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2011: The Year In 3D

- Source: The Playlist

If there is a single cinematic subject that seems to unite commenters, bloggers, filmmakers, distributors and exhibitors in vehemence, it has to be the rise/fall of the exciting new format/gimmicky fad that is the post-" Avatar " 3D film.

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When Celebrated Directors Lose The Plot: Interesting Left Turns And Failures In An Auteur's Oeuvre

- Source: The Playlist

Even the greatest of auteurs in cinema generally take one or two big missteps in their careers, either early on—as happened to a lot of the Easy Riders/Raging Bulls generation of American filmmakers, bringing their hirsute hubris down to earth with a bump—or later, when poor judgement and a degree of fossilisation can cloud a director's vision—see Quentin Tarantino 's remarks, for example, about not wanting to be a "geriatric" filmmaker, making films deep into his old age because this is when filmmakers generally lose their mojo , or Steven Soderbergh 's early retirement plans, which he hopes will see him exit filmmaking at the top of his game.

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the cosmic dead: s/t (who can you trust?)

- Source: Cows Are Just Food

same kinda shit getting peddled here. a barrage of drawn out monochording, descending psych scales and kraut rattle. bleeding with hum and wah, fuzzy fuzz, the inexorable march of deathdrums. and the language: cosmic dead, psychonaut, black rabbit, slow death of the infinite godhead. couldn't be any more in the thrall of that whole sabbath, hawkwind, acid mothers, amon duul spaceblooze head-worshipping freakery if the cassette box also doubled as a bong and an electric jug. washes of fizzing strings, feeding back, delayed, distorted, phased. percussion that just poundsandpoundsandpounds. unlike say acid mothers temple or aforementioned tab which seem to lurch along, barely containing their own demented momentum, there's more a sense of motorik control with the cosmic dead. spacial exploration rather than the psychiatric breakdown. cologne rather than altamont. first track's twenty minutes long. last track's forty. for the attention deficit there's a thirteen and six and a half minute number in between. there's no hipster arched eyebrow here, no faux-intellectual exploration of unfashionable musical tropes. this is just one monstrous monged jam after another monstrous monged jam. it's out on who can you trust? who've also put out tapes by sylvester anfang ii and gnod so you know the company these fuckers keep. and that cover's fucking beautiful. whocanyoutrust?

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Rafter - Quiet Storm

- Source: Pitchfork Media

Quiet Storm doesn't really sound like black metal at all, nor does it sound like, in Rafter's words, "Darkthrone meets the Kinks meets Lee Perry."

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Introducing Scoundrels

- Source: The Music Mix

The suburbs of London are a long way from the swamps of Louisiana, and crossing the musical space between is the stuff that dreams are made of.

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