Song: David Sylvian 'Silver Moon' (1986)

Here's a bit of buried treasure for you. I'm a pretty massive fan of Mr. Sylvian's music, most of the time, but I have yet to discover much affection for his record Gone to Earth. It swarms with unappealing qualities, particularly that pretentious sort of spiritualism which always makes me want to smack those afflicted by it upside the head in the hope that they'll come to their senses. It's not one of the triumphs of his career (unlike the absolutely perfect Secrets of the Beehive, of which I will write more at some point). Silver Moon, however, is a completely different sort of fish. This swooning little gem of a song seems completely at odds with the rest of the album; psuedo-Eastern mysticism gives way to lush romanticism, accompanied by a lithe, swaying beat unlike anything else on the record. The rich, silky warmth of many-layered instrumentation contrasts marvellously with the simple (and simply perfect) vocal, making for a deliriously lovely confection:

...Of course, having written all about why I can't stand Gone to Earth, I shall most likely listen to the whole record sixteen times in a row and end up falling in love with it after all, which is what always happens for me with Sylvian records. I didn't like Brilliant Trees at first either, and now I think it's, well, brilliant. Gone to Earth has got a lot going for it (like Steve Nye, for example - and Bill Nelson, Robert Fripp, & Richard Barbieri - and my favourite drummer of all time, Steve Jansen), so perhaps I ought to give it rather more of a chance.

Film: 'The End of the Line' (2009)

 Imagine a world with no fish. This should bother you. If it does, watch this film. If it doesn't (you hate fish, you never eat them; or, you love fish, but you know there are plenty of them in the sea), watch it anyway. I'm f*cking serious this time, kids. Most of what I review here is for my own amusement, and I don't really mind whether or not you seek it out beyond the reviews. This one is different; I really, really want you to go and watch it.

Yeah, I know - I hate nature docs, and I never recommend them. This is not a nature doc. This is a documentary about the horrifying impact human appetite and avarice has on the no-longer-natural world. Ever gone out for sushi? Surf 'n' turf? Made good old-fashioned chowder, or baked a nice filet of haddock? Do you know where the filling in your tuna sandwich was caught, and how? These are easy questions to answer, though the simple-enough answers may lead you towards rather more frightening truths.

Please watch the film. It's easy to get, via netflix or a library. Make your friends watch it. Make your mom watch it (maybe she'll stop making that really horrible salmon casserole every time you visit). I know it's tough. I know you don't want to know what your fellow humans have done to the world you live in, and how you've inadvertently helped them out with that. I sure as hell wish I didn't have to know any of it. But I do know, and I want and wish and hope and pray for you to know too, because I would like to have some world left for us to keep on living in.

For more information regarding what this is all about (and what you can do about it), visit  http://endoftheline.com/campaign/.

You can (and I hope you will) also read journalist Charles Clover's book, The End of the Line: How Overfishing Is Changing the World and What We Eat, upon which this film was based.

Film: 'War, Inc.' (2008)

I was a bit surprised by this one. We watched it despite all the unfavourable reviews, because we love John Cusack (because, seriously, who doesn't love John Cusack?), and you know what? Screw that ol' sourpuss Roger Ebert; we loved it. It was funny and cute, and also a pretty decent satire of all the things it was trying to be a satire of. Joan Cusack was, as always, adorably awful (and far too scarce); John Cusack, as always, bore an adorable resemblance to a kicked puppy (you know the face I'm talking about...can I get an 'awww?"). I'd expected Hilary Duff to be completely loathly, but she was absolutely perfect and, surprisingly, rather likeable. It ain't great cinema, but if you like explosions, shootouts, slutty Central Asian pop divas, hot sauce shots, and Cusacks, you'll probably enjoy it anyway.

Book: Otto Penzler, ed. 'Zombies! Zombies! Zombies!' (2011)

Dude. There are so many zombies in this book. George Romero would plotz if he saw all the zombies in this book, that's how many there are. Verdict? Awesome!

I'm actually pretty goddamned zombied out; their constant influx in recent years has raised the durned varmints to nearly the same pinnacle of ubiquity as vampires (well, okay, maybe not quiiite that high a level of cultural saturation). What makes this anthology cool and different is that most of the stories are old, and when I say old, I mean even older than your mom (well, okay, maybe not your mom; I hear she was the one who wrapped The Mummy...). The majority of these zombies date from the 1920s through 40s, when they originally graced the pages of delightfully lurid pulp productions like Weird Tales, and the prose surrounding them is satisfyingly over-the-top. H. P. Lovecraft puts in a few token appearances, as do a great many views of Haiti. The shambling brain-eater is almost (though not entirely) a non-presence here; in hisorher place we find the Svengali-drugged sleepwalker; the unearthed corpse controlled by one sick bastard of a shaman; the accident victim returned to something resembling life by the Powah of Troo Luv (sickening but sorta sweet, like rotten candy)... If you're in the mood for delightfully diverting trash, give this landfill of undead 'literature' a go.

Film: 'Johnny Mnemonic' (1995)

This movie had sooo much potential. Henry Rollins, Takeshi Kitano, Udo Kier, Ice-T, Dolph Lundgren, and Dina Meyer, all on the same screen, complete with scripting by the legendary William Gibson? Yes, please! Sadly, much of that potential was swallowed up by dumb*ss editing. Oh, and the total lack of Molly Millions, originally the main character...in point of fact, the story is almost completely unrecognizable to any self-respecting Gibson fan. Also sadly, Keanu Reeves.

Good points: Henry Rollins <3 <3 <3 ! He's always supercrazyawesome in bad movies, even though his characters always die, and he should totally wear big glasses more often. Ice-T was awesome, too - he's a surprisingly good actor, in addition to being the most bad*ss of all rappers. And Dina Meyer's always pleasing to look upon, though I liked her way better as Oracle. Also, the retrofuturistic technology is hilarious (they still use minidiscs! In 2021!).

Bad points: The terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad mid-90s special effects. The awful, abrasive soundtrack. Also, poor Dolph's repulsive Street Jesus getup; it is a crime and a sin to paste a grubby fake beard on that gloriously stereotypical action-man face - and the hair is just plain disgusting:

Get 'im, Henry!

Book: Walter Jon Williams 'This Is Not A Game'

I grabbed this off the sci-fi paperback shelf at the library without really looking at it, because I was desperate and because the tagline on the cover is sort of cool ( 'a novel of greed, betrayal, and social networking'). This technique of reading-material-acquisition usually leads to me reading half of a boring book, getting bored, and giving it to someone else so they can become bored too. I actually made my dad, Mr. Scientific Guinea Pig, read this one first, because I was worried it would be too boring for me. He loved it! After I watched him rapidly turn pages while gleefully chortling for a couple of days, it became imperative that I read the book myself. I'm awfully glad I did, because it's awesome!  The combination of ARGs, rampant gold-farming bots running amok, product-of-Caltech geeks who accidentally crash bits of the global economy, and also a handful of murders, makes for a most excellently thrilling read.

Special bonus: a lot of writers in the cyberpunk genre seem to find it impossible to write convincing female characters*. I think this is mostly because they sit down and try to write about a 'girl' as opposed to writing about a 'person,' and everyone knows that girls don't think or act anything like normal people do. Mr. Williams understands that gender is irrelevant to geekery; protagonist Dagmar, who is most definitely a geek, is a very believable girl character just because she thinks and acts like a geek rather than like a geek's idea of a girl. This is delightful.

* excepting the illustrious William Gibson, whose Bigend Trilogy is full of wonderfully lifelike ladies who bear a suspicious resemblance to human beings.

Film: 'Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence' (1983)

This is - an extraordinary film. I don't think I've felt so moved by any other; there may simply not be any other which so tangibly portrays the utter madness of men in times of war. The four main characters, placed in impossible circumstances by the enmity of their countries and cultures and by their own conflicting feelings, alternately support and destroy one another in a heart-wrenchingly believable fashion.
Perhaps it is so believable because the story was based on Sir Laurens van der Post's remarkable memoirs of his years spent as prisoner of war at a Japanese camp in Java during the second world war - at any rate that might account for the truthful ring of the script. I think, though, that the real power lies in the unusual solidity with which the main cast became their characters; I don't expect I shall see another film starring David Bowie during which I forget that it's really David Bowie I'm seeing. Truthfully, I watched this film purely for the sake of the soundtrack and the star-studded cast, and came away from it with something in me changed. I cannot begin to express how much I hope that you will see it too.

Book: Melissa Holbrook Pierson 'The Perfect Vehicle' (1997)

Reading this was an interesting experience. I found myself in the unusual position of liking the book immensely while disliking the author intensely. I could feel no sympathy towards her desperate need for a man to look after her, particularly as she described over and over again how she would entrust her beloved motorcycle to an inept mechanic, knowing that she'd end up redoing his work afterwards, just because she felt like she had to have someone masculine do those things for her. Sh*t like that irritates me insanely, particularly coming from a talented, reasonably successful woman who has ridden thousands and thousands of miles alone and is physically, though apparently not emotionally, capable of taking care of herself and her machines.

I can't dislike her book though, because this lady knows exactly how to describe what makes riding so wonderful. She's a damned fine writer, and manages the neat trick of writing nonfiction that's as much of a pleasure to read as a great novel. All of the tips and tricks and facts and bits of history are so neatly laced together with beautifully polished words that I almost wanted to memorize half the book, just because I knew I'd never be able to say these things so well in my own words. Any motorcycle aficionado ought to enjoy this book, which encapsulates much of the sheer joy of riding, and every non-rider ought to read it so they can better understand the rider mindset (and hopefully keep a better eye out for us when they drive their cars).

Book: Neil Peart 'Ghost Rider' (2002)

This one's a bit of a tearjearker, the story of a man who lost absolutely everything and survived only by running away. It would be sad even if it weren't true - his daughter died, his wife died, his dog died, and his best friend went to prison - but it is true; all of that really happened to the author, who is also the drummer for Canadian band Rush. The book chronicles a series of impressively long motorcycle trips he took, through North and Central America, hoping that time, distance, and miles-put-behind would let him escape the shambles of his life. Apart from the tragic elements, it's a wonderful travel story; the collected letters and journal entries that he tied together with concise, illustrative reminiscences portray an astonishing number of km traveled, sights seen, and well-described fun roads ridden. He's a very good writer, in a concise, almost-journalistic sort of way. There is a little bit of a financial disconnect; as a reader accustomed to shoestring-budget travel, I did keep getting a bit hung up on all the expensive meals he ate and the way he could always afford to stay in good hotels, and his ever-growing collection of beautiful motorcycles. But hey - the man worked hard for his fortune, and I'm glad it was able to help him live through his troubles.

Highlight: one of the real pleasures of this book is reading about all the other books Peart, a voracious reader, consumed during his travels (I look forward to reading many of them myself).