UFC 73: ‘Stacked’

I shall endeavour not to get carried away with the mind-blowing stackedness of this card, despite Mike Goldberg’s grand proclamation that this is the finest card of fights ever formulated; my effort will be made retroactively easier by the actual broadcast PPV belying the paper quality of the show.

Still, viewers were treated to two title fights (a mixed blessing if ever there was one), a grudge match between two stars, the debut of an elite heavyweight fighter and even a freebie lightweight match. As a Bravo viewer, ergo one who didn’t pay PPV rates, this was actually quite the show. Not the best this year or anything (I terms of sheer thrills, that last Pride USA show is still king), but it was the finest Zuffa show in some time.

I had a very grave fear as this show approached: as big name and exciting as it ostensibly was, there was always the very real danger, with the three top matches featuring effective MMA wrestlers, of a touch of lay and pray. With two of those matches being five-rounders, that danger was profound indeed. But before we get into those, there was the little matter of a debuting Nogeira.

Antonio Rodrigo (shame on Buffer for the mispronunciation, and on Rogan for skipping the surname altogether) Nogueira is a fighter who fills me with massive concern. While he is indubitably one of the finest heavyweights this young sport has yet seen, his strategy seems to involve wading into enemy fire until he finds a way to win; this is a strategy that is visibly taking its toll on the man.

Against grapplers like Kiyoshi Tamura this was no problem, as he simply dominated them on the ground. Sadly, his career has not been filled with Tamura-level fighters, so he has endured lengthy assaults from Mirko Filipovic and Bob Sapp before finally overcoming them, not to mention the unreal ground and pound from Fedor Emelianenko, of the brutal kind there is no heroic rallying from.

This nearly came to a frightening head at UFC 73 in the closing moments of the first round of his fight with Heath Herring, a man he has twice comfortably defeated. That high kick thrown by Herring, which downed Nogueira like few shots have, seemed to be enough for Herring to steal a round Nogueira had handily won until then. Fair enough, as Heath was closer to finishing than Nogueira had been.

What the ‘Texas Crazy Horse’ will no doubt be ruing, though, is his inability to finish a clearly imperilled Nogueira, instead trying to wave the ex-Brazilian Top Team totem to his feet, thereby killing both time and his chance at a massive upset. (Indeed, Herring should have thrown caution to the wind at this stage; a win over Brad Imes will only buy so many lunches.)

With round one in the record books, and Nogueira slowly collecting his faculties, the flow of the fight ebbed irrevocably back in the favour of the former Pride FC heavyweight champion. Nogueira predictably enjoyed the best of the ground action, though it is to Herring’s credit that the Texan wasn’t as open to submissions as last time they fought, which ended with a glorious anaconda choke. By the end of the fight, Nogueira’s cleaner boxing style and majority of the offence meant he would be spared the indignity of the UFC debut loss that has haunted such names as Herring and Filipovic.

Sean Sherk is an incredible athlete. He maintains a sublime body in that it is incredibly thickly muscled but manages to avoid tiring over the five round course of a twenty-five minute fight. Joe Rogan commented that he was the epitome of a champion, an assertion with which, his hard work and high skill level accepted, I will have to disagree quite vehemently.

The main reason why I cannot agree with Sherk epitomising the MMA champion is because I see little inspiring in him, and I firmly believe a champion (certainly the epitome thereof) should be as much about inspiration as dogged perspiration. With that in mind it is hard for this fan to be inspired by a fighter who actually seems intent on working for a decision over a stoppage.

I’m not saying Sherk is lazy in the slightest, nor am I disparaging Hermes Franca. Franca, a representative of the last time UFC had a lightweight division through his battles with the likes of Caol Uno and Yves Edwards, and vanquisher of TUF 5 alumni Gabe Ruediger and Nate Diaz (I suppose Gabe isn’t technically an alumnus due to getting kicked off the show early) seemed a pretty logical opponent for Sherk. He was certainly more qualified as a lightweight than either Florian or, indeed, Sherk were when they challenged for the belt originally.

No, Sherk’s performance was near-constant domination of a very good lightweight veteran; a masterclass in technique and stamina. But for every easy takedown Sherk won, and for every time he passed Franca’s guard like a hot muscle shark through butter, I couldn’t help wondering why the stoppage neither arrived nor even looked like doing so. As outclassed as Franca was, I never actually feared for his safety of consciousness.

Sean Sherk used to be routinely referred to as a smaller Matt Hughes, but that is hard to believe. Against even top notch opponents like Penn, St. Pierre and Trigg, his wins have come inside the distance. While Sherk has the same stoppage rate at Hughes (seven out of their last ten wins), Sherk’s wins over high quality opposition – Diaz, Florian and now Franca – have been awarded by the judges. It is frustrating as a viewer to see a man so eminently skilled, so strong both of sinew and will, so unable to stop his opponents in the big show.

Rogan expressed his amazement at Sherk’s brilliance during the fight, and some writers have expressed the opinion that boredom during this last fight must be due to ignorance; there really seems to be something of the naked Emperor about Sherk. One wonders how much of this is genuine feeling, or whether it is instead an over-protesting reaction to the UFC attendees who boo ground work due to their own ignorance, or even the UFC matchmakers who reward people for clumsily trading punches in a bar brawl-style fight.

I love grappling. I am even a fan of Dean Lister, Ricardo Arona and Paolo Filho; I was bored by that match. I was bored because Sherk averaged one serious submission attempt per round, because his ground and pound was largely non-existent; I was bored because, for a man dominated, Franca made more of an active effort to finish the fight, with his knees and guillotine attempts. As technically great as Sherk is, I fear his reign may hinder the public thirst for lightweight mixed martial arts; that he is such a powerful champion renders the fear quite profound.

A champion I never fear watching is Anderson Silva. It is safe to say that after dismantling four straight opponents in the UFC, Silva has certainly arrived. I would have said that Nathan Marquardt represented Silva’s sternest Zuffa-based test yet, but then I thought Franklin would be a big test for him, before they fought.

Yes, on a card that fulfilled the promise of both Sherk-Franca and Ortiz-Evans (I’m not even going to bother with that one, other than to say I dread the rematch) bouts going the distance, I dreaded this one. Said dread was based in no small part on the Nate-Salaverry (and if Ivan has really retired, I’d like to wish him all the best, as he was one of my favourite fighters. It is rare that someone can deliver highlight reel submissions in the UFC, then blow kisses to his fans) fight that both still haunts my nightmares and got both guilty parties fired.

The ray of hope came in the vicious beating Nate gave to the tough Dean Lister, but my assumption was that Silva’s aggression would lead to the Nate of the Salaverry fight, rather than the Lister – or even the Doerksen – fight. Thankfully, both Marquardt and Silva came with fireworks in their fists, and Silva displayed the most terrifyingly accurate ground and pound bomb since ‘Shogun’ stopped Overeem at Pride 33. This fandom of Silva comes not simply from the fact that he throws bombs and pleases the great unwashed, but because he takes calculated risks in the heat of battle.

Calculated risks paid off for ‘Lights Out’ as Chris Lytle impressed against Jason Gilliam, though I am unsure to what extent a win over Gilliam should impress. The final moments of the fight were excellent, as Lytle worked two submission holds simultaneously. Though the tap was announced to be from the marvellous reverse triangle from top, it was the arm that Gilliam was gingerly moving post-match.

Lytle is a fighter I never groan about, but it is hard to say I am dying to see him fight again soon given the fact that 170 is so stacked with talent. With nothing against Lytle, i would much rather watch the imminent St. Pierre vs. Koscheck and Fitch vs. Sanchez bouts. A win or two over name competition should see ‘Lights Out’ re-ascend to a PPV position, wherein we viewers can discern what he really has left.

Less impressive was returning fellow TUF alumnus, and friend of Rich Franklin, Jorge Gurgel. Despite a fair amount of TUF hype, writing on his passion for the sport, and his ostensible talent, the Brazilian fighter is still yet to show he deserves placing among the elite in MMA. While he won a unanimous 30-27 decision, I fail to see how he won the second round over compatriot Diego Saraiva, who nailed him with numerous effective, if sloppy, punches to little riposte.

That said, Gurgel did just enough in the slower rounds one and three to secure the decision. He was a tad more consistently offensive on the feet, and delivered ground and pound that, while never particularly dramatic, logged unanswered points in a frustrated and neutralised Saraiva guard.

Though less auspiciously placed on the card than he was a couple of years ago, Stephan Bonnar attained temporary respite from the career freefall that has thus far seen consecutive losses to Rashad Evans and Forrest Griffin (the latter coming by a far clearer margin than their Finale 1 fight, and both hot on the heels of a controversial win over Keith Jardine) compounded by testing positive for horse steroid Boldenone.

While opponent Mike Nickels is far from career-saving in stature, Bonnar’s first round rear choke victory was an impressive show of grappling against a Machado purple belt. The ‘American Psycho’ has an appealing demeanour and, though he is unlikely to challenge the likes of Quinton Jackson or Mauricio Rua, his combination of second-tier skill and charming personality should stand him in good stead. Hopefully this is a sign he intends to keep his buttocks syringe-free.

In all, this was a fine card. Not the greatest PPV ever, as outlined above, but an incredibly solid card from top to bottom; it’s just a shame a couple of the marquee fights were rather damp and squibular. If this was Stacked, it seems rather a misnomer compared to the treats August promises, in the shape of Gonzaga vs. Couture and Koscheck vs. St. Pierre. The UFC seems to be on a roll – as long as they stop screwing UK audiences with TV-level cards, eh?

I’m sorry – I don’t normally post vidz to my blog, but I was suitably impressed by this Super Mario Galaxy footage to stick it here. For the world to see? For my own reference?

Well, you don’t need me to tell you the world doesn’t read this blog. Anyway, excitement! I might have to get a Wii now…

I appreciate the VQ is slighty dodgy after being shrunk down (I even enlarged it a bit from the default html), so here is the big screen, looking gorgeous version.

Writing Wrongs

Simon Reynolds recently linked to an Impostume post in which the latter wrote nasty words about what could be deemed the underground celebrities of rock music. Among them were Mike Patton, the Melvins and Steve Albini. I know, très controversial, and it’s not like such bland publications weren’t running similar Sacred Cows columns nearly a decade ago. Anyway, I read this, thought it was unnecessarily churlish and quite inaccurate and, resenting this idea of Curmudgeonism as Art and the accompanying backslapping from the historically excellent, recently disappointing Reynolds, dissed the post on a message board.

Impressively (worryingly?) I was tracked down and an email from Carl the Impostume was soon spotted lurking in my inbox. Cue a brief exchange of thoughts, including conversation on Leeds, and Carl persuaded me to pen (or key) something of a riposte. Well, he used the term ‘refute’ but, with that words implication of proof, and my being something of a relativist when it comes to things arty, I wouldn’t go that far in such a description of this post. That, and I am currently as in the dark as you are as to what the content here is going to feature. While I am going to disagree with Carl’s assertions and, at points quite vehemently, said dissent will not be blanket. Anyway, here goes:

Carl doesn’t like The Melvins: The first thing that strikes me about Carl, true or not (I don’t know) Is that he seems to be a jaded old bloke. I figure he’s in his late 30s/early 40s, and things just aren’t the same as they used to be. Well, he likes their MySpace tracks, so I guess he’s in love with the idea of having grown out of them. He hasn’t listened to the band in a decade and a half, and appears to be hoping beyond hope that he hasn’t missed out on much. Short answer is he has.

I recommend to Carl their Atlantic Records trilogy (that’ll be Houdini, Stoner Witch and Stag; how about the stubborn, malicious ‘Hooch’ as a major label debut single – gotta love that). Following their parting of ways from Atlantic (it would appear Melvins weren’t the next Led Zeppelin), they then released the weirdly, bizarrely great Honky. Sadly, they then signed with Ipecac, which is a no-go as we shall see below.

So Carl proffers the idea that main Melv. Buzz Osborne is a bit of a jerk. Well, that much appears to be true. Now, I don’t know about you, but when I listen to the Melvins, I listen to the tunes, the riffs, I rock out if and when appropriate, and I move on. What I don’t do is fret about Buzzo’s cultural theoretical philosophy on where his music stands. I can understand Carl’s defence mechanism that kicks in with the feeling that the band ‘…always seemed to be slightly above it, attitudinally’. And I feel that; it’s no fun to think you’re being worked by a band that thinks it’s beyond what it is you’re appreciating.

Personally, I try not to fret about it. I don’t worry that there might be a touch of irony in their product delivery. To be honest, I would probably rather a band is aware there is more out there and actively decides to make relatively primitive rock music than chug along blissfully unaware of any musical developments post-1980. Rather than get stressed, I’d be happy that a relatively smart band as the Melvins (and let’s face it, they’re not that smart anyway) is more concerned with rocking than anything else. One final, small, observation on this particular subject:

Hey man, what about the music, it’s all about the music at the end of the day, right? No it’s not, fuck that. It’s never just about the music, how could it be? That’s like suggesting literature is all about the font. It’s about the whole deal!


I find this interesting, and largely agreeable. But mainly interesting, for reasons I will come to a bit later. Yeah, the time I have taken in formulating this post has resulted in theoretical ponderings on the nature of today’s metal. I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But anyway, comparing music to font in the big picture is a tad too facetious for my liking. The equivalent of font would more likely be the mix… or maybe even the mastering. Assuming the rock band is the equivalent of an author (that’d stand to reason), surely the music’s equivalent would be the content of the book; the story. No?

…Zappa: I quite like Zappa. I’m not a massive fan, nor a hater, so we’ll skip this one.

…Patton: I will very happily state right now that I am categorically a Mike Patton fan. I think he is musically awesome, and a great personality. I am also of the opinion that a good fan is an artists harshest critic and, as such, I don’t think he has made a great album in at least half a decade (2001: Tomahawk was really good; The Director’s Cut was great). That is of course far from saying he’s a horrible man, the soles of whose feet could do with flogging. Frankly, I’m glad he is going of on sometimes unsuccessful, bizarre, tangents rather than working to appease an existing fan-base the whole time.

I have no idea where the wrong-headed Robbie Williams comparison comes from: not only are the two poles apart in terms of musical quality, but then we have the fact that Patton runs a rather good record label (Carl gives him Young Gods and Dälek, but I’d definitely add Kid606, Guapo, Mouse On Mars, The Locust, Venemous Concept…), and is ridiculously under-rated as an arranger. Whatever a listener thinks of Patton’s ‘chop socky’ aesthetic, his arrangement of the 1999, 2001 and 2005 Fantômas albums speaks for itself; I see no Williams comparison whatsoever. I dunno: I suppose they’re both financially independent, sex symbols in the nineties.

So Patton runs a tight label, is a really good arranger of music… oh yeah, he is also clearly the best vocalist in rock music, and has been for at least a decade. Granted, Impostume’s pimping of drizzly, largely instrumental/anonymous bands suggests to me that he is neither in the market for good singers nor anybody with personality. As much as I love Justin ‘He’ll Always Be J.K. To Me’ Broadrick, he has never been one to trouble the realms of public personality (not an inherently bad thing) or vocal talent.

It seems to me that the complaint stems from a need to complain rather than anything else; that the post was already railing against the bad people of cult rock, so why not rant some more. I could go on, like mentioning the ‘cut and paste abomination’ of Mr. Bungle. While their horror-ska debut hardly set my world on fire, their other brace of albums was excellent indeed. In terms of composition and musicianship, there is little that has been released in my lifetime to touch it.

I know, that in itself is a bit of a stigma: bands mustn’t play well, for fear of being called prog! Disco Volante is a classic that informed the sound of the great Noisecore movement of the late nineties, most notable Dillinger Escape Plan. Not only are the songs technically great, but memorable too. The band was so talented that one segment of the last song on that album, ‘Merry Go Bye Bye’, has what is still the best section of death metal I have ever heard. And I know Carcass, Mithras, Obituary, Morbid Angel, Nile et al. I don’t want to waste too much time on this point to be honest, as Carl never offered anything resembling a decent criticism of Bungle, so I shall leave it there, other than to say California was even better than …Volante, so listen to it.

…Albini: Again, not a massive fan, but I fail to see quite why Carl is so aggrieved. I fully get behind the dislike of such Albini nomenclature as Rapeman and Songs About Fucking. In fact, I don’t even like the musical content of the latter. I would probably have been all over it if I hadn’t been in primary school at the time of its release (I might still have liked it, if I’d only been exposed to it. But then the obvious resulting queries from an eight-year-old throughsilver would have proved a touch embarrassing to whomever was unfortunate enough to be the nearest adult at the time), but I wasn’t. As a result, living in the post-Merzbow/Masonna/Wolf Eyes world we do, it all seemed a bit quaint and quiet.

This means that, to the eternal chagrin of the eighties noise-rock aficionados, I am a bit of a disappointment in preferring Shellac (much like I infinitely prefer Fugazi to either Minor Threat or Embrace. Or Rites Of Spring). Anyway, my Big Black apathy doesn’t lead me to hate Albini, even if he, like Buzzo, comes across like a bit of a jerk. (I learned a long time ago not to be disappointed if artists whose work I admire aren’t equally stellar as people.) I can see where Carl is coming from, again. Albini does (did?) seem like a bit of a frustrated dork trying to get music to make him seem big. Not sure I would go quite so Freudian on the ‘music as impervious pork sword’ deal, but what can you do. I have to admit that, during recently reading a message board thread he was allegedly involved in, he does seem a tad sexist, but no more than your average person (which in itself makes me feel sad).

On the ‘two note song’. This ‘point’ has to be a joke. For those unaware, here be quotation: ‘”Terraforms” relentlessly dull and undynamic ten minute long, two-note thudalongs through which you could practically feel Albini smirking at your increasing dismay’. Obviously melody is the single most important attribute in underground rock (huh?). Clearly, there is no room in rock music for repetition/trance states (someone had better tell media darlings on Southern Lord records), and more notes means more quality. Someone tell Black Sabbath: their title track is inferior to ‘We’re Going to Ibiza’ by Vengaboys! My favourite piece of music ever is ‘Through Silver in Blood’ by Neurosis, which contains a section during which the guitar is hitting two notes for about a five minute period. It’s great.

Perhaps Carl is after something more immediate, with more going on? Might I suggest some ‘chop socky’ ‘cut and paste’, for therein lies more than two notes.

All that aside, I have absolutely no problem with a man that great bands actively seek out to record their music, in order to have it sound as they want it to. Shame, then, on Neurosis, Pixies, Nirvana, Mono, Melt-Banana, Dazzling Killmen, Weedeater, High On Fire, Jesus Lizard, Zeni Geva and Electrelane, among hundreds of others.

I see a problem with this so-called new strain of metal, which isn’t really metal. As much as I like Jesu and Nadja, they seem to amount to nothing more than early nineties indie with the loudness turned up.

Digression on ‘shoegaze’: This isn’t related to Carl’s post, but is as good an opportunity as any to address this inexplicably popular bit of nomenclature. Unsure as to the etymology of the term, I first noticed it in early 2002; that Magnet issue with the chimp-faced man from Ride on the cover. I don’t know about the reader but, in my experience, ‘shoegaze[r]’ is a term of derision. It implies indie musicians as socially inept, awkward performers who are unable to meet the gaze of onlookers. Yet this has somehow entered common currency – in non-diss form – to describe any band influenced by early Cocteau Twins/late My Bloody Valentine. Personally I prefer something like ‘dream-pop’ or just ‘indie’ (especially as indie bands nowadays seem to specialise in little else). I wish people would stop using it in a non-pejorative sense.

Anyway, so-called metal bands are now embracing the womb-like retreat that only the tops of their scruffy trainers can offer, and we are all supposed to love it. I quite like it in small doses, and I even have the grey vinyl of that Jesu ‘Sundown’ / ‘Sunrise’ release (how fitting is the colour grey for this overcast, maudlin subgenre?); the idea that metal can be filled with little else, though, is both laughable and contrary to the inherently eclectic/individualist/superficially rebellious nature of the genre.

I also like Oceanic by Isis, though that positive affect diminishes with every month, every wannabe album, that passes with the metal world trapped under its charmless shroud. The band itself had extinguished that avenue with 2004s Panopticon, an alleged concept album whose flimsy presence on my stereo was barely registered. (And how telling it is that Isis kingpin Aaron Turner’s own Old Man Gloom project released a near infinitely superior album the very same season in Christmas – an album blessed with quality, heaviness, actual (as opposed to implied) dynamic range and, perhaps most importantly, a sense of humour.)

The name of the game here is variety. My primary problem with what Carl writes in his post is that he seems to suggest metal should be one thing and not the other. I am of the opinion that metal needs to be this, that and the other; that is the precise reason the genre has been going strong for nearly forty years. I like slo-core, no doubt. Neurosis, Kayo Dot, World’s End Girlfriend and even Isis have produced some of the loveliest/nastiest, most dynamic music I have heard. A steady diet of nothing but that, though, would send me more round the bend than I already am. If I really believed the future lay in the undefined miserycore of Angelic Process, Nadja, Jesu and nothing else (combined with the patchily great dubstep movement), the noose would already be tied. And not just because the subgenre lacks anything resembling charisma in its entire featureless surface.

No, the reason why metal is so great is that, for as long as I have been alive, there has been a Maiden for every Sabbath, a Born too Late for every Reign in Blood – and so it has been in the last decade or so: Bungle and Fantômas existing alongside Neurosis and Eyehategod. Sure, Kayo Dot (seriously, miles better than any other metal band currently writing long songs) and Grails (awesome with no qualification from this end) have been providing goods beyond good of late, but so have the thrashier, OTT likes of Genghis Tron, Pig Destroyer, Trap Them and Converge.

I’m not even sure what I’m getting at here (other than the shouldn’t-be-necessary refutations herein), just that we might be better off saving the hate for subjects that really deserve them. I know for a fact it’s not too smart to diss an easy target like Zappa nearly a decade after dad-mag Uncut took a shot at him. I think we can both safely agree that we’re above Uncut’s level of ‘criticism’. I should also mention that my thoughts on slo-core are ever-evolving, as I don’t like to make concrete judgements very quickly. Updates will occur!