Toughest Little Indian in the World

By: Charles John Babcock, Managing Editor

Comic book writers are sometimes few and far between. Some get the jobs done plainly and ordinarily fun and concise, but some like Ed Brubaker, Grant Morrison, and Alan Moore, blow the others out of the water. Jason Aaron is the newest name going into the conversation about great comic book characters, and “Scalped” is one of the prime reasons why.

Set on an Indian Reservation in South Dakota, Dashiell “Dash” Bad Horse comes back to his home and finds Chief Red Crow setting up a new casino, and the head of both the local crime, as well as the police. Right from the first chapter, the intrigue is staggering when Dash joins Red Crows’ men after having attempted to take on about 15 by himself, meeting his mother’s new boyfriend, dealing with a mother he hasn’t seen in years, and by the time you find out Dash is an F.B.I agent, you’re sucked right in.

The interesting setting works wonders for the team on the book, giving R.M. Guera the kind of quiet and moody panels he can draw so well with his uneasy line work, and Aaron has a helluva time writing the people on the reservation. The characters look like they’ve had a rough life, which any reading of the story can tell you: they have. Their stories are deep and plentiful, and by the end of “Indian Country,” the first volume of the series, you can tell you’ve barely seen even the tip of the iceberg.

Take for instance Dash’s old love, Carol, who just so happens to be Red Crow’s estranged daughter. To say that Carol and her father are at odds is an understatement, and it only becomes clearer as it goes further. Dash’s relationship with Carol will lead him down some strange paths as well, not before having physically fought with her, and then made love to her, of course.

The plot of “Scalped” is so well done, it ranks up there with great crime narratives like “The Wire” and “The Sopranos.” The tension between Dash and Red Crow, and the fear that Dash will be found out for the undercover he is, never stops, and at each turn of the story, it is clear that the next page could spell the end for Dash.

The imagery of the reservation and the world that is “Scalped” is something of a vicious undertaking. The Midwestern beauty and the decay of the reservation are omnipresent at all times, owing no small part to Guera’s fine work and Lee Loughridge’s expert colors (sidenote: Loughridge is one of the finest colorists working). There’s an energy to the art, subdued and heavy, representing the land and the characters within in a kind of accuracy and painstaking reality that aches.

There are multiple story lines within the collection, from flashbacks involving Dash’s mother and Red Crow’s old days as part of the “Red Power” movement, and connections to Dash’s contact within the Bureau, to Dash’s memories of his mother and the place from where he came. It is all juggled well, and with a fantastic execution that makes the last page of the collection such a heart-stopping one, that no one will see coming.

Currently “Scalped” is ending soon, and the story continues past this first volume amazingly, getting better and better as it goes along, both in writing and art. Jason Aaron currently is a writer at Marvel comics of things like “The Hulk,” “Wolverine and The X-Men,” as well as being part of the big summer crossover-event “Avengers Vs. X-Men.”

Exit Music: All Us Gonzos On A Strange Ride

By: Charles John Babcock, Managing Editor

We’re all Gonzos in our own way (that’s slang for weirdo, if you don’t know). But being a part of the YouTube generation means we’re not just in remote control; we’re in a total coup over the media world. The Internet has held over the previous fetish-obsession of the 1990’s and allowed our youthful skins to bask in it. Off-beat, awkward, quirky, and maybe even “Zooey Deschanel” is an adjective at this point, but whatever word you want to use, there’s music ripping masks off of itself and its own genre.

There’s plenty of tripped out material for the long ride between fear and loathing home for this graduating Bloomsburg senior.

Let’s focus first on two artists from the 4AD record label. First, SpaceGhostPurp and his “Blvckvnd Rvdix 66.6 (1991)” mixtape. There are the strange names, the ghost of 1990’s hip hop hanging in SpaceGhostPurp’s music like moss from a particularly trendy tree, and a track like “Tha Phonk,” with a haunting beat, sexually explicit lyrics, and precarious insert samples of a woman presumably moaning (though it sounds like a loop of a tortured scream). The lack of emotional resonance for the drive home is something rather alarming, though in other places on the mixtape he may go in interesting places, he hasn’t yet crafted a track that emotionally captures something from the 1990s like Tupac or Biggie.

On the complete other side of spectrum is Grouper. A female singer-songwriter not easily dismissed is one sly way of putting it. More accurate would be a goth and reverb-ed out construction of a female by a female. Grouper’s track “Heavy Water/ I’d Rather Be Sleeping,” is possibly the most emotional resonant any singer-songwriter (outside of perhaps Katheleen Edwards and country queen Lucinda Williams), that it can get. The perfect tune for thoughts of the cosmic burden of existence, as well as getting out of bed, the track strikes a cord and reminds me a lot of my years at Bloomsburg, slow days of the muddiest town in Pennsylvania in bright sun.

There are of course all types of remixes and varities of changes to songs that take tradition and turn it on their heads. Bloomsburg days seem like inaccurate photocopies of their own yesterdays.

Interesting looks back at songs make up suburban genres like Witch House and Drag. Perusing things like bandcamp.com, you’ll find these eventually. Both of these genres take a lot from Houston rap culture, particularly the codeine influence of the remix style “chopped and screwed” as perfected by the Swishahouse collective (check out UGK’s “Diamonds and Wood” to get a great example of the remix genre). There are remixes of contemporary pop trash, like “When The Chains Break” a Drag version of “Cannibal” by Ke$ha, which is done fantastically by DEERDUS† (check out their ep “Blank Looks on Teenage Girls”). Avoid bands like SALEM who ride Goth-Rap cliché and mediocre hipsterism hard, though their Britney Spears track “Till The World Ends” is a must YouTube (how non-conformist, YouTube as a verb).

There is of course a cream of the crop when it comes to Drag and Witch House, namely PARTY TRASH. The drag of “Will You Be There” by Michael Jackson (R.I.P., YOLO), is immediately post-ironic and classic, not to mention emotionally crushing, and can be seen as MJ asking for love, PARTY TRASH looking for fans, or a recent undergrad fumbling his way on Route 80.

‘Archie’ Meets Crime and Murder

By: Charles John Babcock, Managing Editor

Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips have been long-term, award winning collaborators for nearly a decade now. Their newest collaboration, “The Last of the Innocent,” recently earned them a nod for Best Limited Series at the comic-book equivalent of the Oscars, the Eisners. 

The story focuses on Riley Richards, a man who is married to a woman who drags him down, and what lengths he goes to murder her and getaway to a new life. This is a typical crime story where a guy kills his wife, but what Brubaker and Phillips do, particularly with the story having a complete parallel with the life of the famous comic character, Archie, makes it a very satisfactory read.

Riley Richards has his Veronica in his wife, Felicity - Felix for short. Her father not only employs Riley, but also has a lot of pull in the city they live in, making him a kind of crime kingpin for Riley to avoid. Riley also has his Betty in Teeg, the girl next door. Rounding out the cast is his childhood best friend and resident drug addict, Freakout, a stand-in for Jughead. 

After the death of his own father, Brubaker thought about his childhood, which the writer says was heavily influenced by comic books like “Archie,” as well as “Encyclopedia Brown.” These influences seep into “Last of the Innocent” as flashbacks, with Phillips adopting a new, more cartoon-y style. Brubaker, however, being one of the best writers in the industry (having won Best Writer by both the Harveys and the Eisners, multiple times) updates the dialogue, and instead of a childish coy-ness, the vulgarity of teenage youth is brought out, along with drug use and sexual situations.  

The mood is slightly off kilter, Martin Scorcese by way of David Lynch (to use film directors). The switching back and forth of the traditional comic style Phillips normally employs and his more cartoon-y style is a refreshing change of pace. Later in the story, the two styles merge slightly, something only a top artist can pull off, and Phillips knocks it out of the ballpark unmercifully. 

Phillips’ shadowy and noir visuals are handled very well by the colorists on the book. Normally, Phillips is colored by Val Staples, an amazing colorist in his own right, but after chapter two, the book is colored by Dave Stewart. Stewart is the most sought-after colorist currently in the comic book industry, owning year after year the Best Colorist category at the Eisners. The subtle newness that Stewart’s colors bring to Phillips’ art is inspired. Phillips having worked so long with Staples, his  shadow heavy style seems have new life given to it, making the already fantastic art even better.

These stunning visuals present Brubaker’s story in a criminally good way. The characters all seem real. Even the strange decision on Riley Richards’ part to murder his own wife becomes understood and more reasonable as the story goes on, becoming almost a grasp for the American Dream. This is neo-noir done with all of the brilliant twists and turns that crime narratives can take. On par with stories like the television series “The Wire” and “Breaking Bad,” “The Last of the Innocent” takes the troupes and reinvents them, creating something better in its wake. 

The result of all of this is one truly amazing collected graphic novel. All of the suspense, sex, and crime are genius and when all of the deeds shake out, there are characters hurt and broken, as with any true noir. The ending is truly shocking, and leaves the reader wanting to read more stories of its kind.

It’s a good thing too because the collaborative relationship of Brubaker and Phillips goes back until roughly 2003, with “Sleeper” for Wildstorm Comics. Through the years, they’ve worked on Batman (“Batman Noir”), two volumes of their own “Incognito” series, and their critically crowning achievement, their “Criminal” series, a collection of issues in a shared universe that can be read like paperback crime novels. Currently they’re working on “Fatale” for Image Comics. 

Exit Music: There The Sad Ones Were

By: Charles John Babcock, Managing Editor

Sadness and isolation in our rainy little valley have plenty of soundtracks. Whether it be the bleeding minimalism of James Blake’s “Limit To Your Love,” or the hung over decay of “The Fall” by The Weeknd, Bloomsburg is well bereaved in this respect.

The feeling of graduation at this point is one of desperate breaths, the kind you get when you’re being drowned, or getting a broken heart. 

Driving out of Bloomsburg on May 12 will be something like a catharsis wrapped in a tear stained baby blanket; this is what my therapist tells me. Between the staring out of windows and the dulcet tones of “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now,” especially that wonderful falsetto, graduating seems even farther than it did four years ago.

All of these songs mentioned so far, with their pain and anguish, even their falsettos, can’t bring about the happier part of the coin. Sure, it is easy to wallow in self-worthlessness and watch your other graduating friends buy Adderall in the library on the first floor. 

There are bittersweet songs though, such as “Romantic Streams” by Sleep ∞ Over, with the near-disembodied singer, a voice of a scorned lover, and shivering synthesizers (I personally prefer the sad water flow of the Balam Acab remix, with its intermittent bits of optimism). There’s also “With Your Friends (Long Drive)” by Skrillex, whose own disembodied voices, without real, audible, understandable speech, convey the same feelings through a seemingly completely new language of sampled voices. Those “music-purists” who think only “real instruments” can convey things, hopefully read an earlier column; for those who didn’t...get off planet outdated already.

Sure, I could be cool and list Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ In The Wind” as the perfect song for these emotions. Bittersweet and encompassing, the legendary song creates a picture perfect route out of town, with a landscape out the driver’s side window, and all the memories on a hill at my back. Of course, to hell with the classics. I didn’t go to school during Bob Dylan’s highest days.

Something contemporary to these days would be Burial’s “Fostercare” or “U Hurt Me.” Yet, the UK electronic music God that is Burial doesn’t seem appropriate for such a rustic area until visions of urban decline reach the eye within the coal region (I think as a culture, we’re all just fracking away our futures, anyway).

Probably the only song I like from the 1990’s is “Motorcycle Drive-By” by Third Eye Blind (I also like Wu-Tang, so that remark is untrue.) The continuous haze of the song is poignant and delightful. “Motorcycle Drive-By” didn’t come out during my tenure at Bloomsburg, but it is still in the running though for my discovery and caring about 90’s music during my stay here. 

Along the lines of sad electronic pieces mentioned earlier is Pittsburgh’s own Rivka, a kind of doom chillwave, with “Hey (Feat. Hope Vanucci)” off of Rivka’s wonderful self titled release (check rivka.bandcamp.com if you’re interested). The song is over-saturated in sun, the complete feeling for the weather lately. It also strangely reminds me of a party attended with a former Voice staff member, where we entered a bedroom decorated with a drumset and a queen size bed, where strangers were walking up to what appeared to be a helium tank and filling balloons while inhaling the balloons. This song fits the Exit Music criteria of providing nostalgia, the correct emotions, but sadly lacks the sing-along vocals required for such escapes. Perhaps outright sadness isn’t the correct option for the exit soundtrack to a college career.

Exit Music: Indie Rock, Paper, Scissors

By: Charles John Babcock, Managing Editor

This column received its name from a Radiohead song. Now, before you jump down my throat that Radiohead is not cool enough for an exit song, I would like to tell you: you’re right.

We’ve all seen “The Breakfast Club” and its rousing Rock ‘n Roll ending, a fist of defiance in the American system, exactly the kind of moment one should seek for leaving their undergraduate days. It says it all, that you’ve made it out alive, despite their best attempts to thwart your life force.

The awful state of rock’n’roll shouldn’t be shocking. The messiahs of The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Bob Dylan, and other social rebels have become socially beloved fiends. The mystery of “gasp” group sex and drug fueled rage isn’t the average now; it is the norm. The love everyone creedo is the typical advice given out to the disaffected youth. The emo(tional) are scoffed at for not being drugged or sexed enough. Fall Out Boy is probably the biggest Christ of the Rock movement in recent memory; can anyone say they have snarl?

At Exit Music, there’s an attempt to be the pretentious gasp of I-Knew-This-Before-You, but I think this understanding of Rock is evident (the irony of devil horns will be cut from this article in a moment of silence for victims of recent crimes). So, what’s the soundtrack to drive out on?

Poliça’s new record “Give You The Ghost” and its standout and single “Lay Your Cards Out” is the most ballsy Rock that’s been heard in...oh, I don’t know, since maybe the Foo Fighter’s last record (that was sarcasm). The Sade vibe and auto-tune are everything that Rock was, a co-opting of other styles to make a sexual and rebellious feeling generate. Of course, anyone with any understanding of my feelings for Bloomsburg would know that sexual copulation is the last thing I want to illicit on my drive away from Boozeburg.

Bands like Fireworks and The Wonder Years are fine. They’re inoffensive. The points they make on religion, and seemingly the unfortunate demise of American Suburban Youth are duly noted, but where does that kind of guitar sound lead us? Sure, “Pumped Up Kicks” by Foster The People is faux-violence, kind of like the term post-internet is faux-important. No one outside of hipster Brooklyn cares about the shoes, and no one inside of Brooklyn could be buggered to listen to that vapid sound of, again, American Youth eating its own tail.

There may be some doubt; if Americans are leading us astray, then perhaps foreigners can do the job? Certainly they always have in Rock before. Coldplay? Is New Jersey considered foreign? Does that mean that My Chemical Romance is the hope I search for? The Pains of Being Pure At Heart sound like a britpop band, with their dreamy blend of vocals and shoegaze vulgarity of guitar tone. They’re from New York. Their excellent song “Belong” is a cascading and rebellious tune in itself. That’s probably the only foreign song one can think of in these troubling days.

If you haven’t figured it out, I’ve been stepping over the obvious issue. Rock Music is dead. I’m sorry, society, but you heard it here first: that term is no more. Instead, we have things like Indie Rock (guys with American Apparel outfits), Pop Rock (guys trying to sound like the Fray/Coldplay or Nickleback), Folk Rock (guys with beards), and Chick Rock (women singer songwriters, which is, truly honest and unrelatable for a Y-chromosome bearer such as myself). Welcome to the future, where there is not one rock; there are many stones.