It was after much deliberation that I decided to give the new Verve album a chance. Forth, the band’s first studio album in just over ten years, represented a bit of a musical anomaly from a band that no one really expected to hear from again. And yet, here we have Sir Richard Ashcroft’s triumphant return with appropriate symphonic-rock grandeur.

As one can probably guess from my foray into the re-invigorated Bond franchise, I’m a little wary of pop-culture’s tendency to flog a dead horse. It’s almost become a fact that most comeback albums simply…well, suck. Members die, outlooks shift, and those remaining try to cling on to some sort of antiquated view of past accomplishments, oblivious to the crests and valleys of musical progress. Pearl Jam, and the likes of AC/DC are two recent failures which come to mind.

Forth surprised me, though, in ways that were more good than bad. The first single, “Love is Noise”, marks a return to the layered, sample-driven sound which was popularized on Urban Hymns, and was what first piqued my interest. While the lyrics are a little blunter and a little less poignant than the “Bittersweet Symphony” it seems to be channelling, it nonetheless proves to be a strong herald of the Verve’s return.

The rest of the album does a good job at capturing the sounds Ashcroft and Co. popularized on their earlier release, Storm in Heaven, while resisting the temptation to completely emulate them. The Verve is a band that realises that it’s not in the nineties anymore, and it’s a realization that serves them well. Tracks like “Sit and Wonder” and “Valium Skies” aren’t drowned in reverb like their earlier counterparts, but are instead layered in such a way that still conveys their intended gravity and awe. The presence of strings, which are sadly misused by far too any bands today, complement the majority of the album in a way which affirms their symphonic-rock moniker. This appears to work in guitarist Nick McCabe’s favour, who seems to have both an expanded role and increased creative freedom compared to previous outings. The result is a sound that is equal parts new and old; the intense layering of instruments is still present, but the riffs no longer have to battle to be heard. Combined with enough the additional depth and complexity not always present in previous outings, it’s a revamped musical style that listeners will come to appreciate on successive play-throughs.

While, from a musical perspective, many of the songs could easily fit within The Verve’s back catalog, there’s still the impression that Ashcroft’s lyrics simply aren’t up to par. Simple, and frankly, obvious observations like “love is a feeling you give” from “Columbo”, coupled with the thinly-veiled redemption pleas of “Judas”, simply don’t measure up to the epic and grandeur nature which The Verve musically strive for. To be fair, it’s a strong attempt from Ashcroft, who’s wallowed through a number of less-than stellar solo-albums over the past few years. Yet, one can’t help but wish that a decade-long absence could have yielded some more affecting lyrics deserving of The Verve’s previous standing.

I have to admit, I’ve enjoyed Forth; it’s an album which I wasn’t really expecting, and approached with an admittedly critical eye. Yet, the fact that it still maintains – and at times, even meets – the standard set by their first three outings was a pleasant surprise. The fact is, after almost a decade, The Verve can still maintain much of the sound mean that initially drove their popularity – a feat achieved without simply mirroring past work.

Now, being a huge James Bond junkie, the release of Devil May Care had me incredibly excited. The series isn’t quite literary genius, but the laughable puns and engaging action always make me smile – albeit, a little guiltily. Thus, you could say I jumped at the release with enough fervour to make even the most slanderous Fox News anchor envious. Meanwhile, the small portion of my mind which usually tries to convey reason (and occasionally, tasty recipes involving dairy) was brushed aside.

You see, I’ve never quite understood the concept of one writing under the guise of a long-dead author; immediately, I noticed that Devil May Care was, in fact, not a creation of the late Sir Ian Fleming, but written, instead, by one Sebastian Faulks. With the abundance of unfinished material left after his death, I’d hoped his estate might have pulled a Tolkein and worked something from that; but alas, my hopes were quickly dashed.

I’d like to think that the whole point of being a writer is bringing your own personal perspective to a piece, as opposed to emulating a past one. If anything, this notion of an author “writing” as a person from the past seems like nothing more than a way to raise one’s profile – riding on the coattails of another’s success, if you will. That being said, I felt a little dubious, but purchased it anyways.

Now, who is Sebastian Faulks? In all honesty, I still don’t know, just as I don’t know who Kingsley Amis or Christopher Wood is – both former sanctioned Bond writers. Mind you, in no way am I trying to discount their takes upon the Bond franchise; instead, like with anything, I just can’t help but feel that the products are but palatable facsimiles of the source material.

…Which brings us to Devil May Care. In most respects, the book is standard Bond fare. You’ve got James Bond, of Her Majesty’s secret service, women, and a number of fancy, 60s oriented cars. But it’s the few instances in which Faulks tries to deviate from the standards that didn’t impress me. The one thing that makes the Bond franchise so enduring is that, in a sense, so is the character himself. The amount of havoc and chaos which Bond is often subject to never quite wears him down; it’s this simple notion that connects each book so expertly.

So, you can probably imagine my displeasure when Faulks began to transform Bond into more of an aging legend – a has-been whose time in the service is nearing its end.The result is that Devil May Care often feels a little more like a journey into the soul for Bond, and not into the Soviet homeland. At other times, the wanton disregard for authority reader’s have come to love seems absent; following an accident, Bond dutifully obeys the doctor’s orders, insofar as to avoid Martinis for almost half the book.

My biggest gripe with Faulk’s re-interpretation of the classic Bond comes in the novel’s structure. One of Fleming’s more striking qualities was his ability to advance the action at a pace that drew reader’s in, but didn’t lose them in the process. Faulks, while capable of building the action, doesn’t seem to know what to do once he’s gotten there. Bond’s escape from mastermind Julius Gorner’s drug-producing facility is executed in an appropriately grandeur fashion; it’s when the time comes to dispose of the antagonistic adversary that Faulk’s seems to run out of steam. In fact, Gorner’s death is probably one of the most anti-climactic disposals I’ve read in years – he commits suicide in the gargantuan paddles of an American steamboat. Yawn.

Despite its occasionally annoying flaws, I couldn’t bring myself to quite hate the book. What many critics agree on is Faulk’s strength at tapping into the nostalgia of the Bond franchise. In that sense, I was happy enough to be reminded of my Bond-filled youth – all the normal fare was, indeed, present. But a reminder was all it really proved to be, lacking a great deal of the edginess and flair which Sir Ian Fleming commanded so many years ago.

The arrival of Spiderman 3 was akin to hooking up with that slutty girl at last week’s party; you wanted it really badly at the time, but were less than impressed with the results. This was a movie which had garnered so much hype from the first teasing screens that a near-legendary clout had practically been achieved. Of course, amidst all the high-pitched fervour, some questioned the still-unknown direction of Sam Raimi’s latest outing. But much like the STD-riddled vixen of an evening-past, you were willing to forgo all of your friends’ sternest warnings in the interest of a good time.

Like the other two films before it, Spiderman 3 was a commercial success – but that’s where the similarities ended. Critics couldn’t believe the amount of apparent effort Raimi had put into ruining what could have otherwise been both a solid and engaging sequel. Instead, we were treated to a couple of the following gems:

1. Peter Parker becomes immune to character development. This seems to be the only feasible explanation regarding the complete and utter degeneration of Spiderman’s alter ego. It seems ironic that, in an attempt to inject more emotion into the character, Raimi ends up with quite the opposite – a whiny and socially inept “hero”, who appears to be more at home in a My Chemical Romance video, or even an Opium den. The last option may be the only avenue viewers have left to explain Parker’s laughable dance-sequences and baseless mood-swings. I kid you not.
2. Venom is anything but. When a movie is nearing release, studios usually incorporate major plot elements into their teasers and adverts, which are not only intended to generate hype, but to alert non-fans of what the movie may be about. That being said, I thought I was about to view a movie about Venom. Instead, I was treated to nearly 2 hours of a sand-castle sob story.
3. The Spiderman franchise is now a tag-teaming buddy series. The last ten minutes of the movie prove to be film’s best, as both Venom and the Hob-Goblin are introduced. Old friend Harry Osbourne – and apparent long-time user of Parker’s Opium den – overcomes one of the worst revenge-driven story arcs in movie history, only to team up, once again, with his old pal Parker. Venom is defeated, and the two heroes are, like, totally friends again.

That being said, one could almost hear the collective groan of fans across the web, as both Sam Raimi and Tobey Maguire announced official plans for both Spiderman 4 and 5. Such a move is frightening; while there is still a chance for the series to be salvaged, that chance won’t be present much longer. As Sony’s flagship movie franchise, and ultimate cash-cow, Spiderman will be released, successful script or not. Only time will tell if Raimi’s milked the cow dry.

“Come on here, dear boy, have a cigar, we’re going to go for a ride” – Roger Waters

World domination requires three things; an inquisitive mind, a grandiose plan, and pie. An inquisitive mind lends itself to the grandiose nature of the job, where over-complication reigns supreme, and aids in keeping things interesting.

And the pie?
Clowns are resilient, like cockroaches. Plan accordingly.

Welcome to the new and improved Horrible Fanfare.