Ryan Gosling has, in the past fiscal year, on the strength of well-earned hype dating to the 2006 release of Half Nelson, starred in four consecutive films that sound perfect on paper (breakup/self-destruction drama opposite a strong female lead; ensemble romantic comedy with very established stars; stoically moody action picture; political-campaign drama directed by a modern icon). One lets Blue Valentine, Crazy Stupid Love, Drive, and The Ides of March off the hook for not being anywhere near Leaving Las Vegas, Hannah and Her Sisters, anything David Fincher has ever done, and The Candidate—but their aggregate notion they communicate is of an actor so complacent that he adds nothing to a scene, a performer so uninterested in anything but letting the gears of his inadequate films grind around him that befuddled moviegoers, unable to settle on any way to describe the arid disappointment of a Ryan Gosling film, land at “sexy!”
Sure. It’s better, now, on my fancy work headphones. Also might be worth it to invest in a better rip, duh. Neither of these things are at all necessary1 on the single-caliber tracks, though — it’s disorienting to have it vacillate like that.
Half the songs on Take Care sound like they were mastered with the knowledge that living human beings with ears would eventually be listening to them. The other half sound like The Weeknd. I don’t really understand?