The group carried out exercises—it was a workshop after all. Simple cupping of the hands about the ear to isolate sounds was a good starting point to get us speculating about the nature of sound in the everyday world, but a genuine moment of clarity came a little later. Tom handed all the attendees earplugs. Plugs inserted, the market itself became removed and grew distant quite rapidly.
As the silence grew more palpable, I wondered what Hall was really doing here: the idea had been to create sensitivity in the ear itself on removing the earplugs afterwards, but this experience of silence was quite something. I felt strange, disconnected from the world after only a few minutes of this very simple exercise.
The workshop group became a mild spectacle to observant marketgoers. We were, as it happened, standing about with fluorescent earplugs visible, not-listening with intent.
Intended or not, this added to the odd, isolated feel of this moment. Removal of the earplugs came after a short walk to a more central spot in the nearby Salamanca Square.
I found the rush of sound a relief and, yes, it did all feel louder somehow. Just like the cymbal that was to ring over my head later that evening, there was something quite amazing in this Slay Or Slander - Man Is The Bastard / Pink Flamingos - Under The Surface: Smashed Visions (Vinyl), simple moment. Tom Hall finds wonder in the small and the brief, in the things that go unnoticed in this busy life. Beyond that though, he is fortunate to be able to express this with a clarity one encounters all too infrequently.
The emergent female sensibility among the thrilling discoveries in these films was particularly evident in the searing Iranian feature Mainline Khoon Bazi.
Co-directed by Rakhstan Bani-Estemad, whose daughter Baran Kosari plays the main character, Sara, it is a powerful addition to the canon of films largely by and about women and a unique glimpse of middle-class life in Tehran, which is revealed to share the same agonies as any urban centre.
Female solidarity, or more precisely, its challenges, is the theme of the Algerian film Barakat! Amel, young and idealistic, is contrasted with the battle-hardened Khadija, a veteran of the independence war against the French. As played by Fettouma Bouamari, Khadija, whose gender now separates her from the male guerillas she once fought with shoulder to shoulder, is a magnetic personality. A carefully-calibrated mix of roguish irreverence and coruscating cynicism, her contempt for all dogmas reminds us of the plurality of positions and experiences in Arab cultures.
As an Arab film, directed by a woman, whose narrative hinges on the intergenerational tensions between these two formidable, professional women, Barakat! Truth and Beyond explores the ecstatic musical celebrations and community gatherings that characterise this indigenous faith and constitute its otherness from the anti-musical piety of the orthodox tradition.
Memorable scenes include improvised musical debates in remote villages; a visit to the followers of the prophet Lalon who embrace Christianity, Hinduism, Buddhism and Islam equally; and a glimpse into the moving ceremony known as the Urs of Saidur Rahman Bayati of Waecia Tarika, where worshippers reduced to tears embrace each other.
Rumi: the Poetry of Islam is a low-key enquiry into the life of this most enduring and well-loved Persian poet. These re-enactments are rather awkward and jarring at first, but become increasingly endearing as the film progresses. In the folklore mode, the most exhilarating experience, however, was delivered by the extraordinary Uzbekistani film The Road Beneath the Skies Kamara Kamalova.
The film purges the dour realist style of its Soviet heritage for a stubbornly specific local expression which resonates with the poetic work of fellow Central Asian auteur Sergei Paradjanov.
The narrative about love and loss, told in dance-allegorical form, is striking in its lush colour—particularly gold, lavender, red, and green—which enhances the profoundly surrealistic sequences threaded through the film. Simon of the Desert discards realism altogether, using the story of the saint to explore some favourite themes. Despite the brutality of the funding cuts, BIFF managed to triumph on the basis of inspired, sometimes audacious selections.
The film offers a talkative Wilson, words from Tom Waits, Susan Sontag who saw every performance of some worksWilliam Burroughs, David Byrne, Phillip Glass and others, along with images and footage from many shows. There are tantalising glimpses of works Australians are unlikely ever to see and ones they just might have Einstein on Slay Or Slander - Man Is The Bastard / Pink Flamingos - Under The Surface: Smashed Visions (Vinyl) Beach or Black Rider or are looking forward to like the The Temptation of Saint Anthony at the Melbourne international Arts Festival.
Coil is a wonderfully apt image for the album, conjuring something wound, expanding and contracting, full of force but also of a controlled unleashing of sounds delicate and powerful, whether in a music box or a grand pendulum clock or, as realised here, on vibraphone, marimba and drums.
The compositions on the CD beat and pulse regularly as we would expect of percussion but, by turns, they dance, muse, grow introspective, dramatic and ache for transcendence. Edwardes and producer Belinda Webster bring to the trio of dances an enveloping range and depth of sound, the timber ringing with sublime bottom notes and high ripplings, resonating with buried references to music Latin and Asian and Baroque. The first and last dances open with buoyant riffs that you quickly embody—they are the springs out of which the compositions rise before falling and rising again—while the middle piece revels in an elegant tentativeness.
Refreshing is the word for More Marimba Dances, and they are never less than utterly intelligent. Something has been completed. The impulse to cease soon seems to come from the instrusion of a very different voice. Sweet marimba and gruff bongos dialogue, a remarkable exchange which must have stretched Edwardes, brain and limb until, finally, the marimba takes off on its own, happily monologuing, galloping, riffing, locked into a final pulse with minute diversions, into….
Once relaxed into, Hol Spannen Luiden is subtly if sparely immersive. The CD closes with a return to more accessible material but both pieces have their own complexities. Claire Edwardes has located the kinetic energy in these compositions and let them uncoil.
With each play of the CD, their magic is released. Day of the Figurines opened in Berlin inand has since been presented in Singapore, Brighton and Birmingham. Other Blast Theory works, such as Uncle Roy All Around Youinvestigated social expansion by exploring the boundaries between the fictional world of a game and the physical reality of a city, implicating bystanders on city streets in the narrative of the game.
In contrast, Day of the Figurines explores the theme of temporal expansion, unfolding slowly, over 24 days, through the exchange of just a few text messages each day. To participate in the game, players visit a physical space, which could be a museum, gallery, theatre or art centre, where they find a large-scale white metal model of an imaginary town at table height. Designed to act as a spectator interface, the board displays 50 cut-up destinations, based on a typical British town including, for instance, a 24 Hour Garage, Big Chef, the Blue Cross, a Boarded-up Shop, an Underpass, but also, ominously, the Nuclear Bunker and the Rat Research Institute.
Two video projectors beneath the surface of the board shine through holes in the table reflecting off mirrors mounted horizontally above, thus enabling the surface of the table to be augmented with projections of information from the game. This augmentation system is turned on periodically to show the game operators where to move each figurine as they update the physical game board.
Players select a figurine from a display of neatly arranged on a second table. Before leaving the space, they are given some basic instructions about the game, which explain how to move, speak, pick up and use objects, find other players, receive help or even leave the game.
From the moment of registration, the game contacts players through SMS messages. If players choose a destination, the figurines are moved towards it.
Once the new destination is reached, they may encounter other players with whom they can exchange messages. Players may also encounter objects, such as ladders, billiard cues, photo IDs, wrist bands, fleeces, tea, saveloys, gas canisters, bodies and defibrillators, and be presented with missions and dilemmas in the form of multiple-choice and open questions, some formulated in real time by the game operators. Unlike in conventional games, players, who soon realize that they are refugees in this estranged town, do not really win or lose but rather learn how to survive by looking after their health, building on their game knowledge, responding to missions and dilemmas and helping other players.
While time goes by, shops open and close, an eclipse takes place, a fete raises some money, an army occupies the town, light fades and dusk sets in, it becomes cold. Players, some chatty, some quiet, some active, some tentative, come and go, and, for nearly a month, become our companions, sharing information, circulating rumours, having enlightened or exhilarating conversations, some trying to help, some trying to hurt or even kill us, episodically and yet pervasively, in this curiously entertaining and yet also disturbingly estranging world.
Here we learn that this game has no real winners, no final objective, but rather operates at the level of Heideggerrian dasein—being in the world. The spatio-temporal structure of the game is very complex and whereas players, subsequent to the encounter with the board, are under the impression that they inhabit a Cartesian world, the game in fact operates by a hub structure whereby all destinations are equidistant from one another.
This creates a distorted spatial awareness, which affects the sensation that the game operates in its own space-time, not so much separately from as additionally to our day-to-day lives. The game narrative is carefully constructed to give the sense of an authorial presence but also to facilitate interactivity, as well as theatricality and performativity. Whereas the former allows for the creation of virtual spectatorship and audience, the latter is visible in the formation of more or less spontaneous performance events, such as virtual happenings, flaneurism and, perhaps even most innovatively, spatial and social co-presence which allows for a prolonged and efficacious form of social connectivity derived purely via the temporal augmentation of our lives.
I have now played Day of the Figurines three times Berlin, Brighton and Birmingham and have found the game just as absorbing and engaging as any faster, more immersive game. I have also found it structurally and aesthetically exceptionally rich, so much so that as yet I have not been able to explore all destinations and engage with all objects, dilemmas and missions.
Day of the Figurines is an exciting, complex, and decidedly original development in the work of Blast Theory that represents a milestone for disciplines as varied as Performance Studies and Computer Science, Visual Art and Psychology, Sociology and Game Studies. Not only is it the first game working entirely through SMS messages linguists might of course see this as the first performative mobile phone game, based exclusively on speech acts.
Herzog has never been overtly aligned with the left nor concerned with politics in the manner of fellow New German Cinema directors like Fassbinder. On the surface at least, Rescue Dawn remains in familiar Herzog territory. The film dramatises the true story of German-born US navy pilot Dieter Dengler who was shot down while bombing Laos ina tale Herzog has already explored in his documentary Little Dieter Needs to Fly Dengler endured harsh conditions in a primitive prisoner of war camp before escaping into the jungle and suffering even greater depravations as a fugitive.
He managed to evade capture, survive disease and fend off starvation to be eventually plucked from the jungle by a passing US helicopter.
Rescue Dawn contains all the elements of a classic Herzog narrative: a crazed individual pursuing an impossible dream, an unwilling group press-ganged into following him, and the overcoming of enormous physical hardship. The stridently masculine histrionics climax in the final, horrendously cliched scene in which Dengler is welcomed back to his ship with a chest-beating all-male group hug from the entire crew.
Throughout the film US military personnel appear as simple, straight-talking, likeable men of action who never question what they do. On the other hand, reflective characters are shown in a uniformly negative light. After Dengler is finally rescued from the jungle, he is whisked into hiding by shady CIA operatives who are portrayed as dubious, secretive characters, partly because of their unmanly appearance well-tailored suits, ties and spectacles as opposed to fatigues and army bootsand partly because of their propensity for talk and analysis.
Military action is exciting work, while CIA intelligence is the realm of feminised intellectuals. More troubling than the cliched nature of the characters, however, is the fact that Rescue Dawn seems to unambiguously endorse—or even glorify—a political and military culture that saw the US carpet bomb a largely defenceless Third World nation for nearly a decade without the knowledge of Congress, let alone the American public.
The secret nature of the bombing campaign is only referred to fleetingly in the film, and is never interrogated. With the sole exception of a simpleton dwarf on the prison camp staff, the Laotian characters are primitive, violent and completely alien. The guards in the camp are shown to be inexplicably cruel and irrational for abusing the prisoners every time US jets scream overhead. To understand the degree to which Rescue Dawn provides an American-centric view of the war in Laos, audiences at the Sydney Film Festival needed to look no further than the documentary Bomb Harvest, by Sydney-based filmmaker Kim Mordaunt.
This film centres on Laith Stevens, an Australian bomb disposal technician attempting to clean up the mess left byUS missions over Laos. It is estimated that as many as 30 per cent of the US bombs failed to explode, leaving an appalling legacy across the country. In some areas the explosives lie so densely that any kind of agriculture is impossible. The smallest bombs are frequently mistaken by children for balls or pieces of fruit. Around 12, Laotians have been killed by unexploded weapons since the bombing ceased in Much of the screen time is taken up following the students through the second half of their training, as they deal with live bombs in the province of Ta Oi, where the Ho Chi Minh Trail once crossed into Vietnam.
The area was subject to some of the most intense bombardments of the war as the Americans tried to sever North Vietnamese supply lines. When Stevens and his team arrive in their base village, they are greeted by a line of amputees—peasant victims of unexploded ordnance.
My children died. Then nobody was left. However much we comfort ourselves with self-serving myths about the Vietnam War, the fact is the US and its allies slaughtered untold numbers of civilians in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia, while their grandchildren continue to be maimed, deformed and killed by the legacy we left behind.
This seems a bold move, exposing the performers to unpredictability. Given the audience only has access to the spoken word, one might expect the actors to be masters of verbal improvisation and poetic sparring.
In fact, the LCUs are skilled at bullying. Little space is offered for the householder to respond. The only unexpected responses were from householders refusing to talk to the LCU, but nothing significant was made of this. Possibly the LCU indifference to interviewee responses was meant as a critique of political pollsters and ideologues, but if so, it was a blunt instrument used to establish a familiar point.
Here too one could perhaps conclude the intent was to dull the audience into indifferent, distracted submission to authority similar to that expected of the householders—but the result was more tedious and frustrating than intellectually challenging.
The key issue is just what is being presented here? And what precisely is PVI trying to depict? The repressiveness and pettiness of modern policing and of spying are hardly new given these institutions developed in post-Napoleonic Europe to keep populations at bay.
In this sense, Inform is just what is seems: moderately aestheticised, publicly-staged spruiking conducted by non-actors—a modest if not particularly edifying achievement. Although ostensibly enunciating the conservative position, the palpable aural presence of this man, his dignity and patience in replying to these demands imparted a pathos, drama and aural complexity otherwise lacking in Inform.
Their common aim was to link people to art, land and culture, responding to the arid lands on a physical, social and cultural level, telling stories of people and place and exploring sustainability and ecology. The opening at the Ilparpa claypans, hard baked by the hot, dry summer was at sunset. Dark thunderclouds banked up creating a light show to rival the human one.
After welcome to country by traditional owner, Sybaella Turner, longed-for rain drowned the voices of poetry readers and sluiced down the screen of projected images of desert water. All the while negotiations and confrontations between the Federal Minister for Aboriginal Affairs, the NT government, Alice Springs Council and Tangentyere Council over land and houses for local Arrernte people were being acted out.
Violent assaults in town camps continued throughout the three weeks. The nuclear dump debate re-emerged. At Watch This Space, Inhabited, 12 photographs with interviews by Jessie Boylan and Bilbo Taylor, recorded the stories and protests of Indigenous and non-indigenous people affected by uranium mining in Australia. And this often occurs, quite literally, face-to-face. Bergman undoes time and space psychologically most extremely in the psychotic transferences of Persona  or the horrors of Hour of the Wolf —recently made available on DVD.
So too does Antonioni, himself a cinematographer, warping time and space with the eye of a great modernist visual artist, often with minimal story-telling in his wonderful films of the s. Along with a handful of others these directors made cinema great in the 20th century.
Wachet Auf! The title, taken from a cantata written by Johann Sebastian Bach inimplies the opposite to lullaby, and yet, Sleepers Wake!
We exist with Nigel in a zone that slips, like sleep, between loss and longing, caress and fantasy, pain and forgetting. Our journey is heavily somnambulant. We are half-teased into waking by the trickery of words or the sensuous strain of melody. We are all made witness to a very strange kind of time. Is Nigel in mourning? Is he traumatised? He has certainly forgotten something. We watch him chase memories—remnants of narratives, half-told stories, the shadowy footsteps of a dance.
French novelist Marcel Proust was enamoured of memory and its tendencies for loss and longing. Sleepers Wake! The collaborative writing effort creates a sense of a man who stands amidst broken narrative—a postmodern Proust gone awry.
And yet, these narrative breakages speak less of collaboration and more of a certain kind of experience. Their fractures paint Nigel as a man who is balancing tenuously on the cusp of himself. It lullabies on recurring motifs that return, each time with a slightly different twist, engineered to sink us into the sense that we are looking at the same problem from perhaps a different angle.
Another version using Kurt Weill has dramatic spunk in its pace. These incongruous musical themes elide dream with recollection. Kellaway, the performer, does not play until the very endalthough we get the sense that Nigel, the character, has a lurching itch to do so. The different textual variations cleverly merge to produce writing that is in different degrees elegant, potent, smug, syncopated and raw.
In one narrative, Nigel confesses to a psychiatrist, only to end with a gag and the punctuating resonance of canned laughter. In another, he has received a letter from a lover who has apparently left him, but has got all the facts wrong. For a start, Nigel never had a pet rabbit, nor did the lovers own a holiday house.
This delicate stepping between worlds both in space, music and text makes Sleepers Wake! In this rendition, a postmodern Proust gives way to a cynically philosophical Hamlet. And yet this reference to bigger questions is not to be taken lightly. I was moved by Sleepers Wake!. Kellaway understands the fickle nature of memory, which is why he disappears before our eyes a little too quickly.
We are left with a trace of a gesture, the afterglow of human sentiment, an energy that lingers alongside what has already become just a distant memory of music. ELISION players are renowned for bringing off difficult and inaccessible work, often in association with visual and other art forms. As well as showcasing some demanding new composition, this season emphasised clarity and virtuosity in instrumental performance.
The VCA concert comprised mainly solo performances of works that emphasised playing technique. Ming Qi, inspired by a Chinese tomb, is an intense but engaging work with a forceful oboe line, wonderfully carried by Peter Veale, which overlays the measured percussion. The recital had the flavour of a masterclass, demonstrating the musicality that can be achieved through unconventional playing techniques.
Listener attention shifts back and forth between the composition, the playing and the resonance and character of the instrument itself. The two performers—Haynes, on clarinet and bass clarinet, and Carl Rosman, on clarinet and contrabass clarinet and, in two works, singing a falsetto alto—brought extraordinary dynamism to their performances.
Scored for the two largest of wind instruments, which are rarely used for solo performance, The Sum of Histories is a poetically lyrical work, stentorian but finely controlled.
The randomness of the pitch line ensures the work is never rendered the same way twice. The recorder is a larger than conventional one, with a sound approaching that of the shakuhachi. It can render gentle, mediative lines with a rich sonority and support compositional gymnastics including clearly articulated multiphonics.
The instrument used is an Australian made alto and hopefully its revival will stimulate further compositional interest. Commissioned by ELISION, The Source Within is, in effect, three quintets performed sequentially, each of which comprises three different quartets of instruments together with piano Marilyn Nonken —firstly, flute, guitar, harp and violin; then clarinet, contrabass clarinet, horn and cello; and finally, trumpet, trombone, oboe and percussion.
The complex and often contrasting voicing produces some unique sonorities and textures. The ensemble works draw together the extreme techniques of the solo works, demanding virtuosic playing to realise their musicality, and under French conductor Jean Deroyer, ELISION carry off these pieces wonderfully.
Concerts such as these consolidate the musical languages that emerge from compositional and performance development, and, especially when supported by radio broadcasting, strengthen public appreciation. The new works from Karski, Lim, Dench and Cassidy are terrific, and contrasting them with the more established Ferneyhough and Carter works identifies some current directions in composition, Cassidy for example incorporating unconventional performative techniques and Karski devising elaborate formal structures.
With the predominance of wind instruments, the compositional use of controlled instrumental multiphonics and the emphasis on timbre are consistent threads. This list of accomplishments and intentions serves as introduction to the contemporary dance solo, Lehmen Lernt, with which Berlin based choreographer, Thomas Lehmen, will make his Australian debut.
In Lehmen began a protracted exercise in learning which he continues to develop. Learning is universal to all people. A function everybody uses in life. People connect with it in many ways. Everybody seems to pick out what interests them personally. Tackled with wit and showmanship, the solo is an absorbing experience, as Lehmen in his blue overalls demonstrates his achievements to date. Unlike much of his other work, there is no manual or tool-box for this show to be recreated on other artists.
Instead, this piece will continue to be extended by its creator. This one was important to me because I could put in lots of the experience which I gained from the previous pieces. The ideas of systems, functions, lists. Though I think there is still so much to work out, which I hope I can do for the next 50 years.
In Sydney and Perth, Lehmen will use the set of rules he created for the Funktionen project to work with local choreographers on a week-long research project.
It is a system of communication which contextualises any relevant context the participants work with. I work with the idea of complexity and context by myself in a similar way. Knowing that everything is possible to connect to everything else, and each element has a potential influence on all the others, I need a system which allows me to keep an overview.
Within this system chosen elements may nevertheless still have an independent function within the choreography and in my mind. The solution of a problem cannot go any further than structures and rules allow. After all, structures and rules can only offer inherent solutions. We generally reconstruct existing things to confirm their existence, although we might vary certain factors without changing the foundation for those structures.
It is hard—indeed, impossible—to separate this book from the personality of its editor, Alan Cholodenko. Cholodenko indeed seems to have been born for this destined rendezvous with animation. The topic brings with it extremes—of the lowest culture mixed with the highest theory—that are exactly his own extremes.
Neither the cruddiest TV cartoon nor the most abstruse Derridean play on words occasion any defensiveness in him. Therefore, he is exactly the right man for the job. As it happened, there was, right to hand, an essay in Camera Obscura no 2, Fall that was about exactly this experience of still frames in a strip of animated celluloid—and it also served as an indelible introduction to the farthest and wildest reaches of French theory.
My free association leaps to a much older essay, but one I tracked down only recently. The setting is a one-bedroom Housing Commission flat on the outskirts of suburbia. As the play begins, we hear, portentously, a recorder playing a faltering version of Advance Australia Fair. The plot revolves around a young man, Martin Remy Hiian estimator with Far and Wide Removals who is under the misapprehension that he has been called to give an estimate for the occupants.
These tenants are, on every level, going nowhere. We sing a few songs. Tell a few stories, recite some nice poems and we just kick on. It transpires that Martin has also lost a father, and that junkies are implicated in both deaths. Inspired by attending a New Age workshop, her confused intention is to lay bare the facts so that everyone can move on. This is a bit unfair, I think. Who was it who said the unexamined life is not worth living?
Certainly someone speaking from the centre of culture, not from the margins. Repeating the pattern. If she desperately relies on what is available to her, however cranky, is she more absurd than someone currently deploying troops in Australia?
However, it is unlikely that anything has fundamentally changed. And a kind of loving. It is out of these that he weaves his scabrous poetry. But the morality, the compassion is quiet, simply declaring that these sorts of people deserve attention. In the final moment as the sun sets and we hear the sound of whip birds in the distance, we are called upon to make our own estimation—about our own agency in the world, about the nature of the world and the world of natureaware that our own complicit natures are part of the equation.
Highlighting the history of the network and showcasing contemporary ARI practices, whilst tentatively hinting at future developments, Making Space became a catalyst for discussions around the evolving nature of these spaces. In conversations with Glaister, she emphasizes the importance of ARIs maintaining flexibility in their sites, offering freedom to splatter paint and cut holes in walls, as a means of facilitating specific and developed responses to ARI spaces.
A heavy chain attached to the cinderblock swings and smashes it against the gallery wall, the collision between artwork and ARI leaving an evidentiary grey paint splatter. This protrusion of chairs, wooden planks and a broken ceiling fan created a faux explosion; appearing at a glance like a chaotic slammed-up assemblage, it quickly changed as one noticed both its compositional clarity and the odd sense that the objects were being either sucked into or spat out of the wall.
This work was suggestive of how ARIs are in part congenial to spatial experimentation, whilst often retaining formal conditions of the archetypal white cube. These works employ an elegant yet raw aesthetic to explore their entropic and gravitational concerns, referencing the dumpster-trawling, makeshift approach traditionally associated with ARIs, although the recent spawning of designer logos and an overall polished neatness now hints at the surface gentrification of many galleries.
Green animatedly described the process of trying with little to no building expertise to construct the false ceiling, which involved people crawling underneath the plasterboard whilst others frantically hoisted ropes. In another room, with wry humour Carl Scrase makes tents levitate on the ceiling, defensively refusing to submit to their functionality.
The arc of the ruler, exhibits the vulnerability of logical, imperical measurements forced into structural relationships of gravity and weight. Of course a found object practice remains a logical choice for cash-strapped artists, particularly when we consider the equally cash-strapped status of Melbourne ARIs that necessitates charging substantial rental fees to exhibiting artists.
Making Space enabled ARIs to provide free exhibition space for some shows, yet this is not the norm. The increased professionalisation of ARIs is both a response to funding body parameters and a strategy for artist viability. It is witnessed in their increased longevity, evolving committee based structures and greater marketing emphasis. Yet despite ARIs often appearing increasingly slick and businesslike, financial insecurity remains.
The volunteers who still primarily run ARI spaces often have to solve problems like being just too skint for a liquor licence or a necessary door repair. Both the Bus and West Space exhibitions benefited from the self-reflective atmosphere the Making Space program encouraged, contextualizing the ambitions of the exhibiting artists and the ARIs involved.
As a logical finishing point to Making Space most of the Bus show ended in a dumpster out the front of the gallery, to be returned to the tip from which some of it had already come. The performers chosen for this festival counteract some of those stereotypical associations though ironic commentary and deliberate style mixes. Rising star Schriefl—a Bavarian dandy—blends cool urban jazz with punk elements. They mix German and French lyrics and styles, accents and topics in their minimalistic yet melodic songs.
DJs Ame, Tanzmann and Trickski are here to prove that the German electronica scene has indeed evolved from techno and does allow for elements of new romanticism. As Sydney increasingly comes face to face with its problems as a city, the opportunity to reflect on its future through art and dialogue is truly welcome. But Stewart is later cuckolded when Baines makes his own trade with Ada, selling back her piano, key by key, in exchange for sexual access to her.
After Maori warriors in the audience leap up to save one wife on stage, interrupting the drama, they are given a lecture on the logic of theatre. This is a theme that recurs throughout The Piano, most brutally so when Stewart attempts to rape Ada after chopping off her finger in a jealous rage. But Jones also notes the occasionally insensitive depiction of the native people in The Piano.
The sum effect was of a carnival. The general public—and it really was a cross section, drawn in by the repeated articles in the media—wandered for hours amongst shows scattered throughout the building, sometimes genuinely astounded by what they found.
Administrators must have jumped at the chance to introduce some avant garde hip into the brand new CarriageWorks when Imogen Semmlar brought them her plans for Underbelly, a massive indoor public arts festival, in which dozens of groups of invited artists would baptise the building by doing…uh…stuff. They must be young, cool, and unrecognised, and consequently prepared to give their all for a shot at fame.
Or just for the chance to hang out in a new space with other young artists. They would consecrate the space, give it that aura that only virgin sacrifices can achieve. The rules of play were as follows: two weeks development time, all rehearsals to be open to the public, minimal funding. The incentive: free run of Slay Or Slander - Man Is The Bastard / Pink Flamingos - Under The Surface: Smashed Visions (Vinyl) building, a possible share in the proceeds, and a chance to be exposed to the almighty glare of an official venue and all of the blessings and curses that brings in its wake.
Many of the performances were explicitly conceived as preparatory sketches for later shows. This is a good thing, as we can anticipate some great spin off events from Underbelly in the coming months.
Ironically, theirs was the most conservative of the productions staged, being a straightforward play augmented with some improvisation. In the new version, the villain Humongous is a kindly hippy who organises bush doofs and arrives with his army to announce a performance by techno artistes called HTML legends, and the imminent erection of a chai tent.
The project is objectively hilarious, and will do well. Jamie Gerlach took a blow for the Token group by almost severing his finger with a circular saw. Token made an installation, a house warming party for a mythical man called Sidney, an engineer who might have been part of the Sydney Push, or then again, not, and who might have donated his body and all of his possessions to the arts or, then again, perhaps never existed.
It half worked. Phoebe Torzillo and Janie Gibson created a movement work in which Phoebe was murdered and her body dragged around the venue. The victim died like clockwork every hour, and the dance was performed with extraordinary grace and professionalism, allowing at several times, without flinching, for her face to be dragged along the concrete floor!
And speaking of Lan Franchis—what a terrible loss to Sydney its closure has been. Lan Franchis was a dirty speak-easy, a firetrap, and a source of countless noise complaints, and even if ArtsNSW had ever approved of it, it would have been closed on the spot for violating every OHS rule in the book.
All the while, Post mumbled lies to each other in a cold hotel room. The Vespertine Project and Tetranomicon made perhaps the best use of the volume of the space, by filling it with architectonic projections with a hint of Albert Speer and roaming through the venue alarming guests, and Meem were allegedly excellent, but I was always somewhere else when they performed.
That was the joy of the event, the pleasure of a carnival in which there is too much gelatinous popping and sliding, too much squealing and wailing, to take everything in, let alone name it. The context is a courtroom trial and the characters are the accused, wearing Guantanamo-orange suits and the judge in traditional court garb, along with the police, jury and the public and, although not generally present in the courtroom, a chorus of girls in white angels perhaps.
Some of the lyrics are spoken as dialogue by the accused and some by the judge, other lyrics are sung by the chorus of girls and the clip includes an intrusive guitar solo. At one point, humorously, the melody comes from a ringtone on a mobile phone answered by the mother of the defendant. The actor playing the accused also transforms as the film progresses.
This might be interpreted as a trope alluding to the fact that a multitude of different peoples are subjected to a singular monolithic system of justice. There are, however, other layers. Ho has used footage from the auditions for the main character. The audition and subsequent judgement by the director conflate with the theme of legal judgement: of the individual defendant in the court and, Ho suggests, with spiritual judgement, as the judge turns into a cardinal out of Velazquez Portrait of Pope Innocent X, and Francis Bacon Head VI, This might also be considered, as the catalogue essay indicates, a metaphor for aesthetic judgement, whereby the crime at the centre of the film is the double death of painting and cinema.
This film-within-a-film quality, the theatricality of the piece, along with the adoption of a pop-culture framework, alludes to the theatrical nature of the courtroom as it is presented in the media and popular culture.
Further, it suggests the insertion of the media into the justice system. Importantly, this work is also the remake of a music clip and Bohemian Rhapsody, for me, conjures up Sunday afternoons in the 70s watching Countdown and being perplexed and impressed by this unconventional music which crashed together musical styles, presented unfathomable lyrics and was incongruous with the rest of the pop music in the charts, which it dominated for weeks.
I wondered what it meant for Ho or a Singaporean audience. From Israel, Guy Ben-Ner brings his take on Moby Dick, staged at home in the kitchen with the family and silent movie trickery.
Daniel Crooks contributes his admired vertical kaleidoscoping of city spaces see RT 77, p With 20 knives and two tape recorders she jabs systematically between spread fingers and then attempts to reproduce the performance, cuts, cries and all. This is pre-digital play, live action replay, and not to be played at home.
The Biennale of Electronic Arts Perth BEAP is accelerating towards its program, Stillness, featuring three international exhibitions and hosting two international conferences including one open to the public on the future of digital media. This third BEAP focuses like its predecessors on the instersections of art, technology and science.
Version 1. Casting all obstacles aside, geographic and cultural, and signalling the rise and rise of performance art and live art, 24HR Art is bringing together stellar artists from Singapore and Australia as part of the Darwin Festival. Interpositions is free and will be staged in various public locations for a week, commencing with Jill Orr on August With some 10 events on the agenda, the Cunningham presence is indeed, as advertised, a residency. Read more about it in RT Melbourne International Arts Festival, Octwww.
Harris has had a legitimate role in these discussions, as Executive Director of the Australian Screen Directors Association recently renamed the Australian Directors Guild. As industry associations go, ASDA has been more interesting than most, probably due to its very active membership of film and television directors and documentary makers. But through it all, his major questions are: how to ensure that Australian audiences continue to receive adequate levels of Australian content, and how to guarantee that the film industry is able to negotiate the new media terrain by taking on the opportunities and challenges that it offers.
Since this was written, a new and well-received support structure has been introduced by the federal government for the film industry. At the same time, with the real money being made by those who control, distribute and exhibit rather than produce screen content, Harris sees filmmaker access to screens and therefore to audiences restricted by a series of gatekeepers with whom they have to negotiate, and who profoundly affect the sorts of films and programs that are made and shown.
Despite all this, filmmakers have learnt to work within this production landscape, and with an accepted set of rules. But, Harris asks, will the development of new digital technologies offer a means of breaking open this flawed structure, without destroying the fragile and vulnerable Australian industry?
While canvassing what digital technology, and especially the internet, has to offer, Harris does so with a clear and analytical eye; he might discover not only many and varied possibilities for content creation and new ways of viewing and distributing work that avoid many of the traditional pathways, but he also recognises the big question: where does the revenue come from?
As new internet business models emerge, as broadband accelerates internet use and downloading of films and programs becomes accepted, and as internet advertising growth outstrips its more traditional competitors, does this really provide a new style of marketplace for local content?
What interventions by government will guarantee Australian audiences access to the quality and diversity of original Australian content that they have come to expect? Originating as a strand of the Commonwealth Film Festival inMoves this year became a stand-alone event, under the continuing direction of Pascale Moyes. An additional range of hands-on activities, including a week-long filmmaking lab, panel discussions and workshops, began with a two-day conference on screen choreography, hosted by Manchester Metropolitan University.
A variety of papers, relating to notions of choreographed violence and to the field of dance and technology, highlighted the diversity of thematic concerns and constituent groups rallying under the banner of movement on screen. Traditional notions of the choreographic role, involving the generation of codified steps on dance-trained, human bodies, were expanded to include a range of screen-related practices, such as framing choice, editing, and the composition of graphic elements.
W1spfeatured earlier in the week as a conference presentation. Here the silhouette and movement pathways of a single figure were translated into a swarm of particles, alternately coalescing and scattering in a state of constant flux, highlighting the inherent instability of physical form and stylistically echoing the work of pioneering film artist Len Lye.
The issue of narrativity was addressed by a variety of means throughout the Communication Break-Down program. Through the Picket Fence provided a rich seam of work dealing with cross-cultural reference points. Throughout, a subtle interplay of aural and visual material raised issues relating to individuality and community, and the honouring of dignity in age.
Stately-paced walking contrasted with close-up shots of hands and mouths, beating body-centred rhythms and engaged in song. A skilful interweaving of testimony on the experience of migration was intercut with imagery of birds in flight, echoed by a flutter of hands. The use of exterior location, functionally-oriented camera work and naturalistic, though emotionally heightened, movement vocabulary, recalled aspects of low-key surveillance and wildlife filming, contributing to a disquieting engagement with the acts of witnessing and documenting.
Both pieces conjured a continuously moving male figure through abrupt changes of background location, virtuosically realised as choreographic sleight-of-hand by means of editing. Moves 07, Manchester, Junewww. Its ambition far outweighs its realisation, but sometimes an ambitious failure can thrill more than a modest success. The work is a Greek tragedy shaped around a contemporary horror. During the s, the French National Centre for Blood Tranfusions knowingly administered HIV-positive blood to thousands of patients and it was years before any kind of justice was even hesitatingly advanced.
Cixous gives voice to those who suffered most by relocating the real-life events into a quasi-allegorical otherworld, a twilight graveyard into which the grieving mother of two children arrives. They have died from the bad blood; she seeks a settling of the ledger. Amidst the denizens of the cemetery she calls forth the three Furies of legend who have lain dormant since the days of the Greeks who needed them most—the guilty doctors are dragged into this netherworld to face trial and, perhaps, retribution.
The Mother soon slinks off into a shadowy penumbra as other voices flesh out the story. The dead children themselves are reanimated as ethereal ghosts, beautifully rendered here through the use of magnificent and heart-achingly evocative puppets.
The Bard would be turning in his. There are many ideas submerged in this production to warrant further investigation. But why did Cixous produce such a gargantuan monster of a piece? The VCA production was a relatively spare one. The set was minimal, consisting of red-dyed ropes forming a circus-like series of netted ladders and trapeze-like structures around an austere forum—or, perhaps, agora.
For the most part, this is unchanged for the entire duration of the work, though its closing moments are all the more breathtaking for their unexpectedness. For all its flaws, then, The Perjured City was still a production that left an indelible impression, and one worth savouring for its rarity. The informal essays in this feature call variously for more equitable funding of the arts within the university; for more relevant and responsive course structures eg in music ; formal recognition of professional experience accrued by staff outside the university eg in film ; for sympathetic application of Research Quality Framework RQF criteria; and acknowledgment of the compromises and inequities that come with mergers eg of arts training schools with humanities departments.
Writers are also concerned about the likely impact of proposed generalist first degrees with specialisation only in higher degrees on the training of young undergraduate bodies in dance, theatre and music. The essays on sound and performance describe how niches have been established inside and outside the university enhancing survival but also creative practice and stimulation.
Elsewhere, failures to connect are worried at—disconnections between art and the university, and between the university and the outside world. As Stephen Whittington points out, teachers have come to realise that their educational ideals are often not shared by the community or the education system given the current ideological temper. Dreaming in Motion celebrates the work of the Indigenous Branch of the Australian Film Commission, the achievements of the filmmakers it has supported, and the nurturing network of film training institutions, funding agencies and Indigenous community media organisations around Australia that have made Indigenous filmmaking such a distinct success.
The full-colour book is extensively illustrated with images from many of the films and of directors on location. The essays focus the development of Indigenous filmmaking from the s to the present time while sketching in its origins in the s. You can download an order form from the AFC website: www. Phone 02 or Freecall Fax 02 publishing afc. Andrew Morrish, visiting from Europe, was in virtuosic stand-up form at Performance Space walking the improvisation tightrope with the few near slips that give the form its edge.
At the same venue, Erin Brannigan curated Choreographics for Reeldance, engrossing large scale dance installations which I experienced several times with increasing enjoyment of their immersiveness.
A foot lands. A temporary anchor point. The dancer finds a hand close to her face at the end of an angled arm, she watches it fly up, and her head drops back in brief release before another part of her leads elsewhere. What do I do with that?
The audience wander the open space around two low platforms and past another with a woman at her computer, until a huge projection of Crisp dancing takes our attention.
The dancer watches it with us. These moments are brief, often sudden, and frequently unlike each other. The work is not dancerly in any conventional sense, not long-lined, not lyrical.
The work is work, curiously cerebral as well as intensely physical. But the performance is also significantly spatial and although the pathway is never clear or predictable, Crisp occupies and transforms spaces—a wall, a wide raised platform, a human-scale lightbox. And in these we witness some new dimensions to the choreography of danse . A forward thrust closes in a locked position, one knee bent, arms reaching forward, a relatively long moment of stillness.
The body squares off—legs akimbo right-angling at the knees, arms likewise raised. Brisk hops before the body arches back like a taut bow, arms completing the line, one hand twitching in the stillness. These phrases are like still frames from a 16mm film stuttering in a projector. A foot taps 1,2,3, an arm locks in three descending positions. We have just that little more time to absorb and assimilate an image, to see the relationship between stillness and movement, decision and impulse, more clearly.
The dancer slips off her shoes and moves tentatively onto the wide platform. Here perspective, as in the video earlier, comes into play as we watch her near and far, travelling where her modus operandi takes her, the dance now about propulsion—how can you travel when your body has another agenda?
The left leg flies back and a hand shoots to the top of the head and then circles as the arm swings. Crisp gasps, the audience laughs as if sharing surprise at the sheer demand of the task. She strips down to essentials and approaches the lightbox carefully, hand-first as if testing for heat and texture, staring intently, sitting slowly before lifting her legs onto it and commencing the moves we recognise but which are now demandingly transformed to the horizontal plane, working from the bottom, the pelvis, legs lifted and extended, skin red with effort, bathed in sweat and the fluoro glow.
Soon Crisp dances near the writer, the form more fluid, her body weary, the dancer taking us in, face to face. A job well done. We might be applauding ourselves as well, for our visceral empathy for this Herculaen effort for the sake of dance, performed, or rather lived, with commitment, seriousness and such good humour.
Seated on big cushions inside a tent of parachute silk, we watch a soloist in sparkling briefs work out distractedly until we get the giggles. The silk is whisked away over our heads and two other performers appear in tracksuits and with bags from which the trio empty out cigarettes, packs of Solo and cellophane wrapped sausage rolls. Constantly smoking, sipping and scoffing, these tough mums prattle on viciously about the failings of their amateur dancer daughters.
Very chilled, and is super easy to work with. He had. Perth, although proud to call it home, is still a country town in the grand scheme of things. Having your name projected nationally is an amazing thing, for it gives you more of a reason to save up your pennies and travel around the country with your band.
That blew my mind when I saw that. Very cool. A free showcase featuring music from all cultures, Fete de la Musique will be a family friendly event and musicians interested putting their hand up to play an acoustic set can email culture afperth. Determined to celebrate two decades of hard-rocking excellence in fine style, legendary Australian band You Am I are re-releasing their first three albums in glorious vinyl.
Sound As Ever, Hi Fi Way and Hourly Daily will be pressed on beautiful, heavy duty gm vinyl and wrapped in gorgeous gatefold sleeves in a jealousy-inducing limited edition package. Both will be available from mid July; head to youami.
It was a long time coming, then the time came. The Chemist put on notice with two EPs that saw them wallpaper the airwaves nationally on triple j and wear a hole in the floor of the East Coast with a swathe of gigging and tour supports. Also, a photographer friend of his, who once worked a strawberry farm, strongly advised him to always sanitise your strawberries before consumption, so he has tried to do so ever since. People who can click their fingers in time and stuff.
Sometimes a character can be a more interesting and facilitating way of articulating an idea. Where does a young beachside-raised man find such a dark place? But uh, I think everyone has spent a period of their time stapled to a couch with a mist in their brain forest The chords made me do it.
Not that he is aware of, though I guess I probably like it because its fun and thought provoking. I love hearing a well sung folk song with one human and an acoustic guitar too, though. The Chemist as a band project a combination of the two.
It sounds sick and feels good. By the time of its released the band had already moved on internally, but Witt has been able to re-appraise its content and creation, both in his mind and on the stage.
The band has also since taken up pilates and super-foods, which I think has improved morale. There are some intros, outros, extended sections, new musical passages etc. Could a change in direction be in the offing?
I want to be a weird little noisy combo. Where its kind of a dirty, textured mash of things. Some frenetic relief numbers will be thrown in also, so you can persevere through the final collection. The Starlight Hotel Choir, a choir made up of homeless or at risk of being homeless members, will perform at 5pm.
Registrations will be held from 3. Spiegelworld will be pitching the dazzling spiegeltent at Crown Perth for Empire, an outrageous night of circus, cabaret, variety and burlesque showing from Thursday, July Tickets go on sale this Friday, June 7, via Ticketek. Local muso Steve Tallis has some big plans for his first LP in six years but needs some help with the cash flow and is thus asking for fans to pledge some financial assistance via Pozible.
The second LP will be a band album of all original compositions. Go to pozible. Steve Tallis The Chemist put on notice with two EPs that saw them wallpaper the airwaves nationally on triple j and wear a whole in floor of the East Coast with a swathe of gigging and tour supports.
Not that he aware of, though Music journalists love context. No one really cares anymore whether Johnny Cash actually shot a man in Reno, or whether Bob Dylan really train-hopped from Minnesota to New York as a teenager — the important thing is that they wrote about it, and in that metaphor were able to reveal something to us about ourselves.
If they achieve any sort of fame they are immediately scrutinised, every detail of their lives picked over for contextual clues. But just as our. This was written long before I moved out here, or anything like that. But the birds on the album more represent emotion than they do metaphor.
Although yes, that is a Bill Callahan shout-out in the title of the album. The pastoral folk songs of her debut are steeped in the language of the Romantic poets — Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron; her second, with its bleak, wintery emotional landscape, takes its cues from the ancient Greek stories Marling was reading at the time; her third album draws much lyrical inspiration from the West Coast Americana of John Steinbeck.
And maybe I was born to communicate in the medium that I do, but I have great respect for those who can do it without the protection of the guitar. Laura Marling various times either taking it on or casting it off, blaming it for causing problems or celebrating its potential. I think everybody, at a certain age — it might be in your 20s, or 30s, or even in your teens if you are particularly unlucky — has a stage where they need to mourn their naivety being gone.
Their naivety has left them. But then. I suppose a lot of this record was reappropriating the word naivety. And in my personal life, I found such comfort in the thought of a new naivety when you enter that space, when you realise that nothing you thought you knew was true, and now I know nothing, and therefore I have the potential to know a lot more. Jaz Coleman has got a lot to say. The frontman of post punk act, Killing Joke, has been building up steam as he waxes lyrical on topics ranging from bee pollination to his contempt for Bono.
The country I grew up in was so different. Records King Crimson, T-Rex. From their inception the band were noted for their aesthetic — the Slay Or Slander - Man Is The Bastard / Pink Flamingos - Under The Surface: Smashed Visions (Vinyl) urgently bled through the speakers, suggesting the space and darkness that would become features of later genres of industrial and metal music.
Their album art and the images projected during live shows attracted notoriety due to their shocking and inflammatory nature. We knew from the start that our music never had that much commercial appeal. Many of the bands of the Seattle scene — including Nirvana and Soundgarden — cited the Englishmen as influences. There have certainly been a lot of laughs. It feels really good to bash a boxing bag sometimes.
We might have changed, but what we do is still so close to the street that when we all start pulling the fragments come together. Humans now have too many options, and Killing Joke brings people together to create a critical force. Nathaniel Beard is quietly fuming underneath his luscious, double arrowhead beard. Chatting while he catches five spare minutes in London, he can still taste bitterness in and around his beard.
The problem was that it lived up to its name. It was bearded only in theory. For only having one beard. The Beards actually fit in for the first time, bewildering Nathaniel.
His mood quickly darkens, though. Nathaniel has publicly stated he wants everyone in the world to have a beard. I personally will not rest until every single person in the world has a beard. I see all children as a potential beard. Nathaniel felt uneasy about releasing another set of songs about beards, fearful they might have tapped the well of bearded creativity dry. We write original songs about beards. Anyone can join the bearded society by growing a beard. Of course, this will just soon be known as society.
His old band, the gnarly blues rock outfit known as. Keep Moving is a big, sprawling album, featuring everything from heavier, psychedelic rock tracks to more laid-back acoustic jams. The songs are immediately recognisable as Stockdale compositions, but the atmosphere is a lot more relaxed than either Wolfmother album.
Take a song like the acoustic Suitcase as indicative of this new approach. This freedom in part came about because Stockdale produced the songs himself. Much of Keep Moving was made in his home studio, and he states that the sessions were all about capturing the energy of playing live. Luckily they gave it the green light. I could start writing the next one right now. I feel like I pretty much already have. Songwriting and recording should be a continuum.
His new album, Keep Moving, is a line in the sand — it features members of various past Wolfmother line-ups, but is credited to Stockdale himself. That sound solo album, Keep Moving. The simple, sparse acoustic tales have now morphed into smooth full band arrangements.
Where there is a shift is that Beams moves away from his penchant for penning tales of death and disappointment. These seasoned musicians allow Beams to move away from his folk leanings at will, as he explores his soulful side from the get go with brass a-plenty lacing Caught In The Briars.
The song that shows the biggest shift from Beams anxiety heaving past is the upbeat Grace For Saints And Ramblers that comes replete with handclaps and joyous backing vocals.
Their clever turn of phrase, spritely melodies and down to earth approach made them the kings of the cardigan for many both in Australia and abroad. Since they pulled stumps it is bass player Mark Mononne who has been in the most demand. Together At Last is a chance to hear the results of his time in the studio. When pressing play on opener, The Westerly Whip, you could be forgiven for thinking that you had stumbled across an old undiscovered Lucksmiths recording.
There are plenty of fine moments, including where My Overdue Library Fines has Monnone playing up to his bookish charm Monnone Alone go some way towards filling the immeasurable void left by the demise of the Lucksmiths. Together At Last is a light-hearted and likeable collection of tunes that sees Monnone as highly credentialed with guitar and voice as he is has proven to be with four strings.
Run Faster, a triple j favourite of and easily one of the standouts on this debut LP, is how you might remember Australian band, Buchanan. Human Spring, their debut album, is doused in all the uplifting alternative-pop-rock substance one could hope for. Led by the talented Josh Simons, Buchanan specialise in clear vocals tangled in and amongst powerful driving drums and guitars that deftly avoid becoming obnoxious and retain a sense of understated force.
Title track, Human Spring, masters this recipe to perfection. Vocal harmonies add depth to already existing subtleties and comforting echoes, which delicately fill the song in a steady build, long before any electric guitars come in. Kieran Ryan formed a duo with his cousin and had one highly lauded album as Kid Sam.
The Melbourne chap has now appeared out of nowhere with little to no fanfare to release his first solo record, the self-titled Kieran Ryan. Out Of Africa highlights this as Ryan takes just under four minutes to document the history of mankind.
Building A Snowman is an epic tale. It is a tune that is more tortoise that hare, with the melody being almost as understated as the sparse instrumentation. Ryan favours the ballad as his preferred vehicle whether singing about murder or child preachers on this ambitious debut. Like Clockwork is a welcome reminder that no one does stoner rock quite like Queens of the Stone Age can. While this record brings in yet another line up change for the Josh Homme-led outfit, it seems the crew assembled for Like Clockwork has paid off for the desert rock ambassadors.
True to form, the record is awash with the sludgy, viscous basslines that throb and ooze their way into your system in only the way a Queens Of The Stone Age song can. Six records down the line, Queens have moved from the full throttle, testosterone fuelled vibes that powered the masterpiece Songs For The Deaf, and past the radio readiness that was Era Vulgaris into a new stone age altogether.
This album is far more reflective and raw; Homme lays it all out with weary honesty. His vocals are at their smouldering, mournful best on If I Had A Tail, while lead single, My God Is The Sun, is frenetic, pushing along with full voltage energy, killer riffage and ploughing bass lines; but there is an unfortunate, underlying sense of going through the motions here, almost as though someone had reminded them they needed a loud and proud banger in amongst the grandiose melancholia.
Perhaps not their strongest effort to date, but the fragility and well-layered complexities make for a compelling return. Very few bands so far into their career make albums as evocative and diverse as More Light. More Light is truly a return to form. It was during this period of revisiting the past that the band began taking steps towards the future. Over 70 minutes, More Light is an intense, euphoric, aggressive, stimulating journey. Opener,is an epochal eight-minute mini-symphony driven by distorted horns and electronics.
Social observation, indignation, isolation and alienation are a recurring lyrical theme through a lot of the songs, especially in Culturecide and Tenement Kid. Invisible City has a similar groove to a lot of the tracks on Beautiful Future. Robert Plant adds his distinctive voice to Elimination Blues, his second appearance on a Scream album after playing harmonica on Evil Heat.
For screening info and tickets go to lunapalace. It Theatre, and entry is by gold coin donation. Head to eventrbrite. Tickets go on sale at noon this Friday, June 7. Head to empireaustralia. The exhibition is comprised of a series of short videos written and performed by local youth and inspired by 12 contemporary pieces from the Fremantle Art Collection.
The exhibition runs until September 22 - go to fac. Known for his ability to seamlessly weave together traditional jazz motifs with the vibrant energy of modern music, Argue is employs the currently in vogue steampunk aesthetic to excellent and exciting effect in his music. Tickets are available from nowbaking. Submissions close on June The Spanish Film Festival is now in its 16th year, and is yet another milestone on the increasingly jampacked and authentically excellent Perth cultural calendar.
Coming hot on the heels of the French and German film festivals, the Spaniards have arrived with a veritable armada of exciting and challenging films and a bona fide classic from one of the all-time cinema greats. The opening night film, A Gun in Each Hand, is a comedy portmanteau of six hilarious vignettes chronicling the lives of a group of fortysomething men as they struggle to acclimate themselves to the changing gender roles within Spanish society.
Directed by Cesc Gay and with an all-star Latin American cast, this light and funny film looks to be the perfect opener. Produced by the same team behind the chilling horror film The Orphanage and directed by Oriol Paulo Goya Awards nominee for Best Directorthis picture promises an edge-of-your-seat experience not to be missed. When the family attempt to get the child treated in town, social services take him away. When the FARC return, looking for the child, the family are in a race against time to re-locate him, in what promises to be a tense docu-thriller.
Her life is changed when she is called upon to care for Dolores, her alcoholic grandmother who also suffers from dementia. It appears to be the year for award winning debut features. Enter Franco Nero as Horacio, the painter with whom Tristana falls in love.
This masterpiece is an absolute must see. The Spanish Film Festival always offers a veritable cornucopia of extremely exciting films that Perth audiences would otherwise miss during a regular cinema season, Slay Or Slander - Man Is The Bastard / Pink Flamingos - Under The Surface: Smashed Visions (Vinyl). Spanish filmmakers especially embrace genre in a very unique way which makes for extremely exciting cinema.
As winter has set in and the Hollywood blockbusters start screening across the country, it is important to engage with foreign cinema as a panacea to the mainstream. So go check it out. In an extended and largely pointless riff on the Paranormal Activity films, Wayans is Malcolm, a fairly typical example of the kind of emotionally stunted protagonists common to these things.
Eventually, the film stops. The characterisation is limp, the stakes non-existent, the pacing and structure turgid. Wayans and his co-writer, Rick Alvarez, have.
The final result is a string of vignettes with little in the way of connective tissue. It really is a remarkably inept piece of writing. And that would be fine if the jokes worked. The only real measure of a comedy is whether or not it makes the viewer laugh, and in all honesty there are a few chuckles to be had here. However, its limited charms are certainly not worth the price of a movie ticket.
But in addition to showing off a few cool-looking muscle cars and having Vin Diesel and Paul Walker hug it out once a reel, director Justin Lin who has been onboard the series since 3 seems determined to shift into a higher gear with this latest sequel.
Instead of simply offering up the same bag of tricks, Lin - equipped with a bigger budget than he had on the last film; no doubt the result of Fast Five chalking up something like a trillion dollars, give or take a dollar, at the box-office - fills the thing with some of the most eye-popping, clap-deserving stunt.
Forget whatever else is in the film, there are three or four scream-good action moments in this film that will have audiences yahooing with glee and that, dear friends, is enough to warrant the admission price alone. And this one sets it up beautifully! Instead, responsibility will fall to Australian moviemaker James Wan, of the Saw franchise. The boy, particularly after this bravura sequel, has his work cut out for him. Grey Skies Over Canada Directed by Michael McGowan Starring James Cromwell, Genevieve Bujold, Campbell Scott, Julie Stewart, Jonathan Potts The grey dollar is getting bigger, a fact that becomes obvious when you consider the sheer number of films aimed at the older demographic that are quietly released and make a tidy profit before disappearing from the screens, often without even being noticed by mainstream i.
To the likes of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and Quartet we can now add this meditation on the challenges of ageing with dignity, which had awards liberally thrown at it in its native Canada.
Working from a true story, writer and director Michael McGowan tells the story of Craig Morrison James Cromwell, seen in everything from Babe to LA Confidentiala self-reliant farmer approaching the end of his life who must rise to a new and more difficult challenge than he has ever faced before when his wife, Irene Genevieve Bujoldbegins to develop dementia.
Realising that the house where they have lived together for so long is too much for them to handle, the octogenarian Craig takes it upon himself to build, by hand and from scratch, a smaller, simpler home for them to live out the rest of their days in. Of course, being an independent and irascible sort, he eschews getting any building permits until as late in the game as www.
Help, albeit often exasperated, comes from his lawyer Campbell Scotthis now adult children, who come around to the idea that getting their elderly parents to accept living in a nursing home is an impossible task, and his neighbour, Chester George R. This is a gentle and deliberately paced film, a collection of moments rather than a propulsive narrative.
Cromwell and Bujold share an easy, comfortable chemistry, and its not hard to buy into their onscreen relationship. McGowan also makes excellent use of his beautiful seaside, locations, which help instil the film with an elegiac and meditative tone. Unreservedly, yes. Part of the appeal of Jesus Christ Superstar is the way it frames the story of the crucifixion in terms contemporary to the production. What that means for a production is a show that is steeped in the visual iconography of the Occupy Movement and the Arab Spring and filtered through the sensibilities of the information age.
Jesus Ben Forster, who won the role on a British reality show is presented as more of a political dissident than a messianic figure, and his followers throw Molotov cocktails and bear placards emblazoned with revolutionary slogans, while garbing themselves in hoodies, cargo pants and keffiyahs.
The cast is uniformly excellent, and in general the quality of their singing more than compensates for any shortcomings in the acting department. His Judas is a complex figure, motivated not so much by jealousy as frustration and political differences with Jesus. There are very few worthy criticisms that can be elevated at the show. In the past four years, WA Roller Derby has gone from a scrappy startup to one of the dominant leagues on the West Coast. There are two home teams and we also have two travel teams - an A and a B team.
Although its roots go back as far as the s, modern roller derby as a concept is only a little over a decade old. WA Roller Derby lifestyle, something which the state government has taken notice of. We have been surveying thousands of derby girls around Australia and particularly in Perth and we discovered the amazing physical and mental health properties of roller derby, so we received a grant, which is great recognition for us as a league and helps us get taken more seriously rather than being seen as a novelty, which is nice.
The exhibition runs until September Go to museum. Ambitiously complex, this series of paintings sits at the intersection between landscape and architecture. It runs until June Go to melodysmithgallery. This extraordinary show encompasses works from 96 artists, including Vincent Van Gogh, Paul Cezanne, Richard Long, Frida Kahlo and more, tracing the development of modern art in the 20th Century. The exhibition runs from June 21 - Dec 2.
Go to artgallery. The season now runs from July 31 - August 8. Tickets are available from ticketek. The season runs until Augist Head to perthwinterarts. The festival runs and ceramic objects, textiles and clothing, as well as from June 12 - Head to lunapalace. Runs until June Featuring a baffling array of stalls, kiosks most creative graduating high school artists in the and displays, exhibitions and demonstrations, along with the ever popular cosplay competition, this a state.
From War to Remembrance - A Living History of the weekend where everyone gets to unleash their inner child. It runs from June 28 - Head to and objects, film screenings and guest speakers. It supanova. A whole host of the edgiest, most Curtin University Art Collection. The exhibition as the best local content and the RevCon academic runs until July 7.
Go to johncurtingallery. It all happens from July 4 - Head to revelationfilmfest. The season runs from June 8 - Head to daisyonstage. Photo by Matt Watson www. The kitchen here specialises in traditional American cuisine and soul food, and as your belly.
A limited reservations policy Winter Supper Club ready to tempt your tastebuds. The gym itself is decked out with cardio and pin loaded equipment and a techy suspension weight training system developed by the Navy Seals called TRX. Club manager Vicky Thompson Wales took some time out from the gym to offer us some tips to get motivated and stay healthy throughout the colder months.
The spin studio Getting sick with cold and flu is quite common this time of year. How can exercise help with warded off illness? Exercise also increases highdensity lipoprotein HDL which in turn decreases triglycerides and cholesterol two types of fat found in your blood stream. Personal training at Snap The key to this is to set some realistic and achievable short, mid and long term goals.
Keep it fun and enjoyable. A personal trainer is an invaluable source when you need guidance; this ensures you start on the right path. What are some of the most common mistakes people make when taking up an exercise plan? How easy is it to alter that attitude once you get started? Winter is a pretty hard time to stay motivated. What This is a mental battle that everyone ways can people be inspired to stick to it?
Keep it fun, and partner up with a friend or The key is finding a motivation from deep within family member. Having someone there to compete and focusing on this when the going gets tough. With every training session this gets easier, exercise releases endorphins which improve Any tricks of the trade you can share with us for mood state.
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