Who are the heroes of Oxford film? Surely Jeremy Irons’ trademark narcissism in Brideshead Revisited must come to mind; perhaps John Thaw’s snobbish coolness as Chief Inspector Morse; without doubt, the speech by Michael Soares in True Blue – may it endure as the greatest (the only?) rhetorical display by a Catholic priest out to subvert the authority of a rowing club council. Above all, those “dreaming spires” that the film industry so loves have probably brought more attention to this town than any individual. Filming in Oxford, you say, has been done. Often it has been good – and at times brilliant – but, nevertheless, it represents an inevitable entry into the tedious realm of stereotype. However, despite this popular perception of film-making in Oxford, there are a number of students who aim to break the bonds of trite cinematic mediocrity.
The largest student film society in Oxford is the Oxford University Film Foundation (OUFF), which has been in existence for a quarter of a century and claims on its website to “aim to support all aspects of film appreciation and creation right across the university.” The society’s film cuppers, held in Hilary term of each year, represents the major event of the film-making calendar: six shortlisted films were shown before a panel of judges in the Pheonix Picture House this May, and the winner was given a distribution deal.
Entries in the past couple of years have represented a variety of approaches: the comic-pretensiousness of Terracotta, a film which explores the seven deadly sins through the medium of a ceramic plant pot; Ophelia’s origami animals in stop-frame; the downright demented This is an Art Attack, a spoof of the children’s television programme in which presenter Neil Buchanan was portrayed sniffing glue and attempting to recreate God’s image.
The winner two years ago was the inspired 1920s style surrealist work “Cauchemar de l’homme en Noir et Blanc.” Since then, co-director Matt Green has gone on to produce another surrealist work, The Tragedy of Albert, to be screened in London cinemas, with (all hail product placement) two thousand pounds of funding from that great arts-supporting capitalist enterprise: KFC.

This year’s competition was won by I Just Keep Thinking of Humphrey Bogart, a ten-minute film written and directed by Alec Garton-Ash. The film is a strange probe into the world of artistic imagination in which a young man gradually realizes that his life has become a film noir fantasy, and the plot climaxes with the manic onrush of a horde of Bogartesque figures. The colour is effectively replaced with black-and-white halfway through, paradoxically moving still images are successfully interspersed, and the main character’s battle with his shadow is convincing.
Garton-Ash says the idea of producing a film about Oxford did not appeal to him as much of the material produced by students, on stage or on camera, tends to be unimaginative and/or conservative. This is not for lack of resources; he borrowed equipment from St. Peter’s College Film Society, and put Facebook to good use in spreading the word that he required a large group of Humprhey Bogart impersonators.

Above all, Garton Ash stresses how easy it is to produce a film: you can just take a digital camera, get some friends together, and you’ve got one. This might not produce a masterpiece, but it does not require a massive amount of effort (or, necessarily, participants) to produce valuable work. Putting on a play requires a lot of know-how, preparation, and people; as a result, the number of those willing to put on a play who also know what they are doing is limited, and it is inevitable that a thespian clique emerges. But making a film, with university film societies providing support, is something that is fundamentally straightforward and democratic. Christchurch filmster Craig Webster also made an entry for film cuppers this year. Casting friends and, again, borrowing equipment, he shot it in a single weekend.

Indeed, there are some students who have exploited the democratization of media to bypass film societies and produce their own work entirely independently. Leading the avant-garde of Oxford documentaires is Alex Scrivener, whose filming of Abkhazia (a Russo-friendly breakaway republic in Western-looking Georgia) was shown on the partly-Murdoch-owned Georgian television channel Imedi. Georgians were expelled from Abkhazia as a consequence of the Russian-asssisted ethnic-Abkhazian uprising in the early 1990s and so Scrivener, who is himself half-Georgian, hid his national identity and posed as a “stupid English tourist” interested in going on holiday in a war zone. Because Abkhazia’s independence is not recognized by any nation (not even, officially at least, Russia), officials at the foreign ministry were only too happy to spend their time with Scrivener. He says: “So I just took a camera and started filming stuff – them, battle sites, stuff like that.” When he had left, he sent the tape to Imedi; because no Georgians had filmed Abkhazia for over a decade, the station was very enthusiastic and the film was shown on what Scrivener jokingly describes as “the Georgian Trevor MacDonald.”

As Scrivener’s experience shows, it is more than possible for an Oxford student to produce not only film with interest, but also with impact. However, the days of a generation ago, when the auditoriums would burst at the seams with students for whom the cinematic experience could be the highlight of the week, are now dead as dead can be: even Magdalen film society scarcely manages double figures in its average audience. You cannot help but feel that unless there is an even wider expansion of interest and involvement in the cinematic community, film-making in Oxford will fail to develop successfully. Nevertheless, there is a small but talented group of film-makers who are not to be written off.

Tom Corcoran

If you were to walk into Flyboys halfway through, you wouldn’t have missed much. The movie creaks slowly into motion as it explores characters’ backstories and sets up the scenario. Based on a true story, Flyboys follows a group of young Americans in 1916 who engage with the French airforce in the Lafayette Escadrille before the States had officially joined the effort.
At first the characterization seems shallow; on the one hand we are presented with the French commanders, mockingly portrayed as bumbling and fatherly—a very poor match for the Americans’ well-drilled servicemen. On the other, we have the collection of new recruits, each arriving in France with his own trite history. They begin training, learn to fly, and accordingly start making tasteless jokes about combat. The dynamic of the group is immature—more American Pie than Apocalypse Now. A film’s score is usually unintrusive, but here it is ever-present, a constant reminder of the emotions the film-makers want us to feel about characters who have, as yet, done nothing to justify our sympathy.

That all changes, however, as soon as they enter air combat. Suddenly we—and they—come to realize how vulnerable these men are in their fragile aeroplanes, flying very low and very slow by modern standards. They fly over No Man’s Land and shells explode in mid-air around them; this is scary stuff. Unfortunately, the dialogue remains stilted-as a result, there’s still some time to go before we can be fully sympathetic with these characters.
In the midst of the shootouts, a love story develops between our hero (played by a very heroic-looking James Franco) and a French woman (Jennifer Decker). The linguistic difficulties begin to grate fairly quickly, but she is looking after her late brother’s children who, like all the finest French movie-children, are good for chorusing ‘Bonjour’, and ‘Au revoir!’ The romance, however, does succeed in offering a respite from the gruesomeness of the aerial dogfights and beginning the process of emotionally involving the audience.

This process continues as the story develops and members of the squadron are gradually killed off. Each of the deaths is handled gracefully as appropriate to the character concerned and resists cheap sentimentality. Finally, the score fades appropriately into the background, and we’re left with a believable and sympathetic set of characters.

The film is visually stunning, with many extensive aerial shots over ‘France’ and ‘Germany’ – all, in fact, filmed over south-east England. The effects required to realize the squadron’s flights and aerial combat are entirely believable and there is a degree of real humour (not just the tasteless stuff) provided by the expressions of the squadron’s captain (Jean Reno).

The ending feels slightly abrupt, but not because the film is short; it is a sign of how good the film does eventually become that you don’t realize two-plus hours have passed when the credits roll. There is a realistic lack of resolution to the separate story-lines as the film effectively ends in the air. However, that is surely a realistic reflection of these men’s experience of the end of the war: one minute they’re fighting; the next they’re not.
The film suffers intially from an overbearing score and poor early characterization, but once we’re able to engage with the characters, it becomes and remains an exciting and moving piece.

Richard Flynn

The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros centres on an effeminate young boy (Maximo), living in the slums of Manila in the Philippines with his father Paco, a small-time crook, and two brothers named ‘Boy’ and ‘Bogs’. The opening sequences of the film, which show the young lip-glossed, colourfully dressed Maximo mincing through the backstreets of Manila are slightly difficult to digest but I was, ultimately, pleasantly surprised to find a sophisticated and provocative film.

When he is harassed by teenage thugs in a dark alley, Maximo is saved from a potentially horrific assault by the idealistic and somewhat naive policeman Victor (JR Valentin). At the tender age of twelve Maximo falls in love with Victor; but events take an unforeseeably sinister turn when Maximo’s brother Boy commits murder. Maximo alone knows of his brother’s crime and when Victor launches an investigation into the murder, Maximo is left torn between loyalty to his brother and adoration for Victor.

‘The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros’ is at once a story of innocence and corruption.; Maximo finds himself drawn into the very adult world of police brutality, crime and even love while still remaining a stranger to it. Maximo is essentially a fantasist- when the troubles of real life overwhelm him he loses himself in pirate screenings of romantic sagas and takes part in ‘beauty contests’ with his (equally effeminate) friends. So, his attraction to Victor is in reality based on childlike fascination and a yearning for security rather than actual sexual desire. Similarly, Maximo’s role as the ‘girl’ of the house, cooking is a form of make believe; Maximo playing at being an adult. Nathan Lopez’s performance as Maximo is both mature and nuanced; he captures the confusion and torment of being suspended between childhood and adolescence perfectly.

For Director Auraeus Solito, who grew up in Manila and describes himself as “a gay boy,” ‘The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros’ is a very personal story. Indeed, it is Solito’s familiarity with his subject (it was filmed in his old neighbourhood with many of his neighbours as the supporting cast) that results in such an engaging and convincing film. The social context of the film is handled skilfully. The web of poverty and corruption that eventually enfolds the family becomes the invisible villain of the piece. At the same time, the narrative is injected with a sense of hope by the bonds between Maximo, Paco, Bogs and Boy. Here, we discover an intimate snapshot of a close family brutalised by circumstance and struggling to survive amidst devastating poverty.

With a budget of only $19,000 and Filmed digitally ‘The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros’ is infused with a raw creativity. The experimental cinematography allows the colour and vibrancy of Manila to emerge alongside the darker undertones of the film. While ‘The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros’ will not appeal to all tastes, I found it simultaneously playful, moving and ultimately bittersweet. Definitely one to watch if you’re looking for something unique.
1 June
ICA, Key Cities
Mary Clare Waireri
 
 

The Cuppers competition upto this point has been unpredictable and as we head towards the semi-final stage we can recap on what has happened thus far in the tournament and also look ahead towards the final matches.
Last year’s finalists, Queen’s, have put up a strong challenge thus far, with a confident victory over Brasenose getting their challenge off to a good early start.

Perhaps the most impressive achievement in the tournament has, however, been that of Worcester who have got two teams through to the quarter finals. The first squad was tipped to make that stage, and victories over Wadham, Wolfson and Magdalen proved those predictions to be correct. The victory against Magdalen was particularly notable given the strength of their opponents; McTaggart and Thompson had proved a great doubles’ combination.
However for Worcester seconds to progress so far has been something of a revelation. A victory over an understrength Exeter side was perhaps expected but to beat the tradtionally strong New College in the last 16 was certainly a turn up for the books.

Looking ahead to the final stages there are three teams that stand out.
Last year’s winners St Catz have looked strong so far as they cantered to a series of victories; don’t bet aginst.
Queen’s also look a strong force with a squad of Carpenter, Grainger, Bowden, Hazzard and Pickles a match for anyone.

However Worcester 1 look to be the best pick as they have the deepest squad and having failed to mount a strong challenge last year they will be keen to impress in 2007’s competition.
Although the weather hasn’t helped this year, watch out for cuppers to dominate the end of term.Stuart Williamson

When ten Aboriginal men go off on a fishing trip, it becomes apparent that a young man has taken a fancy to another man’s wife. Her husband starts to tell him a tale: ‘A long, long time ago…a story far before long ago. Before we can remember.’ The black and white film blurs into colour as we embark upon a tale of two brothers’ love for the same woman. As the narrator puts it, it is a tale of ‘too many words, but not enough women’. This conflict over a woman leads to confrontation with another tribe in which a stranger is murdered. The upholding of tribal law, revenge, courage, love, and loss are all invoked in the course of the conflict. The story is simple, and told simply, but with a humour and emotional power that belies its naiveté. The director makes effective use of juxtaposed shots; sweeping panoramas of Northern Australian landscape cut suddenly to a close-up of the swollen belly of a naked young woman. Different languages reinforce this sense of contrast as the narrator speaks in English, but the actors in various local dialects; in fact, this is the first feature-length film in an indigenous Aboriginal language.

One hundred and fifty spears, ten canoes, three wives…trouble’ reads the film’s tagline, and when it gets it right the story is just that – funny and affecting. These funny moments are somewhat undermined as the sub-titles often reveal yet another melodramatic and doom-ridden epithet. Also, the director’s attempt to make a film which satisfies both local tastes and a Western cinema-going audience’s proclivities can stall it in platitudes and politically correct snapshots. Its greatest asset is David Gulpilil as its narrator, whose lively and witty voice-overs fully exploit the comic scenes. The film attempts to explore Aboriginal culture and beliefs, where we came from, why we’re here and where we’re going using local tribal people whose first ‘acting’ attempts are spot on. For a patient viewer, the film is a powerful exploration of Australia’s cultural heritage.

1 June
Renoir, Barbican,
Key Cities
Lucy Karsten
 
 

Catz came into their Cuppers quarter-final fixture against Trinity with a rather weakened side compared to the winning combination that secured Cuppers Victory at the beginning of term.

Not only the no.1 player, Blues’ Tim Weir, but also Matt Brooke-Hitching and Vadim Varvarim were unable to take their place in the 1st VI due to finals.
Outrageous weather conditions and nasty post-Summer Eights hangovers were a tough combination for both teams to deal with, but they braved it out, showing their commitment to Cuppers, making it onto the Catz/Trinity courts at 9.30am.

Play was possible due to the surprisingly good drainage of the courts which meant that the playing surface was not impinged upon too significantly and so conditions for the players were not too dangerous under foot.

Having the advantage of a bye in the first round, Catz had knocked Somerville out of the competition with a convincing win. With two years of Cuppers glory behind them, they approached the match with confidence.
Trinity had not been so lucky, with a tougher road to the quarters, but Oriel and Teddy Hall had both been defeated en route, so the squad were in high spirits and, more importantly, on an excellent run of form.
In the 1st round, Catz’ 2nd pair, comprised of Captain Alex Iltchev and Ryan Taylor, began with a solid victory against Trinity’s 3rds (Horatio Cary and Sian Roberts), only dropping 2 games.

The Catz top two Luke Reeve-Tucker and Lukasz Schachic met their match in Andy Luke and Russ Jackson, the Trinity 1st pair, with strong serving and some great doubles play from both sides.

Catz’ consistency paid off however, resulting in a close 6-4, 7-5 win which put Catz 4-0 up overall.
In the Second Round, Reeve-Tucker and Schlachic overwhelmed Trinity 3rds in little time, whereas for Iltchev and Taylor the game wasn’t so easy. The pair valiantly fought back from being 2-4 down in each set to draw level and eventually produced a shock 2-0 win against Trinity 1sts.

Being 8-0 up meant that only 2 more sets were needed to secure passage into the semi-finals for Catz.
Trinity were not willing to concede without a fight however, and the Trinity 2nd pair, Oli Plant and Captain Matt Johnston, played up to their opposition in the Catz 1sts and managed to halve the match. Catz’ 3rd pair, Jaroslav Broz and Peter Roberts, were under pressure to perform to secure victory for the defending champions, but they lost the vital fixture against the stronger Trinity 3rds.

Returning to the courts, having assumed the win after good play early on, Iltchev and Taylor came up trumps and produced some faultless shotmaking to take the first set against Plant and Johnston, securing Catz a place in the Semi-Finals with a dominant victory.

With finalists coming to the end of exams and the promise of some more tennis-suited sunshine in June, Catz’ prospects look good, with promise of a third Cuppers victoy.

They will face Worcester I in the semi-finals, who have paved their way to the semis in convincing style.
For Trinity, the season looks all but over, but with good young players in their ranks they will be confident of mounting a more serious cuppers challenge next year.
Alex Iltchev

This is not a work of art,” announces Czech surrealist Jan Švankmajer in the prologue to his 2005 film Lunacy. “It is a horror film … an infantile tribute to Edgar Allen Poe.” It’s also a philosophical allegory juxtaposing absolute freedom and repressive authoritarianism. It follows Jean Berlot, a young man suffering a recurrent nightmare in which two menacing hospital orderlies force him into a straitjacket to be taken away by a mysterious Marquis (based on the infamous Marquis de Sade). Appalled by the blasphemous, sado-masochistic orgy to which he is witness, Jean attempts to leave but only becomes more deeply entangled in the Marquis’ perverted games. Poe fans will recognize The Premature Burial in this first half, while the second, based on The System of Dr Tarr and Professor Fether, moves the action into the madhouse which is Švankmajer’s vision of the human condition.
This bipartite structure is only part of the film’s resistance to a single action. Immersion in plot and character is impeded by a series of deliberate anachronisms calculated to remind us that the story, set in early 19th century France, is actually an allegory of the modern world. The action is also punctuated by stop-motion animation in which human flesh comes to life in variously grotesque and comic sequences.

This is not horror in the usual sense. The range of responses it demands goes far beyond heart palpitations and seat-gripping. Overtly philosophical dialogue prompts intellectual engagement with the problems of individual freedom, but this is complicated by the appeal of individual characters. Pavel Liška’s Jean is by turns appealingly sensitive and frustratingly gormless, while Anna Geislerová intrigues as seductress Charlota. The piece is, however, dominated by the erratic energies of Jan Toiska’s Marquis. As the action progresses it is both increasingly farcical and menacing, with much more at stake than Jean’s future. The refusal to cordon off a generic realm to which violence and madness can be restricted makes the film horrifying in a deeper sense, as Švankmayer harnesses the powers of the gothic and grotesque for his disturbing political fable. Entangled in a mess of contradictory impulses and responses, with each potential avenue towards a solution closed off, the audience is left, like Jean, in a mental straitjacket.

While the ambitiousness of the film is largely successful, the animated sequences which play such an integral role in Švankmajer’s earlier works here verge on incongruity. Initially fun and satisfying in an “infantile tribute to Poe” kind of way, they become tedious and fail to mesh meaningfully with the main fabric. But this is a minor glitch in a captivating film – despite its intellectual and artistic baggage, it is consistently surprising, frequently repulsive, and often funny. Whether or not it’s a work of art, it’s anything but dull.

1 -14 June
BFI Southbank
Laura Bridgestock
 
 

What’s love got to do with it? Emma Bernstein on the gurus who would guide you to the perfect pickup
You might expect that the art of seduction had changed since 1 BC, but you would be mistaken. Thanks to Ovid’s Ars Amatoria, published that year, the Roman was well schooled in all manner of sly tips and tricks, which bear more than a passing resemblance to those proposed by today’s praeceptores amoris. But there’s a difference. Whereas the scandalous advice of the Ars Amatoria caused a sensation (rivalled only by a certain birth the following year) and resulted in Ovid’s extradition to the Black Sea, nowadays, the authors of dating manuals can enjoy the reverence and gratitude of their lonely-hearted readership. Undoubtedly the most notorious of the numerous guides to seduction is Neil Strauss’ 450-page tome, The Game: Undercover in the Secret Society of Pickup Artists, which has achieved cult status among its lovelorn disciples.

This is no simple, step-by-step instruction manual for the wannabe lothario. Rather, the book chronicles Strauss’ initiation into the “seduction community” and his transformation from a “formless lump of nerd” into his alter-ego, Style, the “master pickup artist”. Here, seduction is a field dominated by professional predators, relying upon mind control, hypnosis and persuasion techniques. Lest there be any doubt as to the credentials of The Game, Strauss’ own proficiency is confirmed when an incautious Britney Spears gives him her number.

One seduction method beloved of the pickup artist is ‘negging’, which is “to actively demonstrate a lack of interest in a beautiful woman by making an ambiguous statement, insulting her in a way that appears accidental, or offering constructive criticism”. Whilst it beggars belief that classic ‘negs’ such as “you look great – are you wearing make-up?” would melt hearts, ‘negging’ apparently has the dual effect of empowering the pickup artist and making the woman vulnerable. Other methods of seduction rely upon neuro-linguistic programming, “a form of waking hypnosis”, which uses repeated mesmerising hand movements and “flirtatious hypnospeak”. Yet its amoral techniques and nouveau jargon have only served to increase the allure of The Game, whether as a glimpse into a fascinatingly sordid enterprise or as a guide to follow with religious fervour.

However, in terms of sheer notoriety, a serious contender to The Game comes in the unlikely form of The Rules – Time-tested secrets for capturing the heart of Mr Right, its exact opposite in every way. Where The Game uses advanced mind-control and invented terminology, The Rules espouses the traditional approach, and is bloated on its own self-hype. The two authoresses assure readers that they too can “make Mr Right obsessed with having you as his by making yourself seem unattainable”, by  simply following their 35 rules. Their credentials are all in the book’s dedication: “to our wonderful husbands”. Quasi-scientific justification is offered for women playing hard to get; “men are born to respond to a challenge” and that “biologically he’s the aggressor”.

Can a “good marriage” really be based upon such superficial rules? Women are advised that “if you have a bad nose, get a nose job”, are told to limit phone calls to ten minutes and to end the date first. The publications of The Rules had feminists up in arms, but the authors argue that their empowering methods enable every women to get what she wants, namely “a marriage truly made in heaven”.

 It remains to be considered whether the approaches of these two very different books get results.

As we near the end of another Oxford year, I met up with Paul Arrich to look back on his time as Oxide Radio Station Manager.  Paul’s first words on his term as Oxide’s main man was that it was “very hectic”. Nevertheless, for all the hustle and bustle that accompanies the position Paul still looks back with a great deal of fondness.

Before running for Station Manager Paul had always told me that there were many changes and improvements he wanted to instigate. A year on I was curious to know how the reality of the situation corresponded to his original vision. Paul said that there were a lot of things that he would have dearly liked to have achieved but that part of being Station Manager was reconciling yourself with the necessity of compromise.

However, Paul still cites with great pride the relocation of the Oxide studio from a dark, little (and, I would like to add, sweltering) cupboard to a spacious well-equipped room on the top floor of the OUSU building. He also claims that this year has seen the complete revamp of the Oxide website and the remodelling of Oxide as something of a brand name through posters, an array of Facebook groups, and even Oxide Apparel in the form of a particularly garish red t-shirt which I have been known to wear proudly to many a glowsticked Nu-Rave affair.

Even though there are only a few weeks left of the year, Paul is not taking his foot off the accelerator – straight after the interview he was heading for OUSU council to oversee a crucial vote on a separate constitution for Oxide. If passed it would, among other things, guarantee the station complete editorial independence. This would allow it to have whichever guests it wants, thereby avoiding a recurrence of the messy situation in Hilary when, under its no-platform policy, OUSU prevented Nick Griffin, leader of BNP, from appearing on a topical politics show.  

So what does the future hold? Paul’s aim for the coming weeks is to conduct a series of interviews in search of his successor, something he looks forward to with both relief and regret. However, he will not be leaving Bonn Square behind entirely as he has been elected JCR Affiliations Officer for New College. Somewhat surprised, I asked Paul if he thought he might be a little in love with OUSU, to which he reacted as most self-respecting  20 year old males would. He baulked at the thought, realised the violence of his reaction, then laughed it off seeking refuge in semantics; “Well, love’s a strong word!”

More often spotted balancing his cello on the back of a bike, softly-spoken music student Duncan Strachan is lesser known as the front-man of this nine piece indie-folk collective, based at Catz during term time and found touring the highlands and islands of Scotland in the Vac. Bringing together endowed feminists, hippie mothers, maths lovers, ex-choristers and prospective poets, The Pagans are, in folkloric terms, a witches’ brew of magical musical potions. And collectively, they’ve stuck their greedy little fingers in every kind of musical pie that Oxford has to offer – from running a regular club night “Indulgence” to playing for the Oxford University Orchestra.
The line-up – nine people, twelve opinions, according to Strachan – features a core of guitars and the bell-like tones of the Fender Rhodes piano, balanced with more traditional acoustic instruments such as fiddles, saxophone and clarinet. The similarity of forces begs comparision with the quasi-theatrical instrumentals of chamber pop bands such as Arcade Fire or Broken Social Scene but The Pagans sit just as easily with acid/freak-folk like Animal Collective or Joanna Newsom. Cruising atop the instrumental forces, vocals from Siobhan Wilson and Strachan on Standing on the Threshold take the tenderness of Vashti Bunyan or Newsom but forgo child-like fragility in favour of an edgy intensity, pushing their ranges to the limit.

I’m keen to understand how Strachan squares his tutorials in baroque counterpoint and techniques of composition with song-writing for a completely different genre. He’s keen to explain that although borrowing tone rows from the second Viennese school can help to create a structure for an album which links the sound-world of each piece – less an explanation than a further layer of bafflement – these sort of techniques are only used to guide and not to restrict the creative process, which places equal emphasis on composition and improvisation. With four composers contributing songs, they’re not above using themes to create an overall character. The Pagans’ forthcoming album ‘Witches,’ which will be released on their own fledgling record label ‘Heretical,’ is a concept album based on Celtic Folkore. Reminiscent of Fairport Convention’s ‘Tam Lin,’ ‘Witches’ goes beyond old-style folk narratives by underlining ballads with Debussyian modal harmonies layered with footstomping drums.

Whether it’s the effect of quality library time with books on post-modern musicology or not, The Pagans aren’t content to be just a band about town. Duncan fills me in on their forays into film, politics and amateur music therapy. “Using Shostakovich’s 8th quartet, symbolic of a voice speaking out from under Soviet oppression, we made it into the local papers for performing outside the Chinese Embassy in Edinburgh in protest against their treatment of the Falun Gong.” Nice. Other projects include an album investigating environmentalism and performing in a Nativity play with autistic children.

Having supported Scotland’s leading exponents of Celtic fusion, The Peatbog Faeries, and post-punk London scensters Revere, who are soon to be featured in an MTV documentary, The Pagans’ potential fans seem to sit amongst crossover-classical, jazz, folk-indie or alternative pop listeners. However, what really drives them is the spirit of Prog-rock; the will to experiment and fuse ideas together melded with social ambition. Strachan claims that “Even when we’ve got a sound we love, we don’t want to stay in the same place.”
www.myspace.com/scotlandpagans
 Ottwell Bab