Glitch, funk, hip-hop, jazz and human beatbox each play a part in weaving the tapestry of Mike Gao's music. Based in LA, Gao has studied music technology and is currently pursuing a PhD in Electrical Engineering. He is also the creator of a couple of music apps for the iPhone, including one that can record one's voice beatboxing and convert it into MIDI data to use with your MPC or DAW of choice.
Also, check out his new 12" EP split with Daisuke Tanabe as part of the "Faces" series from Project: Mooncircle and Finest Ego. Funky stuff indeed.
This year’s Jameson Dublin International Film Festival gave audiences the privilege of attending the European premiere of Ron Frike’s new film, Samsara (2011). As a fan of Frike’s work I had been eagerly awaiting the film’s release and, making the event all the more special was the fact that the film’s producer, Mark Magidson, was attending and providing a Q&A session after the screening.
I was lucky enough to see Frike’s previous film, Baraka (1992), a couple of years ago in the IFI, projected as it was intended from 70mm film. Like Baraka, Samsara is a non-verbal documentary. It does not follow a conventional plot but instead offers up a succession of powerful images, shot at diverse locations around the globe. Samsara was again shot using 65mm film stock and then transferred to digital for projection. The resulting film is a spectacular feast for the eyes, as the audience is transported to vistas few people are lucky enough to experience in person.
The film opens to the hypnotic gaze of three Balinese dancers, and this first section of the film focuses mainly on ancient customs, religious and otherwise. There is an emphasis on the beauty of nature here but also on the destructive power it wields, as images of forests, littered with ancient temples, are juxtaposed with the ruins of a post-Katrina, New Orleans. In fact, the more tranquil moments of Samsara are continuously being interrupted by reminders of the fragility of civilization, such as volcanic eruptions, coupled with the remains of mummified bog-men and Egyptian Pharaohs. The tone during this first section of the film still retains a dislocated serenity though: a respectful admiration for mother-earth and the all-powerful passage of time.
As the film progresses, the focus shifts inwardly towards the urban and mankind’s questionable relationship with the environment. Time-lapse aerial views of bright city lights are contrasted with slum villages in the Philippines, while assembly lines give way to scenes from abattoirs and poultry processing plants. The slaughter of poultry and cattle are among the most distressing images in the film, as living creature is transformed into neatly packaged fast food item during the various stages of a production line. The film’s message here is quite heavy-handed in its denunciation of consumerism but perhaps this is the necessary approach in order to resonate with a society that is so often willing to turn a blind eye.
On a whole, Samsara, moves with a graceful rhythm, and at 99 minutes in length, without any dialogue, it manages to hold one’s attention throughout. This is aided by the film’s score, written by Marcello De Francisci, Michael Stearns and Lisa Gerrard (of Dead Can Dance). The soundtrack includes elements as diverse as the film’s images, ranging from Balinese Gamelan to upbeat techno, drawing the audience deep into the film’s flow.
As stated in the Q&A session afterwards, Ron Frike likes to think of his films as “guided meditations”, and this is definitely the effect that his films seem to have. Viewers are compelled to contemplate mankind’s place on the planet, and to look within themselves to question their own ethics and values. As one audience member remarked before asking her question, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat meat again.” This is not to say that the film is pushing certain values, but rather that it offers the audience a chance to reflect on elements of our culture that are generally shied away from. The image of the sand mandala bookends the film and is key to the documentary’s message. As it is painstakingly created by a team of Tibetan monks and later destroyed with a few brushes of the hand, we are reminded of the impermanence of the world around us and that that we are merely guests on this earth that should take a step back to look at how we treat our environment during our stay here.
I originally began this by saying "Tyrannosaur is, in many ways, not for the faint-hearted", which now that I think about it is an expression you only ever actually see in film reviews. Maybe the occasional theme park ride. Because who are "the faint-hearted" anyway? Nobody enjoys scenes of brutality in a film. Even stultified teenage boys who are thrilled by depictions of pain infliction in the increasingly missing-the-point-of-horror torture-porn genre are just in it for the novelty, the fantasy, the bizarreness of it all. In terms of dealing with the realities of life, these kids are probably more faint-hearted than most. I suppose those to whom the expression usually refers equate film entertainment with blissful escape, a movie world where Good and Bad are neatly defined and all ends well. Why would anybody want to be reminded of how upsetting life can be for some people?
Well, I don't personally seek out or reject entertainment based on its thematic content. I look out for critical recommendations, because there just isn't enough time to get through ALL of Adam Sandler's oeuvre. Also, I hear an endangered mammal dies every time Michael Bay gets an idea. Anyway. Easy targets. Because it is well-made and superbly acted, Tyrannosaur, for all its portrayal of negative events, left me feeling positive. Of the issues it raised, none were wrapped up nicely in a metaphorical box labelled "We don't ever need to worry about THAT happening again". This is life. Bad stuff happens. In fact, this is England. Even worse stuff happens. That was a little joke.
It's not that there isn't a glimpse of redemption. Redemption, though often clothed in religion, is in the realm of reality just as much as violence is. It's not an invented film device for people with faint hearts. Redemption can be invisible yet momentous. If you are lucky enough to perceive such a shift in a character, it defines your experience as a viewer.
When a violent person commits a terrible act, he or she may be any of the following:
(1) Evil incarnate (the tabloid perspective);
(2) Psychotic or nihilistic or just plain not-at-home;
(3) A battered, bruised, turbulent, self-loathing, confused, inarticulate mind, usually unable to step outside of its own circular patterns. Occasionally, something occurs to break the pattern.
Which one do you think makes for the richest dramatic experience? If you didn't say (3) then you deliberately did not step into my trap, in which case well done for being clever, please pass me my hat and good-day to you sir. It takes the best filmmakers and actors to illustrate this kind of complex anguish in any remotely convincing way, which might be why truly fulfilling "downbeat" films are relatively rare. This is one of them.
Excellent jazz/funk fusion album from Texan band 47 Times Its Own Weight. "Cumulo Nimbus" takes you on a journey as it drifts from the up-tempo funk of "March of the Goober Woobers" through the smooth jazzy vibes of "47 Tears", then onwards into the spaced out haze of the title track. Some of the more experimental numbers are reminiscent of "Roxy & Elsewhere" era Zappa.
