#volume21issue4

by liam creaser

   On Archy Marshall’s second record under the King Krule name, the British 23 year old crafts a dark and vivid atmosphere through soundscapes reminiscent of a bleak, rainy night. The OOZ is nineteen tracks and just over an hour of Marshall’s trademark deep accent and clean reverbed guitars, and incorporates soft, background saxophones and an array of mellow keyboards and samples.

  Marshall could not have picked a better time to release this album. Since it came out on October 13th, The OOZ has been the soundtrack to the cold winds of a night in autumn. The album almost seems to follow some sort of narrative–it gives the image of Marshall drunkenly bouncing around a desolate cityscape in the cold, popping into jazz clubs and grimey alleyways only to find his way to the sidewalk beneath the moon again. Some tracks even offer spooky sounds, like “Vidual” which comes out of nowhere with a sinister groove and howl where you can almost picture skeletons and jack-o-lanterns dancing along. It’s a very October album, but the sound is guaranteed to resonate with anyone looking for introspection while roaming at night beneath the streetlights.

  Any sucker for major-seven melancholia and wistfulness is sure to fall in love with tracks like “Logos” and “Cadet Limbo”, while fans of the more gritty, underbelly of London sound will feel at home with “Dum Surfer” and “Half Man Half Shark”. The theme of blue appears again on “Lonely Blue” (and the cover of the album). On many of the songs on his previous album, Marshall refers to the color as if it’s a person, perhaps even a lover. The two King Krule releases are very different in terms of atmosphere, arrangement, and execution, but it was interesting to see Marshall reprise a recurring theme throughout his work. The album’s variety of sounds is certainly the highlight, but his lyrics act as a hidden gem if one wanted to read even further inside Marshall’s head.

  Like 6 Feet Beneath the Moon before it, The OOZ incorporates a variety of styles including punk, jazz, hip hop, and crooning ‘50s rock and roll. Marshall’s vocal style ranges from softly spoken to low crooning in an almost Elvis fashion to borderline rapping to screaming until his accent completely obscures his lyrics. It’s important to note his use of arrangement in the tracklist: while the constant jumping around from sounds (from loud to soft, from confrontational to reflective) may seem disorganized and muddled, it’s really what gives the album its strength. The songs may not flow or segue into each other like many albums with distinct atmospheres do, but King Krule was able to pull off that atmosphere by having an overarching feel to the album through a consistent use of instrumentation and melancholy themes rather than keeping the same sound from song to song.

by andrew salerno

   Horror is a vast and expansive genre, and with hundreds of duds produced it may be easy to overlook some of the gems of the genre. As it is the spooky season, I’d like to bring back a movie that you might have never seen, but should definitely be watching.

  Jennifer’s Body costars Amanda Seyfried and Megan Fox, who play high school best friends from a small town that gets shaken up by some supernatural shenanigans. Jennifer (Megan Fox), becomes possessed by a demon which makes her eat teenage boys in order to stay pretty, and her best friend has to deal with the repercussions of this. The movie could be horrendously bad with that plot and I’d still watch, but it’s a good thing that doesn’t happen to be the case here.

  The writing of this movie is breathtakingly fabulous, with the perfect marriage of millennial humor, coming of age clichés, and horror movie tropes. The amount of amazing lines in this movie is outrageous, with everything from “It smells like Thai food in here, have you guys been fucking?” to “PMS isn't real Needy, it was invented by the boy-run media to make us seem like we're crazy.” There are countless pop culture references hidden in the script, which makes it even that much more enjoyable to our generation. I would argue that this movie has a well-deserved cult following, based alone on how much the fans enjoy and recite the lines exactly as they’re written.

  As for the music, the soundtrack for this movie couldn’t be any more beautiful curated for what this movie is; try picturing what your angsty teen self listened to sophomore year of high school and this movie probably has it. With songs from All Time Low, Paramore, Panic! at the Disco, Florence + the Machine, and Dashboard Confessional, you’re bound to experience symptoms of PPSD (post-puberty stress disorder).

  The real reason this piece of art is so incredibly amazing, is that it fully utilizes its unique modern femininity, and uses that to express a distinct flavor not usually found in mainstream blockbusters. You have a fully realized vision with the essence of a niche high school comedy, and the sleek cool style of a modern horror movie. There are few movies out there that can match the darkly cynical, yet relatable tone that this movie puts out, while managing to carry the tone throughout the whole piece. The creative team was one not to be reckoned with, thanks to the directing by Karyn Kusama and the screenwriting of Diablo Cody (Brook Busey-Maurio), who both provided the motherly love needed to create something truly special.

  Jennifer’s Body is a campy horror comedy, but the deeper themes at work deserve to not be looked over. It’s a story of unspoken and unrequited love between two girls, and failing human connections. It’s a horror story about losing your innocence in a moment’s notice, and learning to live when everything’s been flipped on its head. Most importantly, it’s a look into the contemptuous relationship between female friends, and the trials and tribulations that society puts young women through.

by andrew salerno

by sebastian melmouth

by kelly duggan

   Once upon a spooky October night, a sensible mother named Mary was driving her Honda Odyssey back home from City Market. It had been another late one at the office, but luckily she managed to do a little shopping for the kids’ school lunches before the co-op closed. Mary hummed along to her favorite CD, “The Best of the Allman Brothers” as she drove up Pearl St and stopped at the light. Not many people out tonight, Mary pondered. The moon was full. Mary continued driving, a little spooked by the empty roads but tried not to think too much of it. She especially didn’t want to think too much of the tiny black car that seemed to be following her.

  Mary continued down Williston Rd, hoping that the tiny black car would turn down 89 or down Dorset St. It didn’t, but she worked to get it out of her mind. The car kept following her, getting closer at each red light. A bit startled, Mary sped up in her Honda Odyssey. The tiny black car sped up with her, tailgating her closely, and then began to flash its high beams!

  Confused and scared, Mary took a sharp turn down a random street to see if she could lose the tiny back car. She was speeding now, her heart racing to the beat of the Allman Brothers Band’s “Whipping Post”. Mary drove past the suburban homes of the quaint neighborhood; all the windows in the houses were dark, for it was late. The children would be in bed by now, as well as her husband Christopher. If anything were to happen, they wouldn’t know until the morning.

  The tiny black car raced after Mary, still flashing their headlights. Mary tried to peer into her rear view mirror to see who it was trying to follow her down the winding country road, but it was to no avail–their windshield appeared black as the night. Mary decided her best bet was to get home as fast as possible. That way, if she were in any danger at all, at least she could yell to Christopher for help.

  Mary turned back onto the main road and sped home, the tiny black car still following her closely and flashing its high beams. Her heart was pounding; she was afraid she might faint. Finally, she pulled into her driveway, braced herself, and ran out of her Honda Odyssey and up her walkway to the front door. She jostled her key into the doorknob, her hands shaking, when suddenly-- “Hey!” Mary’s heart stopped. She turned slowly. Sure enough, it was the owner of the tiny black car, parked behind her.

  “Can I help you?” Mary demanded. She tried to recall the self-defense lessons she had learned back in college, but nothing seemed to resonate. She wished she had a pistol like her father always recommended.   

  “I’m so sorry if I scared you on the way here. I just wanted to warn you that I think there’s someone in your trunk. They kept reaching up behind you and crouching back down when I flashed my high beams. It looked a little like child star Macaulay Culkin. I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

  Aghast, Mary stared into the windows of her Honda Odyssey. Could it be true? Sure enough, as if summoned, the door to her car swung open and a dark figure stepped out. Chills ran down Mary’s spine as he approached. When he finally became visible, both Mary and the owner of the tiny black car gasped. “Child star Macaulay Culkin?!”

  The Home Alone star stood before them, no longer a child. He looked as weathered as ever. His pale white skin shone in the moonlight, almost transparent.

  “Please ma’am…” he whimpered. “Please. I saw you buying Mac n Cheese at City Market and I just wanted to know if you’d be so kind as to make me a box….I’ve been home alone for weeks…”

  “Get off my lawn!” Mary screamed.

  “Please, ma’am…she took everything when she left…”