Showing posts with label david lynch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label david lynch. Show all posts


Album Review: David Lynch - The Big Dream


David Lynch has been away from film far too long. Admittedly as the master of disturbing cinematic dreams that transcend genre and all attempts at classification, Lynch never seemed to fit with the Hollywood scene. An artist seemingly oblivious to convention, the living icon of a man has unsurprisingly turned his sights away from the silver screen since 2006's Inland Empire. Focusing instead on transcendental meditation, his personal line of organic coffee, and occasional short flicks, Lynch has also increasingly dabbled in the world of the music.

The Big Dream, Lynch's second full-length solo record, arrives close to the release of Nine Inch Nails' "comeback" music video, directed by Lynch and featuring surreal imagery akin to his debut film Eraserhead. Such surrealism carries over to Lynch's electro-blues sophomore musical effort, a slickly produced, vaguely nightmarish, lyrically disjointed attempt at capturing his art in album form.

Reminiscent of the endearingly high-pitched, childlike vocals of Daniel Johnston, Lynch's distinct voice rambles along rather smoothly to a mix of sensual beats, noirish guitar chords, and folky train-hopping rhythms. Less experimental than one might expect from the lord of the strange, The Big Dream nonetheless matches simple "I want you" sentiments with offbeat reflections on sock colors, foreign beers, and shotgun suicides in a manner that feels characteristically Lynchian.

The album's penultimate track, "The Line It Curves," washed in a rich synthetic ambience, contains more clarity and achingly raw desire than a listener might expect from Mr. Lynch. The dreaminess of his vision seems to add up to something more lucid than previous tracks suggest, and by the time "Are You Sure" concludes the work, Lynch proves a "Wild at Heart" romantic. The Big Dream isn't as big as Lynch's greatest achievements, but it is dreamy and it is Lynch.

Grade: B





Music Video: David Lynch - "Crazy Clown Time"





Music has always been an essential part of David Lynch’s films, from his contextualizing of Roy Orbison’s “In Dreams” as a pervert’s anthem to the Angelo Badalamenti soundscapes that frequent his films. Being a director that aims for titillating the senses rather than constructing a narrative, music has always been an essential component to a mood that has since been coined as “Lynchian.” In November 2011 David released his debut album, Crazy Clown Time—15 tracks with a bluesy-electronic feel meandering over digitalized vocals. Rarely with choruses, always creepy over catchy, these songs felt more like a soundtrack to a movie never made than a standalone piece. This week Lynch released a music video to the song “Crazy Clown Time,” the first widely distributed directorial work he has done since the feature film Inland Empire in 2006. It’s seven minutes of weird—strobe lights and fires, primal violence, vomit, all the standard Lychian fare—which as typical as it sounds for a Lynch fan, actually suggests a new kind of relationship toward music.

The video (featured below) captures some sort of backyard cookout of debauchery, staring a jock, blocked out nipples, and Dali’s mustache. Lynch is the narrator, literally, as he speaks into a microphone and describes exactly what’s going on. When David says, ‘Danny spit on Suzie,’ well… we are watching Danny spit on Suzie. Using music as a guide, as a literal interpretation, certainly puts the song more in the forefront; however, it somehow fragments the complexity that commonly occurs in Lynchian madness. Usually the music adds to some his unspoken themes, whether the sexual repression of 50’s pop or the embracement of darkness through blues, but here the visual is simply a mirror of the song, the song a mirror of the visual. Perhaps his films of the past were so strong because the medium gave him enough structure that his art could flourish without becoming unhinged. Or perhaps Lynch in his old age is less interested in trying to channel his existential motifs as much as he wants to play in the studio. Either way, it’s fucked-up seven minutes; give it a watch.  





Zachary Lis