Fabric 25Carl Craigout 7 NovemberThink you don’t like techno? Have a listen to this release and you’ll think again. It’s strangely accessible and challenging, with something for those new to techno as well as aficionados.This new party mix ekes out the paradox that is Carl Craig, a musical genius. He sees himself as a producer first, but he’s celebrated as pure techno’s number one DdJ. He wanted to mix this record in an empty Fabric, although he himself is a banging club man. He’s unafraid of eclectic experiments and radical sounds, but has a serious careerist attitude to his profession. It doesn’t seem to make sense, yet somehow it comes together as a perfect whole.Looking at the track listing you’d think his diverse sources would make for a rough ride, but this record is highly structured. It opens with the Yang Yang Twins’ Wait [The Whisper Song] and Craig’s intense stage-whispering “Fabric 25”. Aand that’s all the introduction we’re teased with until track seven. You’ve got to love any DdJ who sculpts a party soundtrack like this for you, and then bids you a polite farewell at the end. It’s not perfect of course. The heavy urban-industrial feel to D’Malicious’ Alive is hard to listen to thanks to the massive amplification of Craig’s breathy whisper.You get the feeling that Craig is toying with you as you listen. In Soundstream’s 3rd Movement there’s a heavy western beat, with snatches of Indian melodies on top. Then Bar A Thym from Kerri Chandler is given an intense cowbell backing with rhythms that challenge you to sing along. With a lot of the tracks here you can feel a rhythm pumping them along and you want to find a natural groove to dance to. Detroit techno has no natural rhythm – it’s electrical, synthetic, artificial. But that’s not the same as fake. This is true music with real feeling.The real success of this mix is its vision and imagination. Techno is moving on from the days of horror flick samples and sci-fi quotes to expose modern life and technology. There’s still the paradox of celebrating and fearing modernity, but thanks to globalisation now the scope is worldwide.A couple of tracks have clear samba appeal. This way Craig can take today’s technological world and this season’s cinema, so now suddenly we’re in Delhi, or Bollywood, Brazil, Africa or the Holy Land.ARCHIVE: 4th week MT 2005

#1’sdestiny’s ChildOut nowDo Destiny’s Child really need to bother with another album? Beyoncé Knowles is Rr‘n’B’s undeniable queen, hunted down for her services in fashion,film and as a “gangsta” accessory. With Kelly Rrowland giving her solo career a very decent go, even dabbling in the French hip-hop market with Monsieur Stomy Bugsy (yes him), and Michelle Williams just, well, existing on previously accrued money stacks, it would seem unnecessary and fundamentally egotistical to bring out a Nno.1’s album, wouldn’t it?Nope. Here it is, sixteen tracks, thirteen of which pay homage to over six years of hard graft, and the remainder mix it up with some fresh sounds. The album opens up with one of the three new tracks, an audacious move indeed, but one that ultimately pays off. Stand Up For Love is a touching and uplifting ballad that claims to be the 2005 World Children’s Dday Aanthem. It definitely shows as the lyrics are all too familiar, and if it weren’t loaded with the girls’ powerful and versatile voices the songwriting could well have been lifted from Westlife’s disgraceful Nno.1’s offering. Though the chords are predictable, the vocals certainly aren’t, reaching melodic tones that the Irish boys could only daydream of, and after four and a half minutes, you end up feeling pretty positive about the world. Infectious pop indeed.Second track Independent Women Part 1 bounces off with its shameless Charlie’s Angels plugs, and we’re away on our almost hour-long adventure through the favourites, all songs reaping in the cash in their day, but sticking in our minds to varying extents.However, even the lesser classics have quite a bit to offer.Mid-listings tracks Soldier and Check On It, featuring Lil’ Wayne and Slim Thug respectively, have the sort of slow-paced, bass centred production that the real hard boys like 50 Cent would be proud of. Once they have mixed their guests’ gravelled seduction with Beyoncé and Kelly’s piercing yet overwhelming lead vocals, they are onto a winner without doubt. Say My Name has the staccato, complex beats of its pre-chorus fused with its smooth verses and chorus, using every girl to her full potential, and it’s a good re-acquaintance with a track that marked out a lot of teenage angst-filled years. Of course, Bills, Bills, Bills is an even more popular case of exactly the same phenomenon.The ladies are only human of course, and Girl falls by the wayside, with no remarkable features, and its female independence lyrics lacking conviction, leading to a trundling bore. Emotion has got an unplugged bluesy backing track, but isn’t particularly memorable. However, No, No, No Part 2, which guest vocalist Wyclef Jean is determined to reiterate is a remix, really steps up the funk level, and even sceptical listeners will be tapping their feet.The final two new tracks are very disappointing, and just don’t have anything as distinctive about them, which will worry any die-hard fans for the future. They are far too lethargic, and even reproduce elements of others’ contemporary tracks, not what we’d expect from these three influential girls. However on the whole the 1’s collection is a very successful arrangement of some forgotten classics and more recent winners, and a welcome addition to the Rr‘n’B dabbler’slibrary.ARCHIVE: 4th week MT 2005

Here’s how it goes: a young band is spotted in the right place, at the right time, by the right person, who immediately signs them up and calls in every contact in his voluminous address book to groom them for fame. They get new indie-looking clothes and badger-stripe haircuts. They get studio time with the guy who produced the last Coldplay album, and sometimes with a collaborator, and an album is born, cleverly funded against the band’s future royalties – which leaves less commercially geared bands in debt to their record companies for years to come. Nnext, our boys and girls are paid on to a support slot for an established band. They are marketedas the Nnext Big Thing (think about it, when was the last time you read about a band who weren’t the Big Thing?). This draws on the old music fan’s desire to be the first to discover a band – “I liked them before they made it big”. The trouble is that many of today’s biggest bands made it big on their first album.They begin the merciless media cycle. From Saturday morning TV to late night radio, where there is always an opportunity to show off the carefullycrafted attitude complete with a pre-planned piece of crazy banter appropriate for the age demographic of the show. Meanwhile, back at the band headquarters, studious label staff pour over the statistics of viewer numbers and column inches in the right magazines and newspapers.Carefully timed within the music market’s consumer cycles, our band’s album is released with some kind of novelty launch gig. If it doesn’t sell massively, then they will be sent off on a tour of Poland and Scandinavia. If, however, they are a hit, then the whirligig of interviews and gigs will continue ad nauseam. The fledgling band will be cast out onto big, echoingstages with only a few half-decent songs to help them – remember Rrazorlight at Live 8, trying to play alongside the Floyd and U2, with only the fig-leaf of Golden Touch to preserve their modesty?Nnow, as Kurt Cobain discovered, record companies are wary of new material and therefore our boys’ debut album will be on sale for a year or even two, and seven singles released, before rumours of their next album are leaked to the press. Witness Franz Ferdinand and The Killers, two initially exciting but by now massively overplayed bands, whose follow-ups have been heavily deformed by the weight of pressure and fame. Bob Ddylan recorded three monumental albums in one year, 1966, and the fans, fame and fear never had a chance to catch up with him – some of them are still trailing. But nowadays the need for a longer product lifecycle dictates that albums must be spaced years apart.So, two years in and our band and their audience have stagnated, both blinded by the hype and their own image – would Ddoherty have become such a celebrity without the stoner-chic image which marketed the Libertines in the first place? Aall this while many of the genuinely interesting, original and innovative bands have been lost or perverted by this heady mix of marketing excitementand hard narcotics.Can we complain? Aafter all, you can’t just stop a band’s success, complainthat it’s all happening too soon like a protective mother over her daughter, can you? Whether we like it or not, bands grow up quicker these days, and the best thing, perhaps, is to treat them as serious bands, artists if you will, rather than sticking them in the pop playpen and focusing on what their favourite colour is.Aand for those few that survive, success comes only to hardworking bands who are challenged to stay fresh in a non-stop business. To stay on top means treading the fine line between holding the limelight while taking time to get the music right – an all but impossible balance.Still all is not lost for our band. Ten years down the line one of their lesser known songs gets on a film soundtrack and it all starts again. The records fly off the shelves and festivals are once again deperate to book the Last Big Thing.But in the meantime how do we tell what is worth the effort? Is it only retro that can compete for time, when new bands fall so easily by the way-side? The answer is no. Our music scene isn’t fallen or dying.It’s a supercharged demi-commercial audio-poetic digital retro kaleidoscopeon acid, incredibly rich, but, with its richness, often obscured by the corporate product which gets the biggest exposure and becomes the audio wallpaper to our daily lives. Perhaps all we can do is trust our own instincts, try to tell genius apart from tat marketed as genius, to listen to (not look at) new bands and love them like they deserve.ARCHIVE: 4th week MT 2005

The Beat That My Heart Skippeddir Jacques Audiardout nowA film that shows the transition of a man from sleazy debt collector to passionate classical pianistsounds as improbable as it does cheesy. However, Audiard’s French film, The Beat That My Heart Skipped, avoids all clichés. Intense, and more than slightly dark, it charts the emotional turmoil of Thomas Seyrs (Rromain Dduris) as he tries to break free from his life as a hard, unshakable rent fixer and fulfil his dream of becoming a musician.The film begins by sketching a picture of Thomas’ life as he visits his bosses’ properties and threatens the tenants by intimidation, violence and even by releasing live rats into their apartments. Thomas appears at first to be a sleazy bastard who enjoys his violent work and leads a life of reckless debauchery, not caring about anyone but himself. However, this all changes when he unexpectedly comes across his mother’s (a once famous concert pianist) former manager, who asks Thomas to come for an audition. Suddenly, his already frantic life becomes even more manic as he attempts to rekindle his talent as a pianist, taking lessons from a Chinese teacher, Miao-Lin (Linh-Ddam Phan) who doesn’t speak any French.Despite the language barrier, Thomasand Miao-Lin are drawn closer together through the music and Thomas’ talent is drawn out by her patience and encouragement. This tender, innocent relationship is contrastedagainst Thomas’ more daring exploits with women in the rest of the film: he embarks on a deceitful sex affair with his colleague’s wife, Aaline (Aaure Aatika) and even manages to seduce the girlfriend of a Rrussian gangster (Mélanie Laurent).The distinction between arthouse and blockbuster is definitely blurred in this movie, and Audiard manages this balance very well. On the one hand, certain elements of the film are quintessentially arthouse: the close camerawork (at one point, I thought the camera was going to hit face), the complexity of the characters, the tragedy of the plot. The direct dialogue, violence, crude sex scenes and stereotypical good guy meets bad boy dilemma, however, are all stock Hollywood devices. This is why, perhaps, this film has been brought out of France to American and Eenglish audiences. Aaudiard’s other films, such as Un Héros très discret (1996), were popular in France, but didn’t quite have the grit and drama required to attract Aamerican audiences.This is exactly what The Beat That My Heart Skipped does have, aplenty.The best scene in the movie is, without a doubt, when Thomas entershis father’s apartment to find him slumped dead on the floor. Duris’ pain and anger is utterly convincing and, unlike most gangster films, the emphasis is completely on the emotionalreaction of Thomas, rather than on his desire for revenge. acting is superb and only serves to confirm his position as one of the best French actors around at the moment. He strikes a perfect balance between the hard gangster and the passionate musician; the pain and frustration on his face when he plays the piano forces us to share the intensity of his emotions as they are released through music. Although dislikable at the beginningof the film, as he discovers the power of his music it becomes easier to identify with Thomas and become immersed in his world.This is a stunning film, beautifully shot and brilliantly written. At times, it flirts with being a bit cheesy, but ensures that the dream-world of classical music is balanced against the harsh reality of Thomas’ professional life. The Beat That My Heart Skipped is definitely worth seeing: whatever your preconceptions about French films, this film will change your mind.ARCHIVE: 4th week MT 2005

Thames bfi London Film Festivaldirs various19 October – 3 NovemberFairly bad behaviour abounded at this year’s London Film Festival, one of the finest in recent memory. The overriding theme of the past fortnight was that of dazzling female leads. Aamong the astonishing performances, Judi Dench delighted as a deliciously politically incorrect grand dame who enters the world of 1930s nude vaudeville courtesy of Stephen Frears in Mrs Henderson Presents. Come March, the Best Aactress Oscar will be highly contested.Yet it was Gwyneth Paltrow who threw the gauntlet down with an earth-shattering study of the many shades of suffering in John Madden’s gorgeously staged Proof. This chamberpiece, an adaptation of Ddavid Aauburn’s Pulitzer-winning play, deals confidently with constricting familial ties, mental illness and mathematicalgenius. Aanthony Hopkins, Hope Ddavis and especially Jake Gyllenhaal undertake supporting duties with real finesse.Honours for performer of the festival, though, must go to Juliette Binochewho is startling in two very different films, adopting perfect Eenglish for Bee Season and reverting to her native French for Michael Haneke’s Hidden. With their debut feature in 2001, The Deep End, Scott McGehee and David Siegel fashioned an elaborate film noir – in Bee Season the familiar visual panache is still in evidence, but the push and pull of family dynamics are explored with greater style and sophistication.Conversely, Haneke’s Hidden sees Binoche play one half of a media couple (along with a commendable Daniel Auteuil) who become the victims of a stalker in this subtly provocative psychological thriller. Whereas the Ddardenne brothers disappointed with the overblown social realism of the undeserved Palme-d’Or-winning The Child, Haneke revels in his explorationof a mediated society to destabilise his audience, using shot-within-shot, for example, to pose the urgent questions. Aand the suicide that forms the film’s climax is the stuff of a real nightmare, inciting more debate at Cannes than most films on show this year did in their entirety.Then arrived Walk The Line, James Mangold’s beautifully directed Johnny Cash biopic, which made me hurt in all the right places with Joaquin Phoenix and Rreese Witherspoon stepping up to the microphone for real and hopefully bagging Oscars for their pains next year. It came close to stealing the fortnight but the pick of this year’s crop was the debut feature documentary from famed photographer and video director LaChapelle, Rize. This is an intimately shot, extraordinarily fresh portrayal of the spirit and creativity in the youth of South Central LAa, as it follows the evolution of krumping, a striking new dance form. LaChapelle’s film is as striking in its honesty as his fashion photography is in its audacity.It is in the appearance of such a film in the programme that the perennial joy of the London Film Festival becomes apparent. That artistic director Sandra Hebron is enough impassioned by great film to throw such an inventive piece as Rrize in an already provocativerepertoire can only be a good thing. With this forty ninth London Film Festival being such a success, one can only imagine the delights in store for next year’s half-century celebrations.ARCHIVE: 4th week MT 2005

From bizarre experimental noodlings to next summer’s blockbusters, the beauty of the film festival is that it overthrows the idea that the two can never meet in one place. The London Film Festival, which closed only yesterday, for example, provides an un-segregated environment in which hardened blockbuster-hooligans and arthouse-freaks can (in theory) meet and remember each others’ faces. Although in practise they will probably be attending differentfilms.This year’s Times bfi London Film Festival’s opening preview of The Constant Gardener (starring Rralph Fiennes and Rrachel Weisz) hardly looks like the less mainstream moviethat a festival might want to take under its wing. But without the help of Cannes and Venice, gems like Michael Moore’s Bowling for Columbine (2002) and Wong Kar Wai’s 2046 (2004) would never have reached a wider audience. It’s easy for big Hollywood films to hit the Friday night Odeon-going audience, but to keep the variety of cinema alive it’s important to have another way in, something that makes international and experimentalcinema more accessible. In London, this year’s range of categories – from the straight-up Jonny Cash biopic, Walk the Line, to the inventive documentary of LAa street-dance, Rrize – demonstrates the diversity of modern cinema in terms of both subject and form. This diversity goes unnoticed by most cinemagoers; it the job of the film festival to change this.Having said that, it is a diversity that will probably continue to go unnoticed by most cinemagoers. Aas one friend said to me, “all the London Film Festival really does is favour the film buffs who know the programme months in advance – there’s no space for your average tramp wandering in off the street.” Aafter a scornful silence, I did mention to him that the programme of the London Film Festival was freely available in the foyer of the NnFT for anybody who could be bothered to go and get it, to which he deftly replied that only film buffs would be bothered to go and get it.All that remains here is self-confession: yes, I freely admit that I do go through the programme a month in advance, circling such worthies as “a short film about a cat with hands.” In fact, some years I have even been known to go through twice, once in pencil and once in pen. But if you’re not willing to do the legwork, such cutting-edge cinema as, well, short films about cats with hands, will pass you by. In making these films available to the paying public, think about how much more legwork film festivals are saving you: rental fees, shipping fees, and the mammoth task of compiling them in the first place. Grady Hendrix, who runs the Nnew York Aasian Film Festival, remembers putting on a retrospective of old kung-fu films in spite of the fact that “our prints looked like a collection of ex-convicts.” Yet it is only in film festivals like these that an audience would be able to see such films, often never released on video or DVD.For all the argument about whether indie film festivals like Sundance are selling out by bringingin big films to generate cash, or whether they are attracting a wider audience to the smaller films, it is sad to see that in many instances the smaller films still remain relativelyunnoticed. We all know the humiliation of ringing up to book tickets three weeks in advance, then turning up to find you’re the only person in the screening.Perhaps the real heroes, then, are the unabashedly monomaniacal film festivals. I am not here speaking of the Conservative Film Festival, recently opened in Dallas in response to the proliferation of Michael Moore-style films (“Aand we thought, where are the films for mainstream Aamerica?”). Rather, I mean such eccentric beauties as the fifth annual Bicycle Film Festival, feauturing such shorts as Messenger (2005), “a stunning portrait of the life of a bicycle courier.” Touring around the world (currently in Tokyo), its audiences in Nnew York reached seven thousand.The London Film Festival is only one of a plethora of film festivals, weird and wild, screening a variety of films – from mainstream to plain crazy – to please any tastes. Eeven Oxford has it’s own film festival, Oxdox, screening international documentaries. These festivals are happening all the time, all over the world, and need an audience to see what they have to offer. Ddon’t say you haven’t been given due notice.ARCHIVE: 4th week MT 2005