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Adventures of Power (Madman)

Column: The Word on DVDs | Date Published: Wednesday, 14 April 10 | Author: Justin Hook | | 1 year, 10 months ago

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Power is a skinny, orange-haired, Rush-obsessed geek working a dead end mining job. Miners are hard working folk, as you’d well know. They wear overalls, belong to unions, look tough and talk in grunts. They’re real. And mining folk certainly won’t stand for a co-worker who air drums on the job. Yes – air drums. The hollowness of Adventures of Power is set up in the opening montage where Power dances his way home, air drumming to the general befuddlement of all who cross his path, all set to the requisite ‘80s soft rock power anthem. I’m sure you’ve seen it all before – the overcoming adversity, true life-type story of a nerd who dreams of becoming the best [insert obscure leisure activity] in the world. When Power (Ari Gold, who also wrote and directed) attempts the impossible at an underground Mexican drum-off – a Neal Peart/Rush air drum solo without a stool – he ends up on the floor in agony and defeat. It’s a rookie error, but his raw talent is recognised and so begins the transformation from no-hoper to possible champion at the Air Drum Battle in big ol’ New York City. Along the way he steals the heart of a deaf girl. Good on him. He certainly didn’t steal my heart or attention. Adventures of Power is a puerile, underwritten, laugh-free drag that ploughs through every underdog cliché available. Small town kid whose dreams are too big and incomprehensible for the yokels. Check. A rag tag bunch of misfits. Loose cannon son doing it for his injured father. Check. A face off against the spoilt brat rich kid (Entourage’s Adam Greiner not exactly stretching himself). Check. ‘80s soundtrack. Check. A sabotaged drum stool. Check. This film wants cult status so desperately it’s painful. Even if it didn’t, it’d still be painful.

	The Killers Live From The Albert Hall (Island): Say want you want about The Killers – they’re soulless chancers who write choruses rather than songs, for example – but you cannot deny there’s a massive audience for safe, anaemic modern radio rock songs. You’re just as likely to hear a Killers song advertising hybrid cars as you are a delicious new chocolate bar or an enticing new financial product from a friendly bank. They write music that is universal, or more unkindly – bland, and as a result they can pull a crowd. On the plus side their live shows are usually celebratory where the records sound calculated, and honestly sometimes all you want at a gig is 90 minutes of fat choruses to spill your overpriced warm beer to. Right? Maybe, but be under no illusion – Brandon Flowers really does think he is Bono and when Dave Keuning fires off some Edge-inspired hanging arpeggios on For Reasons Unknown on a Gibson Firebird it is for all intents and purposes a U2 tribute night. And is it just me or does Flowers slowly adopt an Irish brogue over the course of the evening? No, he does. It’s okay though – some semblance of order is restored over the next few songs – ‘80s saxophone! And then if that’s not enough – sax-funk. Oh the humanity. Nearly a decade on, the Killers are a well-oiled live band so don’t expect much in the way of intimacy or nuance from this DVD, unless you count the alleged ‘acoustic’ rendering of Sam’s Town, which, with electric guitar and drums, quite patently isn’t. Instead expect 120 minutes of well-recorded, well-produced, bright and boisterous rock songs with faint new-waveish tinges. No endearing false starts, no fumbled notes or embarrassing humanesque missteps; just The Killers in all their fashion-shoot crisp glory.
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	ZZ Top – Double Down Live 1980-2008 (Eagle Vision): I’ve enthused about ZZ Top on this page in issues past and the release of this ‘Then and Now’ type live DVD affords me the ability to roll in the mud once again. By 1980 ZZ Top had well over a decade to hone their live show – and it’s obvious. With only two members (Billy Gibbons and Dusty Hill) front of drums at all times, the band realised early on that standing motionless in front of a stationary mic stand would hardly make an enticing live proposition. So we get Dusty leaning in deep, dropping the bass to almost floor level; Dusty and Billy swaying side to side, crab walking around the stage in unison – Cliff Richard and Shadows-style; and both of them wearing singularly awesome beards. It sounds almost quaint. But this small concession to showmanship pushes the music into sharper focus. Fortunately, ZZ Top have practically written the rules for dry, bluesy hard rock – except for that well-deserved if unsatisfactory period of commercial success in the mid-‘80s when they discovered synths and the power of MTV – and Billy Gibbons’ guitar tone has been envied and copied for decades so it’s easy to forget he was the one who invented it. The 1980 concert drawn from the Rockpalast vaults is a treat for the true fan as it focuses wholly, out of necessity, on the early stuff. Fast-forward 28 years and pretty much nothing has changed – Billy’s voice may have dropped an octave or four and the suits are bit nattier but the segue from Waitin’ For The Bus into Jesus Just Left Chicago still delivers chills in its fourth decade. Fashions and genres evolve, rise, fall and get forgotten but through it all ZZ Top have remained a constant. In the absence of a tour this Double Down more than satiates, but it’s not the real deal. I live in hope.
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