on a see-saw.  Or when darker sounding songs include black-and-white videos that look like they came out of Cold War propaganda, or really sad/scary Disney-type animation.  In particular the openings of "Mercury Man," "New Turn Burnout," and "Amanita" just make me very excited for what is about to come.

But every song is good --there are about three great songs, and about four or five really good songs, and a remaining three or four sounds that are only merely good.

This is not as high a percentage as Merriweather, but these two albums are quite different.  Merriweather is unabashedly mainstream--or least as mainstream as you can get with Animal Collective.  Centipede is the 2nd most mainstream album they have made, and it is the 2nd best album they have made period, in my opinion.

I am sure that other people will claim Feels and Strawberry Jam and even Sung Tongs are better (to say nothing of comparisons to Panda Bear's solo work) but it depends on the kind of person you are, and the kind of mood you are in.  If you like your music fast, loud, weird, and thought-provoking--this is your album.  However if you like it slower, more contemplative, quieter, potentially pleasant-nap-inducing--surely Feels or Sung Tongs is up your alley (or Panda Bear's albums).  If you like an album that's a ridiculous mish-mash from beginning to end but builds to an undeniably mind-blowing mid-album 13 minute two-song suite, then Strawberry Jam is a good option.  And obviously if you like hearing highly-polished Animal Collective at their least weird and most poppy, Merriweather is the place to start (as it should be for anyone new to the band).

This is not a perfect album - I fully admit that a few songs I can look away from the visuals and do some reading or something - but most of the time my attention is too closely drawn, and the songs are just too awesome.  Particularly great is "Amanita" as a closing number, which, along with "Rosie Oh" and a couple other songs, has at least three distinct "parts" which you can't easily define as a verse or chorus, but that add something new each time so the song evolves, while still keeping its basic rhythm.  "Rosie Oh" and "New Town Burnout" are the two Panda Bear songs here, and while I want to say they are the best, I cannot.  While they are certainly among the best, you have to include several Avey Tare songs with them that are on just as high (if not a higher) level.  "Amanita" is the culmination of everything they do on this album, and in a way, their career.
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The last album reviewed here was on July 8, 2010.  It was Wolf Parade's Expo '86, which I praised.  That is [probably going to be?] Wolf Parade's last album, as they are now on indefinite hiatus.  I do not mind so much because if Handsome Furs and Sunset Rubdown ever toured together, it would become apparent that Wolf Parade is not greater than the sum of their parts.

Another review right before then was This is Happening which most people believe is the final LCD Soundsystem album.  I'm not trying to jinx Animal Collective by writing this.  I just write reviews of albums when I think they are special, or deserve comment.  The visual aspect of this album is what makes it incredible--and song-wise it's not too bad either.  But I hope that more bands in the future will take a similar approach to joining video and music--not necessarily in the expected music video format, but something like this.  It's true that Sonic Youth did a similar thing with Goo, but those videos are all, distinctly, music videos, usually directed by then-obscure, now-famous directors (Sofia Coppola, Todd Haynes, et. al.) and the album does not hang together as a cohesive whole but just feels like a collection of songs (and even though they're really good songs--the vast majority at least--the effect on the listener-viewer is nothing compared to that of Centipede Hz which is so powerful as to almost totally remove the spectator from reality).

And it is in my humble opinion, that removing the spectator from reality is one of art's highest aims--even if for only an hour, and even if reality must be faced again--these new, dream-like sensations nurture the soul, and may contribute to a person's happiness (if not long term, at least in the short term) and help them find a way to overcome the obstacles that the 2012 daily existence throws in their paths.

The Bond Project

For some reason I cannot realign this first paragraph and I am too lazy to figure it out, and also too lazy to send this review back to Jay with my edits built in, to publish which ones he approves.  I have primarily corrected typos and one or two stylistic choices in favor of proper grammar--but I do not think Jay will find this disconcerting.  He writes the way he talks, and I try to do the same thing, and if you can't appreciate that, then you might as well give up on Flying Houses.  I love writing the way I talk.  It's like a continual process of discovery is happening before your eyes, and there's no feeling that everything has been so intricately refined and calculated to speak "the truth."  I say the truth is in the present.

Jay Maronde and I have been friends since August of 2001.  I met him at the same time as another friend, with a friend I made on the second or third day, neither of which I still talk to--and not by my choice.  We simply drifted apart and I miss them.  But Jay and I stuck.  

The night we met, he asked if we could be drinking buddies and I said yes (we were 18).  We would sneak into a package store and I would trust him to buy the whiskey because he looked older than me.  But eventually we wouldn't have much trouble finding places to sell us some kind of alcohol in Greenwich Village, and we found ourselves going to Smalls Jazz Club, sitting in the back by the bar on the floor, drinking from a bottle of 99 Bananas, staying until 5 AM and watching the sun rise over the skyline of the World Trade Center, as a hundred bikers crossed our path, and we waved.

Later on, I became Editor of the Film Section of Washington Square News (formerly, Culture Shock) and asked Jay to be my co-editor.  We had gone to screenings and written reviews during our freshman year, and we loved the feeling of importance we got from it.  I remember forcing him to go to see L.I.E. with me (and the other two friends that formed our Fab Four) on September 10, and I remember noting in my first ever review, praising the film, that Jay had called it, "The worst fucking movie I have ever seen."  And I remember spending the second half of the next day with him, and drinking in his dorm room.

In the first meeting I held as Editor, I introduced Jay as my co-editor and put my feet up on the table to a dozen or so dazed onlookers and said, "I don't consider myself very professional, but this is the way we are going to do things."   I remember him liking that moment very much.

Recently, he called me (we have only seen each other twice in 2012--but that is much more often than in 2011, or 2010, or 2009, or 2008, or 2007---but 2007 is another story...) and proposed that he write reviews of all 23 James Bond films in anticipation of the newest one--Skyfall.

I told him I was always looking for writers at Flying Houses, looking to expand my operation to Huffington Post-type levels and get bought by AOL Time Warner for millions of dollars, and thought the project was a fantastic idea.  Flying Houses only has a few film reviews (The Brave One, The Dark Knight, The Girlfriend Experience, Antichrist, The Visitor, Le Scaphandre et le Pappilon (The Diving Bell and the Butterfly), A Lawyer Walks Into a Bar..., and perhaps a few more) but I have never viewed it as purely a book review blog--though they do comprise the majority of the posts.  I have viewed it as a blog to review books, movies, music, live experiences (The Pitchfork Festival and Ray Bradbury, for example), my Negligent Infliction of Emotional Distress Columns, short stories, and whatever else anybody would like to write.  

So, without further ado, I present to you, the first in a series of 23, The Bond Project.

Broken Social Scene - Forgiveness Rock Record

Part 2 of our Canadian double-bill features Broken Social Scene, a similar group of Canadian musical artists to New Pornographers--with one major difference: New Pornos band members were already "famous" when they started their supergroup; BSS became famous after forming the collective. I don't think many people knew who Feist was before You Forgot it in People.

So this is technically the 4th BSS album, but the first is practically a moot point (i.e. same goes for Deerhunter, or Sunset Rubdown for that matter). The 2nd, You Forgot it in People, and the 3rd, Broken Social Scene, are debatable masterpieces. The size of the group seemed to swell as time went on.

Apparently they were about to break up after their last album, so the title of this one is appropriate. It's also worth noting that both Kevin Drew and Brendan Canning put out solo albums in the interim underneath the "BSS presents" banner. They toured with many members of the band each time, so it's not like it's really been four years since there's been any new music from these guys.

And while I haven't heard the Canning solo album, it's quite clear that Forgiveness Rock Record is better than Drew's Spirit If...(by no means a bad album, just one that often bores--though it does aim for a different mark), but also quite clear that Forgiveness Rock Record is the worst thing they've done since their debut.

Maybe that's a mean way of saying it, but it's the way I feel. Sure, "World Sick" is a pretty good first single, but it's not all that satisfying. "Chase Scene" (which tops out the set with 14 members playing on it) is probably my favorite song, and it seems more like a left-field experiment than a potential radio hit. "Texico Bitches" sounds exactly like something off Spirit If... not a bad thing, but kind of uninteresting for the same reason.

"Forced to Love" is probably my second favorite song, probably the only thing that sounds like classic BSS on this album. "Art House Director" could be a great song in the same way that "World Sick" could be a great song--like, it is apparently, but somewhere in the execution it falls flat. "Meet Me in the Basement" would be the best song on the album if it had lyrics. "Water in Hell" is the track second-most like classic BSS, thus my third favorite.

It's complicated to discuss my idiosyncratic beliefs about Canadian indie rock supergroups, but I do believe that BSS and New Pornos shared the same high in 2003 and have stuck around largely because of that early buzz. For my money, the self titled Broken Social Scene album of 2006 is their best single statement and it's going to be a very tough one to top--but live....

This is why I put these posts together on the same day: BSS are at least 2x as good as the New Pornos live. I've seen them three or four times. Only once was I vaguely disappointed. I am sure that live, these songs will be given new life. Kevin Drew is becoming increasingly iconoclastic. While I wish there were more signs of his obsession with Dinosaur Jr. on this album, I'll greatly look forward to seeing this band at the Pitchfork festival this summer. If it doesn't sell out by Memorial Day, at least.