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1. Lunfardo
2. Muerte del Angel
3. Resurrección del Angel
4. Tristeza de un Doble A
5. Adiós Nonino
6. Chin Chin
7. Otoño Porteño

Astor Piazzolla – Bandoneón
Pablo Ziegler – Piano
Fernando Suárez Paz – Violin
Oscar López Ruiz – Electric guitar
Héctor Console – Double bass

A few days ago I reviewed the Sydney Symphony Orchestra’s Kaleidoscope performance, subtitled “Latin American Nights” and including Piazzolla’s Concerto for Orchestra and Bandoneón. I felt drawn in that review to refer to the performance of the Latin genre as ‘ferocious’ and when considering this particular review, I again find myself back there, not only for its self-reflexive sound (Say it out loud. Ferocious - it sounds like the wind roaring!) but for the way that it indicates not only a constant passion, but also a biting impact. The same passion an actor draws upon when shouting ‘Mambo’ in Bernstein’s West Side Story. The passion of bebop in a club, cranked to a level where the beginnings of the notes burn a little. Piazzolla’s music hits you hard, no matter which way you look at it. This is one of the many reasons he is affectionately referred to as The Great Astor in his home country. He is the heart of the new tango, especially from an outside/European perspective.

To be slightly unorthodox, I would like to start with the penultimate piece, Chin Chin, and then move to the piece right before that, Adios Nonino. The reason behind this is because they are the standout performances on this album. Not purely for technical reasons, but because of the way they encapsulate both the elements of live improvised jazz and the tango traditions Piazzolla comes from. The other tracks may be perhaps seen as supporting members of a cast of free-roaming beasts.

Chin Chin illustrates the idea of ferocity, especially in a small ensemble sense, showing that it is not sheer polyphony which draws me towards this adjective, but that it is, instead, the nature of the piece itself and how it fits into the genre. The performance begins with a few bars of the fragmentary bandoneón melody before being joined by sporadic percussion, piano glissandos, incensed electric guitar and atonal violin slides. It plays itself out in true jazz form, with the instruments given space to solo amongst the seemingly haphazard accompaniment and then brought back into the recapitulating head. The ferocious nature of the piece that I refer to is best reflected in the open piano solo which drifts further and further away from the ensemble, growing in intensity and beautiful chaos. Pablo Ziegler’s performance is inspiring and obviously inspired, his inventions never seem old or retired, constantly shifting and thickening into an intimidating cacophony. Then suddenly, with ease, he brings back the tango rhythms, precise and full of intention to round out the piece. Piazzolla’s greatest strength in this piece is his ability to showcase another musician. The melody begins with a bandoneón focus and grows from that, but the chaos draws us towards the piano. A brilliant performance and a nice departure from the traditional quintet showcase.

Adios Nonino is partly well known for the history behind its composition. The story goes that Piazzolla heard of his father’s passing and retreated to his room in silence. After half an hour, from within the room came the melancholy melody which Adios Nonino begins with. But do not mistake this story for one that leads to a simple or pure nostalgia. This performance in particular begins with an open piano solo by Ziegler, which at times verges on the melancholy, but it is far from simple. Rather, it draws upon Piazzolla’s melody, adding beautiful and grandiose ornamentation. After almost two and a half minutes, Piazzolla enters on the bandoneón playing the opening line to the melody, cleverly composed to finish unresolved. As he holds the final note, the suspense builds, holding steady and waiting for the resolution. But where melancholy would ordinarily take over to pour out the grief Piazzolla must’ve felt after his father died, the strings enter: heavy and raucous. A heavy calculated stumbling that drives forward only to hit you with yet another melancholy melody, this time on solo violin. Perhaps this is truly what Piazzolla wanted to hint at with Adios Nonino, the manic nature of mourning and the abrupt coming of death. But the melancholy violin is not alone for long; it finds a communal longing with the bandoneón. This solo section is heart-wrenching; the shrill violin draws you into a brittle grief that swirls and lifts, uncertain but unmistakably emotionally driven.

The rest of this recording contributes to a collection of Piazzolla’s better known pieces, including Muerte del Angel and Resurrección del Angel. These two pieces act as a nod towards a more traditional arrangement, most probably because of the nature of their composition, as part of Piazzolla’s ‘Angel Suite.’ Muerte del Angel (Death of the Angel) takes on the sound of a traditional tango and the heavy rhythmic motifs that are associated with the genre, while Resurrecion del Angel (Resurrection of the Angel) allows for yet another solo exploration, this time by Fernando Suarez Paz on violin. Also, this is possibly one of the few pieces on the album that explores the smooth chordal possibilities of the bandoneón.

This performance recording is a wonderful introduction to the work of Astor Piazzolla and the nuevo tango. The recording itself is of an extremely high quality, retains the atmosphere of a live performance and the dynamic nuances that such a situation brings forth. Not only was Piazzolla in fine form, his quintet exceeds all expectations; they are rhythmically and stylistically ‘in tune’ with the genre and Piazzolla’s composition from beginning to end. Live at the Montreal Jazz Festival is a wonderful addition to the record collection of both jazz and classical fans.

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As the crowd settled into the soft shufflings that the Sydney Symphony Orchestra has come to expect, Conductor Ben Northey strode onto stage, keen to get things running. The first piece was unannounced but the program notes indicated it as Astor Piazolla’s Tangazo. Those familiar with the piece will know its opening string melody – played here in smooth unison by the SSO Cello and Double Bass sections. The style was nostalgic, connecting with the jazz style in terms of its era rather than musical style. The strings came together in lilting chords, a warm wave of polyphony, unified and buoyant like a feather floating between pockets of air. Those who are familiar with Tangazo will know something that a great percentage of the audience did not, that things would shift suddenly, an ensemble of comical accompaniment, emphasised by the quirky pizzicato, spicatto and indefinite slides of the first violins. Perhaps in these techniques, we found another reason for the work’s inclusion in this programme, the playful nature of jazz reflected in Piazolla’s toying. A third reason soon followed as various brass and woodwind instruments took long extended solos over the ensemble, a compositional device not unlike the improvised solo form the jazz genre is known for. A classical showcase to lead us into the main focus of the concert; the jazz vocalist Kurt Elling and his trio.

After the trio has taken their place front and centre, Elling arrives. He is dressed in a full suit, with black pants, white jacket and patterned bowtie. Before the cheers have subsided, the first tune is counted off – My Foolish Heart – with solo percussion by drummer Kobie Watkins playing the kit with his bare hands. Elling’s voice enters with great strength and control, singing ‘The scene is set for dreaming.’ Perfect lyrics for a night of reminiscence for the days when crooners could sell out concert halls and have a great deal of fun. It was obvious that Kurt Elling was more than capable of both. Seeing the flair and proficiency of this performance, I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was timing that made the great crooners into household names. Elling may have missed that boat but, with his current success, his ship is surely coming in. As is customary in the jazz genre, Elling counted every new song in early so that when the audience had finished clapping the band was already cooking, pushing the retrofitted P.A. system which was in the form of speaker stacks suspended from the roof, with subwoofers on each side of stage.

Unfortunately, the one negative aspect of the concert was the mix. At times, lyrics were lost in the pure cacophony that a trio and symphony orchestra combination produces, and the subtler violin accompaniments were also swallowed into the electric vibe of the night. These specific issues were momentary but some were not so fleeting. Throughout the entire concert, Rob Amster’s double bass tone was almost absent, my companion and I both struggled to hear him properly, even when playing solo. Also, if one is to split hairs, Watkins’ ride cymbal had a very definite attack, but very little sustain. To further critique the set-up, the stand-out player, pianist Laurence Hobgood, was positioned behind the conductor’s podium, with the piano keys facing in towards the orchestra. The best we could hope for was a glimpse from the chin up as he played masterfully on the concert grand. Cleverly, Ben Northey realised this and would move during piano solos, but from the stalls this did very little to enhance visibility.

Elling’s performance was flawless, showing off his four octave range with modesty and charm. He is charismatic and likeable, a consummate professional with a heart for people. Perhaps the fusion of styles is best summed up by two reflections by the man himself who remarked elsewhere that playing with a Symphony Orchestra is like playing with a Big Band, truly a summation of the orchestral arrangements chosen which tended towards a big band sound. Elling thanked everyone for coming out, quoting the poet Gwendolyn Brooks - ‘It’s so much easier to stay at home. The nice beer ready.’ When the Opera House crowd gave little response to this, he added with a grin, ‘Works for me, but maybe this is more of a Cognac crowd’

Check out Kurt Elling here

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Band: The Landau Orchestra
Title: Janus Plays Telephone
Label: Milan\Warner
Originally written for: Music Web International Click here to see the original published version

1. 123 isn’t easy
2. Dark days
3. With the past and future
4. Janus plays telephone
5. Whisper down the lane
6. Through the canopy
7. Stevie bam jackson

Promotional photos of The Landau Orchestra are deceptively minimalist, showing only the two co-writers Matt Young and Grant Wheeler. The sound is much thicker; it’s not just a clever name. TLO’s latest album, Janus Plays Telephone, is recorded with a huge line-up of fourteen musicians playing over twenty different instruments between them (Young and Wheeler cover five each). It must be noted that for the following review, I have focussed on the seven tracks on the standard release. However, the review copy sent included two bonus remixes of UK band 4 Hero, two remixes of the opening theme to Pan’s Labyrinth and a live version of “Unemployment”.

“123 Isn’t Easy” begins with a ticking percussion line and thick harmonic drones in stereo, a clear instigation of the niche between jazz and hip-hop where The Landau Orchestra rests, very comfortably. The chordal movement of the horns sounds like a page taken out of Radiohead’s book of thick, shifting harmony. The horn rhythms shift slightly to the side, leaving drummer Mike Birnbaum to pace in classic swing style as they interject away from the one. The sound is progressive and transcendent, individually raw and collectively smooth. Listening is like being in the middle of an ordered jam session where the musicians move in circles around you. It is the kind of music which elicits an empty interaction with the audience, like we are intruding and, as with Radiohead, we put forth our own clumsy emotions in an attempt to feel involved.

In writing this review, I have found it increasingly different to situate the music of The Landau Orchestra without doing a track by track break down. Structurally, it is better to outline a few tracks in detail just to capture the vibe. The rest should be experienced personally. While there is certainly a cohesive feel to the album, the elements of genre employed shift from track to track that it becomes almost impossible to put them inside a musical ‘box’. “Dark Days”, for example, leans further towards atmospheric rock, the interaction between bassist Jacob Cohen and Turntablist Grant Wheeler strikes reminiscence of Dirk Lance and DJ Kilmore’s sound scapes in the lighter side of Incubus. The trumpet lines, while slightly reminiscent of Cake, are thick and raw and sit just on top of Cohen and Wheeler’s slowly shifting landscape. The transition from “Dark Days” to “With the Past and Future” is one such shift, as we are taken into what is at its core a more traditional jazz style, despite the thick texture the string and horn sections bring.

Though sidestepping a play by play, the title track “Janus Plays Telephone” deserves its own mention if only for the way in which pianist Matt Young manages to take his traditional and sombre piano opening and inject accelerant. This track swings and swells at its heart like a possessed pirate sheep, the wooden decks swelling and groaning with ghostly shivers, the percussive rattling of scattering crustaceans. And yet, what seems like the aural anarchy of a year spent at sea still carries the simple breathing melody of the strings, weightless in the ocean breeze.

The rest of the album plays around with similar notions, layering contrasting styles to create a pastiche of sonic delight. It is no secret why these guys were chosen to provide music for Guillermo del Toro’s 2006 film Pan’s Labyrinth. They are doing aurally what good cinema is doing visually, learning from the masters of the art, reverberating the traditions of past genres but reworking it. Listening to TLO will not draw the jazz artist to hardcore hip-hop and the Landau strings will not draw the classical connoisseur to the art of turntabling. If this is your first introduction to the modern patchwork of contemporary jazz, you’re in good hands.

Purchase this album by clicking here

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1. Cleaning Windows (Van Morrison)
2. Baby Plays Around (Elvis Costello)
3. Scarborough Fayre (Traditional)
4. Jockey Full of Bourbon (Tom Waits)
5. Don’t Give Up (Gabriel/Bush)
6. The Island (Lins/Martin)
7. The Red One (Pat Metheny)
8. First Hearing (Martin Pickett)
9. Soft Focus (Martin Pickett)
10. As Above (Martin Pickett)
11. Closing (Kenny Wheeler)

Martin Pickett - Piano
Paul Jefferies - Double bass
Ben Twyford - Drums

As a music critic, you are expected to draw upon your knowledge of genre, musicality and culture to analyse best where the art form intended to lead, and whether or not it succeeded in its endeavour. While listening to the aptly-titled debut album First Hearing from U.K. trio 3bpm, I felt like the mediator between cultures, trying desperately to define the line between artifice and homage. The first track to catch my eye was Jockey Full of Bourbon by Tom Waits. Being an avid (some would say obsessive) Tom Waits fan and completely new to the stylings of 3bpm, I was intrigued to hear how they would interpret the deep culture that Tom Waits is known for stencilling. In its original context, Jockey Full of Bourbon is a drunken man’s lullaby – a dark portrait of the ashes of alcoholism invoked by the opening image of

“Sixteen men on a dead man’s chest
And I’ve been drinking from a broken cup
Two pairs of pants and a mohair vest
I’m full of bourbon, I can’t stand up”

and the repeating chorus motif,

“Hey little bird, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone”.

On hearing the trio arrangement of this tune I was disappointed. Without lyrics the tune becomes a blasé Latin melody and the ensemble followed suit with what would be more suited to a hotel lobby than a drunken stupor at New York’s Chelsea Hotel. The double bass tone of Paul Jefferies on this album doesn’t have the guts of Greg Cohen’s original line and Ben Twyford’s ticking rim shot, while tasteful, did little to resemble the hollowed sound of Waits’ original percussion drive. The inclusion of both a percussion and bass solo redeems the style of the song somewhat, drawing on the rougher side of the tune, and while the dull ring of Twyford’s toms aids this redemption, Jefferies’ bass solo would’ve been more successful if it had extended further into the more guttural tones of the bass.

Unfortunately, this clash of timbres tainted my listening of First Hearing and the connections I drew were of hotel foyers and champagne, a far cry from both the Chelsea, and the early pioneers of jazz. This response is not purely a negative one, because it is undeniable that the jazz genre has expanded to include both the smooth and rough sides of improvised music: the clash is merely a shift from what was invoked in my mind by the acoustic trio setting. Additionally, it is also undeniable that these musicians are accomplished performers on their instruments, and special mention must be given to Ben Twyford in this regard.

Stylistically, I had higher hopes for Martin Pickett’s piano playing and although he exercised his knowledge of jazz repertoire through quoting numerous standards in his solos, this album seemed to reveal itself as a vehicle for his own compositions, buffered by arrangements of better-known tunes. Perhaps First Hearing would have been a stronger album if it were released as a shorter EP, if only to avoid the connotations of some of the covered material. For example, Van Morrison’s position within the popular music world, Tom Waits’ heavily defined beat poetry style, and the obvious invocation of Jacques Loussier’s Play Bach arrangements in Scarborough Fayre. This is not to mention the massive cultural implications of Elvis Costello and Peter Gabriel.

The strongest chart on First Hearing is without a doubt The Red One, partly for the drum and bass energy in the opening groove and partly for the stylistic freedom which allowed Pickett to aurally escape from the tungsten glow of hotel lobbies. As Above highlights very similar ideas for the entire ensemble, and Closing is melancholic and haphazard, a musical reflection of blurred traffic lights on the way home from a jazz dive. One cannot help but wonder whether the last six tracks would have, released on their own, formed a better album.

First Hearing is a strong debut for those interested in the smoothness that jazz trios have been known to employ at dinner parties. It is an album which starts tentatively and grows strongest within the concluding exploration of style. With a smaller track listing, the album would have a stronger overall reception, but unfortunately the stylistic intervention on well-known songs lets the programme down. There is a reward for persistence with this album, but within the multitudes of jazz releases, the relative similitude of the first few tracks might see this album set aside before it has reached its musical peak.

Purchase First Hearing here

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Author’s note: This review is presented here in its longer form which could be considered disagreeable to the ‘music critique’ genre for its use of imagery, rather than strict analysis. A shorter version (edited by Bill Kenny) is available at Music Web International and can be viewed by clicking here.

VAUGHAN WILLIAMS Five Variants of ‘Dives and Lazarus’
ELGAR Sospiri
ELGAR Introduction and Allegro, Op.47

As we find our way into the Angel Place Recital Hall in Sydney’s CBD, we are struck immediately by the sandy toned wood. Slight curves which reflect gradients off tungsten beams, leading eyes upward. The hall rises on all sides, accented with subtle stage lights across pillars to draw us back to the comparative modernity of such a space in such a city. The mingling sounds of a varied audience reverberate into sparks of excitement in the hollows you see above. An aural warmth encloses us as the lights move to a dim blue glow, centred on skeletal music stands and a wooden harp which complements the performance space.

A solo harp fills the void, lit only by a dim warmth that seems to illuminate a single vocalist, sombre at the front of the orchestra. The light creates as many shadows as it fills, and her vocal entry follows suit, tentatively rising to the upper galleries in aural angelics. The Australian Chamber Orchestra strings follow the beckoning call into a breathtaking solitude, our eyes centred on the soloist; Katie Noonan, her green and silver dress a dull sparkle in Martin Place’s musicological Ark. She returns our gaze with a smooth echoic melody, rising and falling between octaves like the slow pulsing roar of midnight bird calls. Revealing the opening piece at this descriptive stage seems almost redundant (He Wishes for the cloths of Heaven by Tavener) and revealing the title of the program appears even more so. Though a very tall order to fulfil, the sound of this ensemble truly is ‘Sublime’.

True to Tognetti’s introduction at the beginning of the concert, The Orchestra continues straight through into Elgar’s “Sospiri” which translates to the English word ‘sighs.’ It becomes apparent from the coupling of these two pieces that this is where the vocal and orchestra ensemble will lead us… through the romance and treachery of sighs and the palpitations of the English heart. The opening strings bring the audience to the quivering edge as layered countermelodies are woven in delicate subtlety by the orchestra. The gracefulness with which the Australian Chamber Orchestra constructs its ether simultaneously draws us in and holds us at bay. So much so that when the piece concludes, the audience is slow to break the suspense with applause.

As the room quietens once more, we hear the opening of Handel’s Si Pieta pi me non Senti from ‘Julius Caesar’ and Noonan does a fine job of remaining unobtrusive in the centre of the stage. Even when the piece reaches her entry, it is nestled within the string lines. While there was a beautiful unity in this technique, occasionally Noonan’s timbre shifted to an alternative range and these notes rang out more than was justified by mere dynamic expression. This could be due to the acoustics or the amplification of the concert, but the presence of these timbrel inconsistencies made her voice seem weak at times. It is the brighter notes which could perhaps be tamed, though the way in which she incorporated herself into the ensemble and sat within Tognetti’s direction was the mark of a true ensemble player. Even when there appeared to be no great visual communication between the two, it was evident that they were driving forward as one.

The true subtleties of a performance lie sometimes within the visual realm and in the case of the Australian Chamber Orchestra, the most prominent visual cue is that of Director and First Violin Richard Tognetti who at times, extends the limits of his flexibility to raise himself up with a pointed bow in the air. The rhythmic dance of a young director who has achieved great things for himself thus far. Special mention must also be given to Christopher Moore (Principal Viola) for his enthusiasm as he played to Tognetti’s bow-baton in parts, and to Noonan and Timo-Veikko Valve (Principal Cello) in others. He is no doubt a well versed orchestral performer. Specifically, the next piece of the Sublime program marks Tognetti’s first obvious shift to ‘conductor’ from ‘leader’, using his bow to mark entries with the other strings. In the pre-show talk, the presenter referred on multiple occasions to the ACO as a ‘band’ rather than an ‘orchestra’ which I found unusual however after seeing Tognetti move throughout Vaughan Williams’ Five Variants on Dives and Lazarus, stretching (and almost leaping) with modern exuberance, I began to see where the connection may be drawn.

In the age that we live in, it becomes increasingly difficult to let our minds rest purely on the aural level. Rather than learn from the early composers to listen intently as they did to such detail that many of them were then able to transcribe full scores from memory, we have shifted to the visuality of music. Today, society has built modern concert halls and new revolving operatic sets washed in the crimson colour that in olden days was reserved for royalty alone. Although it may seem foolish to say so within a review directed towards lovers of ’aural culture’, we cannot help but think cinematically about a score if it lends itself to visualisation.

Elgar’s Introduction and Allegro is the perfect example of such a piece when it opens with the edgy and foreboding violins. A programmatic difference incredibly executed by the Australian Chamber Orchestra, veracious masters of gesture and articulation. The extraordinary cello/double bass involvement in the opening carries us between the violin melodies in an evocative and stirring manner. Comparative to well known performances of this piece, The ACO treated these lower lines with subtlety; rather than overplaying the expressiveness it takes a back seat to the movement. While this may inhibit the feeling of movement that has undoubtedly been introduced elsewhere in the program, this reinforces the notion of dynamics for which the orchestra should be praised for. The sense of drama is awakened in our minds as we anticipate the tumult to come, through what is quite assuredly as titled, an ‘Introduction’, the ‘opening shot’ if one is to be so daring as to delve into cinematics to describe musicology. Elgar/Vaughan Williams’ piece fits perfectly into a program which centres on the voice of classical/pop diva, Katie Noonan. The clash of cinematic inspiration against the more traditional string orchestra sections of the allegro underlines the traditional disturbance of using an operatic range in popular music, or contemporary instruments used in a classical context.

Despite the fact that Tavener is a more contemporary composer, Holst’s I Sing of a Maiden seemed to be the first endeavour into a more modern tone, with vibrant strings and an anticipatory drone. A solo violin and double bass begin the piece, leading into an interjecting Principal Violin, counterpointing itself against the drone which rises into multiple harmonies with the use of natural harmonics and staggered entries. There is the feeling of a sea voyage as the staggered entries provide a subtle seafaring sway. Perhaps an alternative title to the program would have been ‘An English Journey’, reflecting a journey through the years from traditional English song to contemporary compositions. Certainly, this is where the second half of the concert seemed to lead us.

The first piece to illustrate such a chronological transition was a version of Jenny Wren, recorded by Paul McCartney in 2006 for his album Chaos and Creation in the Backyard. Noonan invited on guitarist Cameron Deyell for the first time. Unfortunately, his integration was less than smooth. As an instrumentalist of a different performance genre, he seemed to overpower the orchestra in volume, and where he pushed the beat, Tognetti appeared to be pulling it - a common discrepancy between Rock and Classical performers. Despite this inconsistency, the guitar was very well played and tasteful, a small blessing in a situation which could so easily have been ruined by crude rock guitar. Contrary to the guitar assimilation, Principle Double Bassist Maxime Bibeau adapted very well to the pizzicato style of the contemporary genre and along with Cellist Julian Thompson played the inconspicuous accompaniment role extremely well through the entire contemporary repertoire. Overall, I enjoyed Katie Noonan’s performance of this song despite having been disappointed with Paul McCartney’s album when it was released. Whereas McCartney’s album could be accused of sounding cheesy and dated, Katie Noonan’s voice brought a folk freshness to the repertoire. This was Katie Noonan in her element, and her ‘scat’ singing worked to further drive this notion home.

Many of the above comments could be made for all of the performances in the second half. After Jenny Wren, the guitar fitted much more snugly within the Chamber Orchestra setting with the Beatles’ Across the Universe. The vocals almost seemed to tie themselves to the solitude established in the opening piece by Tavener; Noonan’s classical training providing the versatility for which she is renowned. Following this song, Amy Winehouse’s Love is a Losing Game extended the orchestra into a more Funk/R&B based mode, with Cellist Julian Thompson using the wooden body of his instrument as the percussive drive. Nick Drake’s River Man brought out Tognetti’s arrangement from being the smooth, warm accompaniment of traditional cinematic scores into a more adventurous scalic ornamentation. The electric guitar took a back seat in favour of the harp; a clever and successful substitution.

The challenge of this performance, in the eyes of a contemporary reviewer, was always going to be the reproduction of the ethereal and moving song, How to Disappear Completely by Radiohead. The ACO and Katie Noonan rose to the challenge, using string harmonics and fragmentary pizzicato lines to bring about the sporadic and engulfing sound of one of Britain’s most successful contemporary artists. The harp substitution for the electric bass was a nice touch in the arrangement, but unfortunately the cello arrangements altered the mantra-like feeling of that continuous bass line by syncopating the rhythm. The original recording contains such continuity to act as a stable base for the more unpredictable instrumentation of the song, and altering this was, in my opinion, detrimental to the piece. Katie Noonan, with the assistance of some digital effects, was able to pull off the smooth element of Thom Yorke’s original, drawing much from the classical techniques she employed in the first set. This piece was by far the most well received of the concert, if audience applause can be considered an indication.

The last three songs of the concert were Sting’s A Thousand Years (drawing from Middle Eastern influences), David Bowie’s The Man Who Sold the World (undoubtedly influenced by American popular music) and Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah (written by an American, and made famous in the contemporary world by another American, Jeff Buckley). These songs, though extremely well performed, diluted the nature of ‘British Song’ as a core theme. However, they do serve to solidify the analogy of voyage, especially in terms of emphasising the effects of globalisation on popular culture.

Katie Noonan’s voice was angelic and powerful, reserved and tempered. She is without a doubt a consummate professional who knows when to take the limelight and when to take a back seat. Her sensitive interaction with the Australian Chamber Orchestra, which exhibits an extremely polished execution of dynamic range, made for a concert that was, in many ways, as it was advertised; purely sublime.

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There is a lot to say about her, yet without quoting the film it’s almost impossible to sum up her Degrassi style demeanour. She has a sick sense of humour but still remains harmless with her quips. She does not glorify teen pregnancy, nor does she condemn it. She deals with everything as it has to be dealt with; piece by piece. She is at once warm and insensitive. She is sad and tough. She is all bites and kisses.

Rating: 7/10.

The Wrap-Up:
To cut a long story short, see it.
If you liked You, Me and Everyone We Know see it twice. It’s a strange comparison to make but there’s a certain romantic link in the writing.

P.S. Buy the soundtrack even if you don’t see it.

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Yesterday I did a photoshoot with Sydney band Daybreak for their upcoming EP. (available in march)
Please support me by supporting them at www.myspace.com/banddaybreak

The theme for the day was water and we needed to shoot the following pictures:

Cover Shot
Individual Portraits for inside booklet
Band Shot for back of the booklet
Water Abstracts for CD/Inlay

Click Here to see the Behind the Scenes video of the day.
Click Here to see the shots larger on flickr.

Here are the photos

For the Strobist visitors, here are the set-ups:

Individual Portraits:
Ring Flash directly above the subject, with the lens shooting straight through.
No Ambient Light.

Water Abstracts:
Cross lit with a speedlite 430ex and a sunpak flash
Hose dripped from the top balcony in front of a plain wall (for colour backdrop)

Band Shot:
Key light supplied by a speedlite 430ex (bare)
Back/Rim light is a Sunpak (bare)

Cover Shot:
Key Light is a speedlite 430ex (bare) held suspended directly above the subject
Rim Light is a sunpak (bare) to the back left to give an edge to the subject’s hand.

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be a friend and:

(it works with paypal just like ebay and only takes a minute)

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For a film that has been so heavily advertised as ‘Bob Dylan as played by several actors’, I’m Not There is surprisingly not about Bob Dylan’s life. Well, not precisely anyway. The trailer shows Cate Blanchett in pseudo drag (more about that later) for Dylan’s infamous ‘going electric stage’ of his Bringing It All Back Home album but once we’re in the film we discover it’s not Bob Dylan after all, but Jude Quinn, a fictional character based on Dylan. That disillusion sums up the premise of this film. It allows for the poetic license that groups African American child actor Marcus Carl Franklin and Richard Gere as incarnations of the great folk artist. The truth is they are not Bob Dylan. They approximate him. We are incensed to him through them. His spirit lives inthem.

Character wise, it can be a little confusing. The other characters show aspects of his life. What is strange is that writer/director Todd Haynes has taken real people and applied the same poetic license that the ‘Bob Dylan played by several actors’ tagline would have required. Arthur Rimbaud (Ben Whishaw (of Perfume fame, who looks surprisingly like a mixture of Dylan and Jeff Buckley, an actual 19th century poet) appears in black and white cut scenes to deliver phrases mainly about the kinetic energy of poetry. Woody Guthrie (who, despite being white in real life, is played by an African American) waxes lyrically in the way that a 60 year old blues singer would, only he’s eleven. It’s a little jarring it first and I got the distinct opinion that his character was written for an older man and then substituted for effect. He didn’t sound quite like a wise 11 year old, but more like a 60 year old trapped. And finally, Billy the Kid (Richard Gere) whose story doesn’t really seem to fit in any clear way. All quite well known figures in history.

Onto these, he tacks on fictional characters Jack Rollins (Christian Bale) to show Bob Dylan’s conversion to Christianity, Robbie Clark (Heath Ledger) to show a more dramatic and somewhat arrogant side, and Jude Quinn (Blanchett)as the charismatic glue that holds the allusions together. The characters are not meant to be Bob Dylan and this gives the Haynes license to create scenes from scratch because he is not under the ‘biography’ umbrella. However, the choice to use real characters alongside fictional characters is a confusing one, especially when changing the real characters in fictional ways (Arthur Rimbaud to look like Dylan and an ethnicity switch for Woody Guthrie).

The star of the film is undeniably Cate Blanchett, and this could be due to the fact that her character Jude Quinn is the most like Bob Dylan out of the whole cast. The name Jude was obviously chosen to be unisex, implying that Blanchett is playing the role of a man. She even, reportedly, wore a sock down her pants so she could ‘walk like a man’. However, there is one scene where a woman refers to Jude as ‘she’ so the ambiguity is sustained. The scene plays on to find Jude retorting to the woman with very masculine sexual innuendo. She hangs out with Ginsberg and the Beatles, she smokes 60 cigarettes a day, she finds truth in her songs but doesn’t feel the need to explain them. She is sly and vague in interviews. She is the obviously the closest thing this film comes to portraying Bob Dylan and she does it well.

Rating: 7/10
The Wrap-up: This is a must see film for Dylan fans of any calibre, it is an interesting way to look at the life of Bob Dylan, but don’t expect a biography film or you’ll be left a little in the dark. The film is a little abstract and is quite disjointed due to its ambition at trying to cover so many different characters at once.

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boxing day paints itself in sunlit boxes
with tiny decorated trees leaning towards windows,
tinsel curving lazily around the roofs
like forgotten streets on mountain peaks
and a public park, wherein grown men speak
in heated tones that grow from grass and stumps
to bottles and a cricket bat death wish.

This is another Australian summer
spent with children’s faces shielded
a day spent in another Cronulla,
waiting until evening to ask
of the lines between the tabloids
of the six thirty news hour

what kind of anonymous pride is this?

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