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Sub Pop, 2015

Josh Tillman. What a cool-guy. If you haven't heard of Josh Tillman or Father John Misty, you've probably heard of Fleet Foxes, the band for which he was previously a drummer and vocalist. He's released several records as J. Tillman, including the spare but excellent Vacilando Territory Blues. More recently he's taken the moniker of Father John Misty, a bizarrely self-reflective, sardonic and hilarious Americana Dude. His last album, Fear Fun, was a profoundly underrated record full of engrossing stories and lyrical gems. I Love You Honeybear is a continuation of that, with Tillman perfecting his unique lyrical style and surrounding it with lush and diverse instrumentation.

The record starts off expectedly based on Tillman's previous output with gorgeous soul and folk infusions before taking a surprising left turn on the third and stand out track, "True Affection". Unlike most songs on the record, and anything Tillman has done before, the song is rich on breezy electronics that blend in perfectly with vocal harmonies and more traditional instrumentation. The following song, "The Night Josh Tillman Came to Our Apartment" returns to the short story folk song writing we're more used to from Tillman. And the song is hilarious. He goes through just about everything he hates about people, malapropos, that "soulful affectation white girls put on", and people who are just too full of shit to realize it. "Nothing Good Ever Happens At the Goddam Thirsty Crow" and "Bored in the USA" denote other lyrical and musical peaks on the record. "Bored in the USA" especially fires on all cylinders hitting multiple targets. It's a questioning and mocking of the aspirations of our generation, while getting in some digs at the social structures of privilege that many take for granted. It's self-effacing stuff, and it's hard to tell sometimes whether the target of Tillman's songs are his audience, characters he's met, or himself.

One of the reasons it's so easy to love Tillman is his way with words and vocal execution. He manages to come off as sarcastic, soulful, dismissive, witty, and remarkably literate all within the same song. That's no easy feat. I Love You Honeybear, for all of its excellent musical achievements (this is a beautifully produced album), is ultimately a songwriter's record. It captures the spirit of "Our Times" in the snarky, self-depreciating and internally anxious voice of the generation that's living in it. To say the least, it's a worthy breakthrough for Father John Misty.

Best For: So you've stepped into a bizzaro-world that's filled with characters that came out of a hybrid of "Inherent Vice" and a Jonathan Franzen novel? This record will help you navigate through the assholes.

Rating: 4.5/5

--Kenny Chatoor is former CJLO radio DJ and magazine contributor currently living in Ontario, "Yeah things are good, there is definitely nothing like CJLO in Toronto though, which is a bummer."

I was not looking forward to Kingsman: The Secret Service. When I first heard that it was adapted from a comic book miniseries by Mark Millar (Kick-Ass, Nemesis,Wanted,  Marvel's Civil War) my stomach churned. I've definitely enjoyed director Matthew Vaughn's (2004's Layer Cake, 2011's X-Men: First Class) work in the past. Still, my experience with Millar's portfolio has been plagued by interesting concepts that often get buried under too much juvenile blood n' guts excess to stick the landing and deliver on their initial promise. Though I shrugged at preview pages for The Secret Service back in 2012 and was fully prepared to feel the same way about the movie's explosions and head-shots, I did not expect that Matthew Vaughn & co. would be so deceptively charming. That's Kingsman for you.

Vaughn, who also co-wrote the script with Jane Goldman, borrows only very loosely from Millar and artist Dave Gibbons (of Watchmen fame) in crafting the spy world of Kingsman. Dropping audiences into a desert mission gone sour, the movie's opening introduces Kingsman as a secret cabal of finely-coiffed Englishmen that, code-named for the knights of Arthurian legend, stand in contrast to the comics' foregrounding of actual British intelligence agency MI6. Feeling responsible for the death of an agent, Colin Firth's sharply-dressed Harry Hart (code-name: Galahad) visits the newly-widowed Michelle Unwin to deliver a token and a promise: say the words, and Kingsman will look after you. Although the grief-stricken Michelle rejects Galahad's offer, the Unwin family surfaces on Hart's radar a decade or so later when her son Eggsy (newcomer Taron Egerton), now-fully grown and facing police charges for a brilliantly-shot reverse car-chase, calls in the favour. This meeting couldn't be better timed, because Galahad is also investigating – and looking to replace - the murder of present operative Lancelot.

As Galahad digs deeper into his colleague's death and uncovers the cellphone mind-control plot of sinister techno-philanthropist Valentine (a gleefully lisping Samuel L. Jackson), the streetwise Eggsy is brought from a hidden tube-line under a prestige tailor shop to Kingsman HQ. Through a series of tests designed by Kingsman head Arthur and his advisor, Merlin, Eggsy competes with a series of mostly interchangeable sneering rich-kid archetypes for Lancelot's deserted chair. These trials slowly mold Eggsy from an estate hoodrat into a fledgling gentleman-spy - “aw, like in My Fair Lady,” he nods – but can he save the world and protect his mother from her abusive boyfriend?

There's a lot to like in Kingsman. Despite a pretty uninspired schoolboy rags-to-riches character arc for Eggsy and a typically-insane super-villain doomsday plot, Vaughn and the cast maintain a playful self-awareness that winks at spy-movie excess without ever biting the hand that feeds them. In all his scenery-chewing, Jackson's Valentine dances around the conventions of the super-villain role. Though he acknowledges a love for one-liners and exposition, Jackson chomps on a Big Mac and literally voices the intention to subvert expectations by taunting, “this ain't that kind of movie”.

Kingsman certainly earns its USA R-rating with multiple coat-rack impalings and Zippo lighters to the face. Still, Vaughn keeps a steady hand to temper the nihilistic streak that often bubbles up in Millar's work. Through fistfights, firefights, and a minutes-long carnage-orgy set to a Lynyrd Skynyrd soundtrack in an American church, Vaughn's camera never loses track of the action and never loses its joy for the Edgar Wright school of frenetic cartoony filmmaking.

Vaughn's passion also appears to be infectious, and his whole cast seems to be having an equally great time. Playing off of Sam Jackson's energy, Firth brings a Roger Moore swagger and smile to what has to be the first time I've ever seen “Colin Firth: Action Hero”. In Eggsy's journey to gentleman, Taron Egerton's smirk narrowly swerves around the pitfall of Forgettable White Guy Hero that too often claims actors like Garrett Hedlund and Sam Worthington. Even Valentine's stoic bodyguard Gazelle, standing on razor-tipped Oscar Pistorius prostheses, looks like she's enjoying every second of the absurdity.

A victim of expectation, I was fully primed to hate Kingsman: The Secret Service. I've learned to be skeptical of Mark Millar's work, and Matthew Vaughn's last crack at working with Millar (2010's Kick-Ass) left me feeling pretty flat. And yet, even with a confusing message that critiques social elitism while celebrating the “gentleman” class and selling a new line of designer suits, Kingsman is – surprisingly -  a really good time. Despite my reservations, Vaughn's shown that he can be trusted to deliver on an adapted idea. I don't know if it's in the pipeline, but now I'm finally excited to see what he can do with an original screenplay.

Bottom Line: I may have had my own hang-ups to overcome, but you should see Kingsman: The Secret Service if:

• You like the self-aware goofiness of Roger Moore's James Bond movies, but could do without all the dad-jokes

• You crave an action sequence that can actually keep track of the action

• You think that Colin Firth can only get sexier if he were to murder a bunch of dudes

• You don't mind wondering why all the women are damsels in distress, bodyguards, or competition for the male protagonists

• Samuel L. Jackson never fails to brighten your day

--Dan Corber is a published author and all around cool dude

Hosted by: Sam Obrand

Stories by: Tom Matukala, Julian Mckenzie, Emelime Vidal

Produced by: Emeline Vidal

Viet Cong is the self-titled debut by this foursome from Calgary. This album is the follow up to last year's Cassette EP, and it's chalked full of sonic whines, hums and murmurs all set in a kind of impending doom-like atmosphere. The album often seems to musically wrestle between pessimism and optimism; a sense of doom often interrupted by bursts of hope.

The album begins with "Newspaper Spoons" and the muffled sounds of marching drums. The cadence of the drums leads us forwards towards Matt Flegel's chanting vocals, which are surrounded and accompanied by squealing guitars. There's a kind of post-apocalyptic feel to this opener conveyed through the music and the repetitive nature of the lyrics. However, this ominous feeling is subdued as the track draws to its end with the emergence of sunny sonic rays emanating from the band's synthesizers.

Distorted guitars wail through "Pointless Experience" while pops of bass litter the musical environment. The psych-pop feel of the music is nicely juxtaposed to the melancholy of the lyrics such as, "If we're lucking, we'll get old and die."

"March of Progress" follows with its industrial soundscape droning on for nearly three minutes before the lyrics begin, accompanied by what sounds like a GuQin or a similar instrument. The intonation of the vocals will remind you of Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd.

"Bunker Buster" and "Silhouettes" offer nice changes of pace, with the latter moving at a rapid clip to the formers more measured and artsy feel.

From the drones and noise of synths, thumping muddied drums to distorted guitars, the band finds itself successfully playing in the production of the album. While Viet Cong is lumped in to the post–punk genre, their influences from psychedelic, industrial and '60s era rock/pop are on full display throughout; these varied sounds will only open the door to the future of the band.

--Fredy M. Iuni hosts Hiway 1, Mondays at 7:00 pm on CJLO.