When I say things are complicated, I mean this in many ways. To begin with, in their public statements, Butler and his wife and bandmate Régine Chassagne acknowledged that there was extramarital activity here. The factors up to dispute are whether Butler’s advances were consensual.
But I don’t want to get bogged down in the details of the allegations, because that’s not my point. Rather, I’m struggling with the process of, well, processing such events, as a fan. As I mentioned, I’ve dealt with similar situations before, but it was almost always the sort of thing where there was some sort of mental health aspect or, in one case I won’t name specifically, dispute as to whether the alleged actions were even that bad. Here, though, it’s pretty cut-and-dry that Butler was at best being creepy, and fans now need to A) re-evaluate their relationships to Arcade Fire’s work, and B) reckon with potential new meanings in the work itself.
In discussion with some fans online, the lyrics of some songs on Everything Now came up as seeming quite rancid in this new light. I admittedly haven’t listened to that album, because every time I heard a piece of a song I found it, well, bad, and just complained about how far the band had fallen.1 The Arcade Fire I love is the one exemplified by Funeral and The Suburbs—most recently they impressed me with “The Lightning I & II” and “Unconditional I (Lookout Kid)”. The sincerity and reflectiveness always takes me in. Yet in hindsight, it becomes hard to see Butler the same way I did even just a few months ago. What felt vitalizing on WE now feels affected and perhaps even like a lie.2
The most potent observation I’ve made since these allegations, though, is the new resonance that their classic “Wake Up” has taken on. The song is ostensibly about the disappointment one finds growing up into the adult world. But disappointment is exactly what I, and I’m sure many other fans, have felt since the allegations came out, and the lyrics take on a surprising new meaning. In particular, the final verse Butler sings before Chassagne comes in feels newly pertinent:
Our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up
We’re just a million little gods causing rainstorms
Turning every good thing to rust
I guess we′ll just have to adjust
Fans now have to adjust, because every good thing is turns to rust. Earlier in the song, Butler says he “can see that it’s a lie”—what exactly “it” means has always eluded me, but right now, Butler’s character feels quite a bit like a lie. Ultimately, it’s pretty cruel irony: hearing such resonant reflection on disappointment and coping with it is jarring and paradoxical when it’s coming from the very person you’re deeply disappointed in.
Granted, the end of this remains to be seen. While his statement was far from an unequivocal admission of wrong, Butler’s left himself enough room in his public statements for growth in the future and potentially owning up to more. I hate complaining about “cancel culture”, because more often than not people use that term to refer to simple accountability, but I do feel that in recent years the public hasn’t given famous people the ability to grow, change, and improve. That’s worthy of its own article, and I do plan on writing it at some point, but for now I can only hope that Win Butler will be able to grow from this, change his behaviors, and more clearly own up to what’s happened. Ultimately, though, I guess we’ll just have to adjust…
]]>That video games are or can be art has been justified many times over with examples such as Shadow of the Colossus, with its stunning visuals and atmospheric feel, or The Last of Us, with its riveting and emotional post-apocalyptic adventure. For me, though, the most outstanding example is not a 3D, triple-A action-adventure game, but an 8-bit RPG developed by one person with help from his friends—and which managed to become one of the most iconic games of all time. If you spend a good amount of time around young people online, you probably know it. And there’s a good chance you may have guessed it already.
I’m referring to Undertale. If the name doesn’t ring a bell, here’s the short version: a budding composer named Toby Fox, after making some ROM hacks of the SNES game Earthbound, took a few years and, with help from others such as Temmie Chang, came up with his own RPG. Indie games by 2015 were an established niche; an Earthbound-inspired pixel art RPG wasn’t very novel. Yet Undertale rose to become one of the most acclaimed games of all time. Why? Well, a lot of reasons. Pretty much everything, really: the story, the characters, the music, and the gameplay are all interesting or innovative in some way.
Some of Undertale’s quirks might go unnoticed to those unfamiliar with RPGs, but they’re apparent from the very beginning. Flowey the flower introduces us to “happiness pellets”, which turn out not to be so happy—they are, in fact, the bullets used in the battle mechanic. Soon you find yourself in a full battle, as the loving Toriel tries to keep you from entering the Underground for your own safety. Anyone familiar with RPGs will notice something immediately: the “Act” and “Mercy” buttons. They’ll also find that being on the receiving end of an attack isn’t passive like in Dragon Quest or Earthbound: you have to avoid the bullets to keep yourself from taking damage, in the same interface our floral friend showed us earlier. Oh, and those two weird button options? They’re how you end the battle peacefully. “Act” lets you talk to or interact with your opponent, and “Mercy” lets you spare them when they’ve been calmed.
This may seem convoluted, but it plays an important role in the entirety of the game, because how you choose to battle will change the game’s ending. The fate of the Underground and its residents is in your hands—you, the player. And this brings us to the less technical details: character and story.
To say that a game’s characters are “well-written” is a compliment, but a rather vague one. It’s certainly true of Undertale: Sans, the second main character you meet, has become something of an internet icon, and pretty much anyone who’s played the game will tell you about their favorite characters. The caring Toriel, the lovably silly Sans and his charmingly awkward brother Papyrus, bad-ass soldier Undyne, depressed ghost Napstablook, anxiety-riddled scientist Alphys, robot TV star Mettaton, caring, sensitive, and conflicted king Asgore—I can go on, but in playing the game, you begin to connect with the Underground’s inhabitants in a way most games can only hope you would.
Undertale’s characters aren’t merely interesting creations: they have the potential to be your friend or your enemy. Sparing the main characters lets you befriend them. The game doesn’t force you to fight in any battle except one (no spoilers!), so you have the ability to change the entire game’s dynamic by what you choose to do. If you like a character, you can (almost always) avoid hurting them and instead try to de-escalate the situation. And if you don’t like them, you can kill them. As a consequence of this, the game puts the player in a position I haven’t seen another game do: the player’s choices are given a moral dimension, because the world reacts to how you choose to treat its inhabitants.
This flexibility is actually a pretty amazing feat on Fox’s part. There are three main types of endings (pacifist, neutral, and no mercy, aka “genocide”), with a total of 93 different endings based on your choices. All of them are intensely emotional. Fox has been careful to clarify that the game has no single, canonical ending, which further adds to the game’s intrigue.
It’s hard to convey the meta aspects of the game without giving spoilers, but suffice to say that these details, along with the metaphysics Fox gives his universe, all add up to make a game that comments on its game-ness without devolving into cynical self-awareness or overly theoretical metafiction. It’s also difficult to relay the game’s humor without just quoting it. And the soundtrack, too, is hard to give its due worth without writing an entirely new review—it’s become one of the most beloved game soundtracks, and for good reason.
If you haven’t played Undertale, you owe it to yourself to do it. If you’re a fan of film, theater, literature, or the “fine arts”, it may convince you of the power video games can hold as a narrative art form. If you’re familiar with RPGs, it’ll change how you look at the genre. And if you aren’t such a highfalutin fellow, it’s also a straight-up enjoyable game: funny, engaging, entertaining—just, well, fun. And I don’t know what better endorsement you can give than interesting, artful, and fun.
]]>When people talk about the history of Cartoon Network programming, there’s two terms you’ll hear quite a bit: the Golden Age and the Revival. The former refers to the era of the Cartoon Cartoons, and runs from about 1996 to 2004. The latter began in 2010 with a rebranding (new logo, new slogan) and the premieres of Adventure Time and Regular Show. It’s not clear yet if that era is over or not, but at the very least it’s considered to include The Amazing World of Gumball, which is on indefinite hiatus, and Steven Universe, which ended in 2019.
Despite those two eras’ names, time between them isn’t generally thought of as a malaise period, but more of a lull in impactful content1. And that’s understandable: My Gym Partner’s a Monkey, for instance, is charming, but ultimately a bit derivative and somewhat forgettable. There were, however, plenty of shows worth the time—Total Drama, for instance, remained on the air for years into the “Revival” and was, at least at first, pretty well-received with audiences. But I’m here to talk about another show: Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends.
Today Foster’s is mostly remembered for its nostalgia factor and for the unsettling amount of porn and fetish art featuring characters, specifically Frankie Foster2. It just hasn’t had the cultural impact of The Powerpuff Girls, creator Craig McCracken’s prior hit. But Foster’s deserves more: aside from a few dud episodes, it’s got a wonderfully build world with characters you really care about and stories that make it eminently rewatchable.
If you’re not familiar with the show, I’ll give a basic rundown: In the show’s world, imaginary friends are real beings, the “imaginary” referring to the fact that they originate from children’s imaginations. 8-year-old Mac lives with an abusive older brother and a mother who’s almost never home, constantly working. One day Mac’s mom tells him he’s too old for his imaginary friend, Bloo, and says that he needs to give him up. Because Bloo is Mac’s closest, and, well, only friend, this isn’t right; luckily they find Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends, which is similar to a shelter, and where Bloo is allowed to stay without being up for adoption on the condition that Mac visit every day.
The concept might sound a bit out-there, but once you’ve seen an episode or two, it’s hard to not get attached to the characters. They each have their own distinct personalities, and the main cast have backstories complex enough that it would be too much to recount here. Even if you don’t particularly care for Mac or Bloo, you could easily get roped in by another character. Some people, for instance, can’t stand Bloo, as he’s often very selfish and inconsiderate, but watch the show for Wilt, who’s helpful and caring to a fault. There’s something for almost everyone.
For me personally, it’s Mac and Bloo, and their dynamic, that make the show3. Bloo is the things that Mac isn’t. The two butt heads quite often, since Bloo is impulsive and childish, while Mac is responsible and mature. Yet the two are inseparable: in the corniest way of saying it, he “completes” Mac.
Putting it more analytically, the show illustrates through them the power of creativity and the desire—and ability—to hold on to childhood as you grow up. Mac has, as a result of his situation in life, had to mature faster than some kids. He’s had to cope with physical abuse from Terrence (his brother) for years, as well his single parent being mostly absent. It’s for these reasons that Bloo exists. Bloo brings out the childishness Mac’s always repressed, and protects him from Terrence4. The emotional aspect of the relationship, sometimes easy to forget because of Bloo’s borderline-narcissistic demeanor, is reflected in Bloo’s origin. Although it isn’t mentioned in the show itself, it’s explained in multiple official sources that Mac imagined Bloo when he was 3, after he had to get rid of his favorite blanket5.
Even if you haven’t been through the same troubles as Mac—I haven’t—it’s pretty easy for certain types of people to relate to him. As a kid, I had a very active imagination, always coming up with characters and stories, even making up plots and (admittedly bad) character designs for fictional TV shows. I still think about stories and character concepts all the time, and it’s part of why I latch on to certain media. Modern society in its anti-humanism makes living in this world of imagination impractical, but at the same time, if you’re this type of person, you know that it’s unavoidable. Things imagined often become part of your life, not in the sense that you think they’re real, but that this world is something you return to, and in some cases even works as a way of interpreting real life. In Foster’s, this takes a real-world form for Mac: Bloo. When he’s told he’s too old for Bloo is relatable: you’re too old to have such imagination, and it’s time to “grow up”. Mac finds his way around this at Foster’s.
It’s important to note that the staff at Foster’s are skeptical at first that Mac will return to visit Bloo. The pilot episode partly revolves around Mac proving them wrong, which is what leads to their special arrangement. Mac isn’t kidding himself about what’s going on, and is one of the rare few who really does want to keep his imaginary friend. Similarly, in our world people initially hesitant to “grow up” eventually turn on that and decide childish things aren’t cool6. There’s actually something important to observe here: what Mac is going through (and what those who relate to him go through) isn’t truly a matter of not wanting to grow up, but of wanting to hold on to aspects of the childhood consciousness. He’s already mature for his age, and it’s not like he’s continuing to read cardboard books for preschoolers. What he’s looking for in continuing to be best friends with Bloo is for his whole self—one that depends on his imaginary friend. If you want to make things dark—and I’ve seen people argue this—you could contend that their relationship is toxic and parasitic. This is unequivocally wrong, though: Mac imagined Bloo to serve certain roles, and in a sense, Bloo is an extension of Mac. Other friends can be adopted out because the roles they serve, while important, are temporary, are things you grow out out of—but Mac and Bloo have a unique relationship: they’re intrinsically tied, and Foster’s and its staff are, ultimately, there to support them. (Well, most of them–Mr. Herriman is…a bit of a stick in the mud.)
There’s no real-life place to preserve your imagination, of course, but there’s an analogous way of being: allow yourself to indulge your fantasies. Write, draw, make fan fiction, play your favorite games, watch your favorite shows, read your favorite books: don’t be scared to let your imagination out.
Unfortunately though, this isn’t, as I mentioned, encouraged by the way people need to live just to get by. And Foster’s touches on this, too. “Squeeze the Day” is one of the most well-known and beloved episodes, and at the end really shows this. To sum it up without spoiling too much, Bloo and Mac have a day to themselves at Foster’s but fail to do anything that really satisfies their expectations given the amount of freedom they have. The rest of the house are out at the beach, and when they arrive home, Frankie is exhausted from having to take care of everyone. Frankie tells Mac to savor every moment of being a child—the irony being he and Bloo’s dissatisfaction at the moment. What that suggests, it seems to me, is that even getting what you want might not be enough to feel satisfying, but you should take what you can get.
With all this depth behind it, Foster’s should really appeal to people prone to fandom. But the community is small. If you think about it, though, there’s some clear reasons why. Firstly, it didn’t have the same broad appeal as shows like The Powerpuff Girls; much of what makes it “great” rather than merely “very good” depends on your personality, where PPG (etc) entertains equally to pretty much all types of people. Secondly, it came out into a different environment. At the time, fandom communities existed on forums and, eventually, sites like DeviantArt. When Adventure Time came out, for example (a show that I think could have an overlapping fandom), Web 2.0 was around its peak, and between big sites like Tumblr and smaller ones like Fanpop (as well as the still-strong DeviantArt), fandom communities grew larger and more quickly. If it came out in 2010, I think Foster’s might have garnered a large and loyal fanbase, rather than just being featured on popular merch at Hot Topic for a few years.
If you haven’t watched Foster’s before, or if it’s been a while since you’ve seen it, I highly recommend you check it out now. It’s available on Hulu, and I believe on HBO Max as well.
Okay, the very end was a bit of a malaise era: CN Real (2009) was a desperate attempt to be more dynamic and largely failed. ↩
Granted, this isn’t unique to Foster’s; many shows from the 90s and 2000s that featured strong and/or assertive female characters get lewded way more than they should, which really would be “none at all”. ↩
I don’t mention it in this piece, but I’ll say here that Bloo is one of my all-time favorite characters. He’s adorable and hilarious, and even when he’s a jerk, you can’t help but love him. (Or at least I can’t.) And he and Mac together are so happy-making. There’s too many great scenes for me to even list. ↩
A favorite scene of mine from the early episode “Seeing Red” shows Bloo’s protective role very well; the immaturity you can see in pretty much any episode. ↩
The origin is particularly touching for me, because I still have my blanket from when I was very little, and which had essentially been my imaginary friend—I’d given her a voice and everything. Losing the blanket was one of my biggest fears.
Also, if you’re into the series, I highly recommend Lyraspace’s short one-off fan fiction piece “The First Night”. ↩
Incidentally, I went through a phase when I was about 10 where I wanted to be an adult and tried to not watch “kids’ shows”. That didn’t last long—maybe a month or so. Then I went back to being obsessed with cartoons and video games. ↩
This episode didn’t actually air on whcsradio.org because apparently GoDaddy suspended the site. I still did the episode, though, for you all to hear on here.
Guess I can’t stay on Sugar Mountain anymore. I (finally) turned twenty earlier this week, so I felt obligated to play this song.
Well, it’s coming on Christmas, so…
As I recorded, a snowstorm was beginning to brew, so this felt appropriate.
I’ve been meaning to dive into his career for a while; from the Apple Music “Essentials” playlist this track stood out.
Famous for being, basically, the first Postal Service song.
One of many rousing anthems from the ‘droids.
I played the first New Order version (the January 1981 release), which I personally prefer to the better-known, September 1981 version on Substance.
Also known (by me) as the kitty-cat song.
A rarity from the Wrens. Not on streaming, unfortunately.
Yes, the name is ridiculous, but the songs are pretty good. Unless you ask this guy.
Probably my favorite Pumpkins song.
From the band’s weirdest album, Everyday I Said a Prayer for Kathy and Made a One Inch Square.
From their EP also called Everyone Asked About You. I found them from r/Emo, and downloaded it from Sophie’s Floorboard, since that’s the only place I could find it.
Probably my favorite Fall song. Not even necessarily because of the lyrics, but just because of the sound.
Rarity from the group, not on streaming but easy to find on file sharing services.
This is a BBC Session recording of a song they released on an EP. The lyrics, unfortunately, are quite prescent: we did go to war ten years later.
I’m not necessarily a huge Pickups fan, but when they have a hit, they have a hit.
More than one song I played this episode wasn’t on streaming. One song, “Laissez Faire”, is on Apple Music but not Spotify.
]]>I had a bit of a shorter playlist this week, so I decided to have a little talk with Nate at the end. Hope you enjoy, and happy Thanksgiving!
You know these guys by know. One of their best songs.
Rainer Maria are more well known for their early work, but this album is pretty good too.
I finally got around to listening to BLA and it’s quite good. There’s something oddly comforting about it; I can’t really explain it, since the lyrics are often pretty sad, but it feels homey as well. They’re more of an album band (although they only made two), but I wanted to include something by them. (Just a note, this isn’t on Apple Music. I believe the band is working on it, though; they just got on Spotify.)
I included these two together because they’re meant to be counterparts. They’re next to each other on the album, and the lyrics of “Timmy” reflect “Charlie”, with the former being the sadness after the initial excitement of a breakup in the former.
Found this group because some members played in Tigers Jaw. Don’t know much about them though.
Silversun Pickups can be hit-or-miss, but this is one of the hits.
I played this because for Thanksgiving we’re probably going to deliver the food to our family members and eat over a Zoom call, and one of my parents said it’s like meals on wheels.
The original album version of this song is great, but it’s really cool that they made this version too, especically since it works really well despite not having been written to feature a rap.
People shit on Mumford and Sons, but they have some good songs.
The last portion of the show I did as just a conversation with Nate. We ran over on time, but since this is all recorded we kept going a little longer.
It’s difficult to describe Wheat’s sound. Dave Fridmann co-produced the album, and best known as the bassist of Mercury Rev and producer for the Flaming Lips, and having his name attached does hint a it a bit. Brent DiCrescenzo, in the contemporary Pitchfork review of Hope and Adams, compared the album’s sound to a “hypnotic zeppelin” to which “the Flaming Lips, Pavement, Wilco, and the American Analog Set lazily hold on, uninterested, sitting in lawn chairs and smoking cigarettes”. He also refers to the album’s “60-watt soft glow”, and although comparing Wheat to any other band feels a bit dubious, DiCrescenzo’s choice of references feels more accurate than any others I’ve read.
Hope and Adams opens with an instrumental before going into its two singles, “Don’t I Hold You” and “Raised Ranch Revolution.” The former is possibly their most well-known song, as a re-recorded version was used in Cameron Crowe’s Elizabethtown1. Aside from that, though, it’s also a great introduction to the band’s world. Soft synths and tame drums linger while lead singer Scott Levesque asks, “Don’t I hold you like you want to be held? And don’t I treat you like you want?” Although that may read as sad, Levesque’s voice gives it a melancholy tenderness as he continues into the chorus: “And you’re running away. And what’s your name? Like I’m in the way.” As the song progresses, a tame but almost soaring guitar riff joins in. The metaphor that comes to mind for me is VapoRub: there’s a strong sensation, but at the same time it soothes.
“Raised Ranch Revolution” comes in on the heels of “Don’t I Hold You” and carries the album to further reaches. Where “Don’t I Hold You” stays steady in the realm of its softness, “Raised Ranch Revolution” goes into a more traditional guitar riff. But don’t expect a traditional rocker: the guitar jams at its mid tempo pace for about a minute, when Levesque comes in with his same cooling voice, noting, “things are looking pricier now.” After two or so minutes, when the refrain “some things can’t be ironed out” is done, the band goes into a crescendo and a minute-long outro complete with atmospheric “ah” vocals.
The rest of the album follows the same ebb and flow, going from soft acoustic numbers to vocal delivery that, in the hands of another band at another time, could lead into a real anthemic track. “Someone With Strengths” and “Body Talk (part 2)” exemplify their most toned-down side, both being primarily acoustic and sedate—the latter song even references Paul Simon’s “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard”2. “No One Ever Told Me”, meanwhile, shows how they approach largeness without actually growing, boasting an “ah-ah-ah” chorus that sounds like the best anthem rock band you’ve heard if they were sized down to a garage.
There are a few oddballs, namely “More Than You’ll Ever Know”, which is feedback-filled and has distorted vocals, while still maintaining the album’s soft glow. Most often, though, the songs straddle the sedate and energetic modes. “Be Brave” starts with an almost Appleseed Cast-esque3 jam before leading into a passionate Levesque asking, “Standing on high facing love, try, what are you going to do?” “San Diego” goes from a timid opening to a more elevated bridge and into a sound collage-esque outro.
Ultimately, Hope and Adams only has two tracks that could be played as singles—and they actually were released as singles—and it’s the first two proper songs. The album is best looked at as a whole than by its parts, as the experience of how Wheat make everything flow is part of its greatness. Of course, it helps that the parts are beautiful on their own.
Wheat would go on to have a twist-and-turn career path. After almost finishing recording their third album, they signed with Columbia and rerecorded it. That album, Per Second, Per Second, Per Second… Every Second found the band moving in a much more pop-oriented direction, with more normal song structures and more polished production (still done by Fridmann). Ultimately the album was a commercial flop and the group left Columbia. Soon after Ricky Brennan left the band. They continued as a duo and released another album independently in 2007, Everyday I Said a Prayer for Kathy and Made a One Inch Square, which is far weirder than Hope and Adams. Since then they’ve released one more album, White Ink, Black Ink, along with a handful of singles and EPs. They never announced a break-up, but their official website doesn’t exist anymore, although there is a mirror/portal of sorts with lots of content. They do have a somewhat active Facebook page, but it seems to be run by the same guy who runs the portal.
Although their current status may be mysterious, Wheat has left behind a trove of music that’s not nearly as well-known as it should be, and there’s no better entrance point than Hope and Adams.
A movie perhaps most notable for being the origin of the “main pixie dream girl” trope. ↩
The refrain of “Body Talk (part 2)” contains the line “goodbye to Rose, my queen of corona”. ↩
“Almost”, I say, because that band’s more representative albums, Mare Vitalis and the Low Level Owl volumes, hadn’t yet been released. They had only one album out, The End of the Ring Wars, when Wheat recorded this album. Ring Wars does suggest the style the ‘Seed Cast would become famous for, but it’s much more in line with Mineral and the like than what they’d become. ↩
This is the Sterogum article I mentioned. I do want to write something about last.fm compared to streaming algorithms, so look out for that.
There was an interruption during this song because my computer crapped out for a moment. All apologies.
Read about this band inStereogum’s list of the 40 best new bands. They’ve got a cool sound, and it’s great to see diversity in this genre too.
This just came out, literally about an hour before the show. It’s pretty interesitng and breaks some new ground for them: it’s a bit like a post-punk take on the Stones. The details for the new album have been anounced too: it’ll be called Drunk Tank Pink and comes out in January. This single combined with “Alphabet” are hopefully indicative it’ll be a good album.
Found out about these guys from last.fm. Apparently this song, along with their other track “Wasp’s Nest”, were used on The Inbetweeners. (Go watch that show if you haven’t, it’s really funny.)
Yank Crime is an influential album and DLJ are important, but they’re also difficult. This is the most accessible song off the album.
if you like this new single, you will like this album, and also probably all our other albums. that is the cloud nothings guarantee https://t.co/A3iVYaoYBK
— Cloud Nothings (@cloudnothings) November 17, 2020
Another band I found out about from last.fm. Really stoked, because even though they’re not around, they sound somewhat like Los Campesinos, something few bands can say, but still have an individual identity.
Yet again, found these guys from last.fm, this time based on Idlewild.
As made famous on The OC.
Your speakers aren’t broken, the fuzz and AM radio sounds are, in fact, intentional.
Notable for providing the name of a subsidiary of Sub Pop.
One of my favorites. I’ve been trying to fit it in for a while.
Mark Kozelek has been cancelled—no surprise, we all knew he was a dick—but this is still a beautiful song.
I played one of the versions from the leaked minidiscs, but for the streaming playlists I could only get the 2017 official recording.