You’ve probably heard about the writer’s strike by now. It’s a big dust-up where writers in Hollywood feel they should be compensated for online revenues, while major networks are saying that we should wait until there’s a market. The following clip is a humorous take on just that:

However, something that the writers and YouTube/Google don’t realize is that there is a tremendous opportunity here. As the line between traditional media and online media gets further blurred, something that becomes apparent (to the credit of the writers) is that content creation is key.

That’s what makes this period very interesting: what if all of the writers jumped to online media? I doubt they would do it, because other writers would jump into their traditional media roles, and there may not be enough cash in the online world right now to keep all of these writers.

But, imagine that YouTube/Google had deep pockets, and could snatch all of that writing talent. Screw dealing with NBC for display rights, imagine getting all of that creative talent to write original content that can only be found on YouTube. Essentially, Google would have created an instant online media network, with the best creators money could buy.

If nothing else, the writers should investigate this option to put more pressure on the networks. Just a thought.

I’d hate for them to make the jump, considering how the writers develop all the shows I watch on TV, but can you imagine online media content actually surpassing its traditional media counterparts?

Ah, another wonderful opus from director Uwe Boll. BloodRayne is the latest video game conversion from this director known for bad video game conversions, and given that this is showing up as #43 on IMDB’s bottom 100 films, this movie looked to be meeting the same fate. I was practically salivating at the chance to watch this movie, because I wanted to see a bad movie. Needless to say, I wasn’t disappointed.

First off, I loved playing BloodRayne 2. That game was sexy, violent, dark, and funny. You got the chance to enjoy the main character because she had a sense of humor. She had sass and humor, which really added a sort of lighthearted element to an otherwise quite dark and morbid game. For example, this quote:

Minion: The Master, I mean, Mr. Zerenski, would prefer that all guests remain downstairs, madam.
Rayne:The Master can blow me, monkey suit.

I still remember cracking up when one of the non-player characters commented something to the effect of, “Ooh, I’m going make you make me a sandwich!” There was an interesting blend of acrobatics, intense action, dark environments, humor, and sex appeal.

Then, we have this movie purportedly based on the game. First, let’s address the sex appeal straightaway:

Image on right: sexy. Image on left: not sexy. This is rather tragic, because the image on the left is of a real, living, breathing woman, while the one on the right is of a computer generated character. Further driving the tragedy is the fact that the real woman, Kritianna Loken, is sexy, though you wouldn’t really know it from this movie aside from its one awkward, unnecessary, and unsexy sex scene. It says something when the game is sexier than the movie.

Let’s take a look at some other highlights of this spectacular failure of a movie…

• Casting: How exactly did they cast the roles for this movie? Throw darts at a dart board? Who thought that Ben Kingsley would make a good Kagan? The addition of Michael Madsen, Billy Zane, and Michelle Rodriguez seemed rather non sequitorial choices as well. Speaking of odd choices…Meatloaf? Really?
• Acting: If you thought Kingsley and Madsen would add a little gravitas to the acting in this movie, think again. I could swear that Madsen got his lines thirty seconds before they shot each scene. It felt at times like I was watching a high school play, except that the lines are delivered in a high school play with more drama. Oddly enough, Michelle Rodriguez did an acceptable job. Everyone else appeared to be just waiting for the checks to clear.
• Story: There is a storyline to this movie. It’s consistent as a standard story in that it has a beginning, a middle, and an end. That’s about the end of the positive feedback. Did Uwe Boll even play the games? Have someone get him an executive summary? You could say that this movie was a prequel since it took place hundreds of years ago, while the games took place in the 1930s and current time, except it contradicts events in the games. So, it’s a completely made up plot. It’s written horribly.
• Cinematography: Fight scenes were shot in jerky fashion — if Boll was going for the disoriented feel, then he got that. Some shots were quite beautifully done, though these tended to just slow down the movie. People are here for the action, right? Sadly, it’s the action scenes that were shot the worst.
• Choreography: By this I mean the fight scenes. This is definitely supposed to be one of the selling points of this movie. Unfortunately, they were bad. Really bad. Yuen Wu Ping this is not. The game had excellent acrobatic moves, but you don’t even get to see Rayne moving quickly until about the end of the film, and even that’s disappointing. Horribly developed, terrible action, terrible form — do not see this movie for the fight scenes.
• Special Effects: The game was gory, so the movie had to try to match that…and failed. Special effects have come a long way, so perhaps I’m a bit jaded, but I haven’t seen effects this bad in a long, long time. They were almost Army of Darkness bad. Really. Even the blood didn’t look real, which is unfortunate for a movie called BloodRayne.

I’m not even sure where to begin on this movie with so many problems. Scenes were shot and placed haphazardly and without purpose. Characters did out-of-character things. (Note: if you’re part of an ultra secret organization that’s fighting vampires, you probably shouldn’t bring one back to your secret lair if you’ve just met.) Bad action for an action movie. Failure to be consistent with the game on which the movie was based. (You can’t kill Kagan hundreds of years before he comes back in both the 30s and current day. It just doesn’t work that way.) Failure to be consistent in any way, shape or form to the characters of the game.

You can’t make a video game to movie conversion and just toss out the game altogether. That defeats the purpose of doing the video game to movie conversion in the first place. The highlights of the game included acrobatics, guns (!), fighting, dark environments, strong-willed but funny main character, and sex appeal. The movie failed on every count.

However, this has come to be expected of Uwe Boll, and this film failed spectacularly. I’ve never seen acting so bad, nor gore so poorly done in a current big budget movie in a long, long time. I had thought this would be bad, but I was wrong: this is really, really, really bad. Almost cult classic bad. Almost. I’m still trying to figure out how he got Ben Kingsley to handicap himself out of any acting ability whatsoever for this project. He may have had to reshoot scenes where he was acting too much or something.

And there you have the paradox of Ewe Boll: on the one hand, he’s responsible for actually getting popular video games converted to movies. On the other, he will absolutely butcher the project. If you are familiar with a game that Boll is converting, you will find the movie to be that much worse. The more you like the game, the more you will hate the movie. If you don’t like the game, you’ll just think it’s a bad movie. It’s a lose-lose situation, but somehow, Boll makes it work.

So add BloodRayne to the list: it really is one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen. I actually feel dumber for having watched it. Yet, I have no one to blame but myself for that. Even Meatloaf Aday couldn’t save this one.

What’s the funniest show on TV? Not so fast, Arrested Development fans. From the looks of it, FOX may not be continuing this show on their network, which is unfortunate. Few shows make me laugh out loud with such regularity as this show, which makes me sad that its continued existence is coming into question. Even the casting makes me laugh, as a sort of who’s who of the eighties. Richie Cunningham (Ron Howard) doing voiceovers. Hey-Now Hank (Jeffrey Tambor) as the father. Is that really David Hogan (Jason Bateman) from Valerie? The Fonz (Henry Winkler) as the family’s lawyer, to later be replaced by Chachi (Scott Baio).

The show’s writing is incredible, so I won’t even bother trying to quote it. You just have to watch it. If you haven’t watched it, you won’t understand why this chicken dance is so funny:

While you can pick up season one and season two on DVD, you’re out of luck on seeing season three anywhere right now. This is especially unfortunate, because they’re showing the last four episodes of season three back to back this Friday 2/10, from 8-10PM EST. As if to sign the death certificate for this show, this is directly opposite the opening ceremonies for the Winter Olympics.

While there have been many efforts to save the show, the outlook is not good. Despite rumors of a move to Showtime, nothing is set in stone. Jason Bateman is signing onto another movie. Kristin from E! Online commented, “I’ve just had lengthy conversations with some moles who are deep, deep inside. I will tell you all in this week’s column, ‘kay? Bring a tissue.” Uh oh.

According to the AFP, a research team from the University of Leicester headed by Adrian North “concluded that because of greater accessibility through mass media, music was nowadays seen more as a commodity that is produced, distributed and consumed like any other.” I.e., due to the ease with which music can be obtained, we no longer get a deep connection with music. (This was based on a study two week study involving monitoring 346 people’s music listening habits.)

Ars Technica rightfully noted that the causality of this behavior was still in question, and to put it to, say, the ease with which mp3s may be obtained or online radio stations may be listened to is a bit glib.

The music industry doesn’t give their listening public much credit. With so little desire to experiment on new forms of music, we end up with less originality in mainstream music being produced, with the end run goal of making money factories. It’s almost like there’s a music industry formula: take a reasonably attractive front person, tweak up their vocals, make sure it fits into the standard music sound scheme, and voila — instant money generator. No thought involved, nothing new created. So much of the new music sounds alike, that it’s hard to pick out any gems.

Do they forget the passion that drove people to music in the first place, back before every artist started sounding the same, with the same style of not-too-offensive lyrics? Before the record deals, contract placements, merchandising tie-ins, and the like, people listened to music — that’s what made them so passionate about it. The riffs from Hendrix’s electric guitar are unmistakeable. The throaty lyrics from Billie Holiday take people on an almost spiritual journey. The quick, light licks from Paul Desmond’s saxophone against the light, energetic pianoing of Dave Brubeck. The mellow voice of Carol King. The incomprehensibility of Bob Dylan. The in-the-raw voice of Janice Joplin. All of these things are incredibly unique. There is no formula there. Even Beethoven was regarded as avant garde in his time. These days? It’s hard to say any artist is creating a genre.

What’s more, they were off singing about much more impassioned pleas than you find in today’s typical fare. It’s very hard to get strongly emotionally attached to music that just plays to the emo crowd. (Not that this is a bad thing, but c’mon, there’s something called saturation.) I’m sure the increasingly sardonic, cynical, and secular shift of popular society isn’t helping either. Is there more difficulty in getting emotionally involved in today’s music? Sure. However, I’m not convinced this is due to the “ease” of obtaining music these days.

When you think about it, the times that really make music come alive to oneself is remembering the music playing at points in your life. Do you remember rocking out to music in your dorm room? How about on a cross country drive? How about the music playing when you first made out with your significant other? All of these events make little poignant mental liner notes for the soundtrack of your life. Just remember: the music has to be memorable, or all bets are off.

How about another study where we talk about how we feel in general about the music coming out of the music industry? That might be able to shed more light on the situation. What do you think, Adrian, up for it? Take a wide age range, people who are online listening to music a lot, people who aren’t, and see what they think about music from the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, and beyond.

I’ve recently been getting a lot of enjoyment out of watching The.Scene, a fictional tale of a movie pirating group. The “scene” is basically the underground online group dedicated to getting movies released out to the Internet before they are publically available. Their quick description:

NYU student Brian Sandro has a secret: he and his friends pirate hundreds of millions of dollars of illicit Hollywood movies in their spare time. They are revered, reviled, hunted, and admired. No one knows who they are — at least, not as far as they know.

This is the work of Jun Group Entertainment, a group dedicated to providing free content to file trading services. That is, original legal free content.

Fast-paced action sequences are not to be found here. Each fifteen minute episode basically shows a constant picture of a desktop, with a little video window of the typist in the upper left. You’ll spend most of your time just watching someone type on a computer. It’s hard to imagine that any series where there is in fact no physical action could be so entrancing, yet for the tech geek in me, it is.

The show centers around Brian Sandro, a fictional member of the scene under the online moniker of Drosan. What’s fascinating about the action, since it all takes place in computer windows, is that the action is a series of events that transpire out of keystrokes — with rather disastrous consequences sometimes. Throw in some convoluted plot lines involving the FBI and the Asian mob, and you have a tale that just gets more sordid and complex over time. I quickly became glad I wasn’t in Brian’s shoes, as he generates one complication after the other.

What’s also fascinating is the way The.Scene appeals to your voyeuristic tendencies. You’re entranced with watching Brian do what he does, but get what he does through reading what he types. It’s a bit like looking over someone’s shoulder while they use the computer, without them knowing it. Somehow, that makes for a bit more intimate of an approach than just acting out the plot.

His computer habits also are fascinating. I find that these days, I multitask as much as possible. I tend to do four or five things at once when I use the computer. Brian is no different, and you’ll find yourself following two or three different plot points at the same time. While this might be confusing to someone who never uses a computer, it’s eminently familiar to anyone who does.

While I’m not sure how much broad appeal this series has (you probably wouldn’t be seeing this in a theater any time soon), the tech savvy crowd would probably find this series entertaining, especially if they have a fascination for the underground world of movie pirating. Considering this is primarily for distribution across P2P networks, I think it matches their target pretty closely. Be warned, though: every episode ends in a cliff hanger, so you’ll be left in the lurch for about three weeks until the next episode comes out.

Over the weekend I decided to check out the Ansel Adams exhibit at the Museum Of Fine Arts here in Boston. Apparently, so did a lot of other people. Fortunately, I didn’t have any trouble getting a ticket, unlike apparently some later arriving folk.

Ansel Adams is an iconoclastic figure in Americana. His amazing capture of the beauty of the American landscape in stunningly detailed black and white photos is unmatched. The current exhibition (on display through December 31, 2005) is the world’s largest private collection of Adams’s work, from his early 1920s work to his more recognizable recent offerings.

The first thing that strikes you is how different an impact the pictures make on display. My wife noted how we usually see Ansel Adams photographs in one format: large. Like giant coffee table book or poster-size large. To see things in a more photograph-sized environment definitely didn’t have quite the same impact.

What’s interesting is that his early work was done in the style of the day, which is to use a soft focus, printing on textured paper. Hence, all of his old work looks like fuzzy postcard or newsprint graphics. Two pictures of essentially the same location are on display in the first room, showcasing his early work as opposed to his later, and the results are striking.

You can thank one Paul Strand for that change. After seeing Strand’s work, Adams knew that the high focus, high contrast style was what he wanted, and the rest is history.

What I also found surprising was that Adams does interesting character studies as well. He’s obviously known for his nature scenes, and his character studies are few and far between, but images such as Trailer Camp Children evoke poignant emotions, leading the viewer to ask, “What do I see in this picture?” This photo was actually a quick, spur of the moment snapshot, taken on a borrowed camera.

One wonders what would have happened if Ansel Adams decided to pursue his career as a concert pianist. What would have happened had he given up when a fire destroyed a third of his negatives in the 1930s? Would someone else have stepped up to become this monumental figure in national imagery?

Overall, it was a decent exhibition, but like I noted before, seeing the pictures in smaller format is somehow anticlimatic. Expect a crowd as well — Ansel Adams has great general popularity, so lots of folks are angling to check it out.

Imagine taking a cross country trip, visiting places where rock and roll legends died. Combine this with a liberal dosage of girlfriend woes and pop references galore, and you’ll have something resembling Chuck Klosterman’s latest book, Killing Yourself To Live.

Chuck’s story begins in a sort of real-time monologue, that takes you on his twenty-one day journey across the country. At times, you feel like you’re with him each step of the way, in agonizing detail. Such is the peril of this stream of consciousness style.

The idea sounds simple: visit places where death and rock and roll met, then gather these thoughts together into a cohesive article for Spin. Only, as Chuck finds out, doing so is pretty pointless as far as inspiration goes. From the memorial to Great White’s Rhode Island disaster to the greenhouse where Kurt Cobain took his life, Chuck finds each succeeding destination less and less inspirational. Far from finding a link between death and music, he finds that each new locale doesn’t present him with any great insight.

However, also carrying through the tale is the story of Chuck’s love life. It’s this humanism that really makes the book start getting interesting. When you get beyond the pop culture references and start delving into relations with people, you start getting a story. Only, you don’t get one story. You get four. There’s Diane, his current infatuation; there’s Lenore, the hot chick; Quincy, the old flame; and Dee Dee, the older woman. Layered into there are other women, but in essence, it’s a story of Chuck agonizing in various ways over all four.

The only problem is, it never ties together. The explorations of death aren’t tied together neatly, in a way to make the journey meaningful. Nothing draws them together. The same with his relationships. Each problem is laid out, but at the end, you don’t feel that Chuck has really grown at all in that aspect. It’s hard to like what he’s saying, because he comes across as immature. You feel him at the end to be exactly the same as at the beginning: a boy who can’t really figure out how to have a truly meaningful relationship. In that sense, the whole exercise feels pointless.

However, if you’re reading this book, you probably aren’t reading it for plot structures and overriding themes. It’s the writing style that’s at stake. At times, I felt like I was reading some pages ripped out of his journal. As I first started reading, the pop culture references were overwhelming. Nebulous references to this or that particular album make Chuck come off as pretentious, but then you realize that you expect no less from a writer for Spin. Anyone who can relate the women in his life to each of the solo album efforts of KISS is creative, to say the least. To wit, he noted, “Has it really come to this? Have I become so reliant on popular culture that it’s the only way I can understand anything?” Yes, Chuck, you have.

Sure, the pop culture style of writing is interesting, but the obscure references will only carry you so far. However, magically, good lines of writing will suddenly appear. Consider the following, written regarding the ruins of the night club in Warwick, Rhode Island: “Small towns usually make their places of doom disappear. But that’s not the case here: In West Warwick, what used to be a tavern is now an ad hoc cemetery — which is the same role taverns play in most small towns, but not as obviously as this.”

He’ll suddenly make a poignant, thoughtful statement, which in the midst of so many superficial pop culture references stands out even more. These introspective moments are little surprises in the text: little pieces of meaningful thought and insight into his psyche, in an otherwise cluttered landscape.

While mildly entertaining, I found this book overall to be a little bit of a disappointment. Chuck has the potential to be a good writer, if he’d take the time to really settle into his style, tone down the pop culture, and think about what he wants to write before pounding out the pages. A meaningful piece of literature this is not (nor was it intended to be); however, a little bit of organization might have brought this all together into a wonderful work. It’s worth a read, but not if you have to put off that really good book.

“Who’s my pal, Ricky? Hmm? And what are you, Ricky, Bishop Sheen? What the fuck are you, Mr. Slick? Who– What the fuck are you, ‘Friend to the working man’? Big deal! Fuck you! You got the memory of a fucking fly!”

Ah, Glengarry, Glen Ross. It’s a curse fest from the playright David Mamet, showcasing the cutthroat dog-eat-dog world of sales. Over the weekend, I decided to check out the rendition of the play at the Royale Theater. It promised to impress — the cast included names such as Alan Alda (Hawkeye Pierce on “M*A*S*H”), Liev Shreiber (Scream 2 and 3), Jeffrey Tambor (Hank Kingsley on “The Larry Sanders Show”, father on “Arrested Development”), Frederick Weller (Armageddon), Tom Wopat (yes, the Tom Wopat, Luke from “The Dukes of Hazzard”), and Jordan Lage (State and Main). There seems to be a push for actors and actresses to do broadway shows, which I guess stems from the notion that the acting is more alive — it’s direct to the audience, with no re-takes. Hell, even Christina Applegate is making a showing on Broadway.

I’ve always loved GGGR. Ever since first watching the inimitable movie version, I’ve been a fan of this play. I read the original play as well, though having been exposed to the movie, I kept hearing the lines in a certain diction with a specific cast. For me, Shelley Levine will always be Jack Lemon.

What was interesting was to see everyone’s interpretation of the individual characters. Alda’s performance portrayed an even twitchier Levine, and was done with a nervous energy that really brought the character to life — quite believable, and quite real. The over the top anger brought to the stage by Gordon Clapp’s Moss really brought out the disgruntled salesman atmosphere. The way Clapp and Tambor played off each other in the first act was outstanding — perfect sync of lines. Tambor’s insecure and simple-minded George Aaronow was quite convincing and made for the perfect dose of comic relief. I couldn’t get into liking Schreiber’s Richard Roma, however. This was supposed to be a character who was quite likeable the first act, and I just couldn’t get there. On the other hand, acting as the top dog salesman in the second act was outstanding, and was a quite good rendition of a salesman “busting balls,” so to speak. Wopat’s role as James Lingk was a pretty bit part, but came across as quite affable and weak, as intended. I can’t say much about Lage’s Balen, because the character is so minor; it’s hard to get much across as a brusque police detective when you’re on stage for such a short period of time.

Which brings us to Frederick Weller. Weller’s portrayal of John Williamson just didn’t ring through to me. In the first act, Levine is talking to Williamson and constantly uttering a “now wait a second” or “let me finish”. However, Weller’s Williamson isn’t really even trying to get a word in edgewise. On the other hand, when Williamson is in the opposing role, Alda’s Levine does a perfect job trying to interject. Weller uttered the lines accurately, which is about as much good as I can say about his performance. The character lacked life and genuine emotion — perhaps with a few more runs, he can really settle into the character. If Weller can just inject a little emotion into his performances, and really feel the character’s depth, he can improve the flow of the play so much. We understand that you can memorize lines, Mr. Weller. Now, let’s see some acting.

Of course, Alda isn’t without error either. He stumbled on a line in my showing — in the second act, his line is something like, “Put me out of my misery,” to which he got to “Put me out of my m-”. Then, nothing. Five second pause. I felt the awkwardness wash over everyone on stage, as well as through the audience. To his credit, he picked right back up and jumped into the action, but I was thinking we were two seconds away from chaos. What happens if someone forgets their lines and can’t jump back into the flow on Broadway? Do people boo? Do we get a do-over? Does the actor stop and say, “Sorry, let me try that from the top.” That was probably as close to the answer as I’ll ever get.

Overall, the performance was quite enjoyable, if you’re a Mamet sort of fan. The set design was stunning — when the florescent lights kick on in the second set, you’ll believe you’re in an office. Impressive attention to detail went into the set, and that wasn’t unnoticed by myself or the rest of the audience.

In terms of theatrical purity, this was an excellent performance. With such a star-studded cast, I would have liked it if they had worked with David Mamet to rewrite a little bit of the play, and include Alec Baldwin’s character Blake from the movie rendition. Considering the decent casting, I’m sure even purists could appreciate the re-working, especially since Blake’s lines were written by Mamet himself. Blake has the commeasurate sell-or-get-the-fuck-out speech to beat all speeches, and its addition would have brought the play over the top.

Overall, I’d say this is a decent showing, and worth a watch. Perhaps not a must see, but definitely an entertaining way to spend the evening. If you’re in New York and looking for a taste of the brusque language of a David Mamet play, definitely give Glengarry, Glen Ross a try, followed by a discussion over coffee afterwards. Just remember: coffee is for closers only.

When you’re jaded by the Iraqi war, what do you do? Why, see one artist’s cynically ironic take on Iraqi war action figures, of course! That was my thought as I visited the Pepper Gallery in downtown Boston this weekend to see Peter Smuts’s “American Force Dolls” exhibit.

Using Barbie and G.I. Joe dolls, Smuts created a series of action figures (in packaging, with accessories) centering around the recent events in Iraq. Without going into detail on each of the half dozen or so dolls, rest assured that some dolls have shock value — such as the Homeland Bound soldier with attachable arms and legs.

Other people may get it, but I personally don’t. I mean, sure, there’s something to be said about a war throughout which we’re shown just a few archetypal roles. Yes, we often find ourselves stereotyping the players in this game; setting them up as action figures shows us the absurdity of trying to idealize the face of this war. However, I’m missing the deeper message. Viscerally, I couldn’t really appreciate the message being conveyed by this exhibit. Am I supposed to be shocked into recognition of the atrocities of the war? Am I supposed to feel like I’ve been duped by the focus of the media? Am I to sympathize with the characters on display? Should I feel angry with the administration?

I’m not exactly the target audience here, though. I don’t usually go to galleries. I’m not one of those people who go to a gallery, and utter, “Oh, I simply must have that for my living room!” I know very little about art, and even less about why people go to gallery exhibits. I just thought the exhibit sounded interesting, so decided to check it out. (Side note: the gallery scene really isn’t my idea of a good time.)

Now, if he had tossed in some My Little Pony cavalry attacking the Millenium Falcon, that I could dig! I wish I could still play with toys.

Jazz is one of those quite overly general terms that covers a broad spectrum of music. I’m a traditionalist; I like my jazz old school, and am a big fan of structure. Dave Brubeck sometimes makes me bop my head like a Charlie Brown reject. However, I find the newer stuff to be quite elusive.

Nonetheless, last night I dropped by Ryles Jazz Club in Inman Square to check out the jazz group the Prana Trio. In the words of front woman sunnY, the “Prana Trio is an eclectic ensemble comprised of sunnY (voice), Evan Halloin (Bass) and Brian Adler (Drums). The group is dedicated to exploring original compositions, free improvisations and works by the poet Rumi.” While I missed their feature on NPR, I heard a few samples of their music on Brian Adler’s web site.

To be honest, after listening to the samples briefly, I didn’t think very much of it, but decided to check out the show anyway. I’m used to fairly metered music, so freeform improvisational music sometimes gets lost on me. I like structure, and much of the music lacked it.

However, it was hearing it live that made it all come together. It’s a completely different experience. Brian Adler’s drumming seemed simple at first, but unfolded in complexity and beat. The bass of Evan Halloin likewise went from simple strumming to inspirational rifts. Sunny Kim’s vocals were surprisingly deep and expansive — I was reminded of Lisa Gerrard’s vocal journeys with Dead Can Dance at parts. The closer I listened, the more the differing lines combined to take you on an imaginative journey.

Not surprisingly, I still appreciated “Regrets” a lot more than the other tracks, mostly because I like structure. However, if you only listen to “Regrets”, you miss out on the other dynamics — you miss out on the freeform exploration of their music. It’s these other, looser tracks that really open up emotionally, and carry you along their composition. The seemingly effortless way the vocals and bass move together quickly and in synchronicity in “Nalgene Bottles” is impressive. The soulful efforts of “Being” put you in an otherworldly David Lynchian realm.

Prana Trio’s after dark is a unique, fresh take on the jazz scene, as a welcome break from the same-old, same-old. The music may not be for everyone, but I found a lot to like in this album. If you’re looking for something a little different (and aren’t confined to simple beats), give them a whirl.