Sony G90 - Manual (Page 60)

reviews scrolling across the screen,
and the many images of endless pave-
ment, tunnels, and indistinct automo-
bile headlights vaguely glowing from
neon-lit gridlock. Much rock journal-
ism might as well be printed in a
tabloid, because of its sensational pur-
suit of rumor and hype. This film
exposes the soap-opera mentality of
writing like that, with segments in
which sound check footage drowns
out interviews (the music audibly suf-
focates the press to symbolize the
insignificance of the media) and with a
revealing scene where lead singer
Thom Yo r k e ’s reluctant, wiry body
contorts under the onslaught of merci-
less flashing cameras. By the end of
the film, you will ask yourself, “Why?,”
the same question Radiohead probably
ponders as well.
Several scenes demonstrate the
g r o u p ’s occasional lassitude (an
expected side-effect of touring), but
none more so than the bored look on
Yo r k e ’s face when he’s performing
“Creep” in Philadelphia. As the audi-
ence chants the song’s verse, Yo r k e
apathetically stands like a cardboard
cutout, holding his mic towards the
crowd. He finally turns it inward with
apparent disgust, as if he imagines it
to be a painkilling dagger, and telling-
ly slurs the tune’s climactic line,“What
the hell am I doing here?” We can
barely hear Yorke against the din of
the band; all we clearly make out are
cries from the audience, “We love you,
Thom!” Still, compared to the exas-
perating
journalists Radiohead
encounters in every town (and who,
among other offenses, ceaselessly fire
redundant questions and arrive at
interviews unprepared), the fans and
their blind lust for the band seem easy
to cope with.
Meeting is Capitol Records’ first
venture into the DVD market, and
s t r a n g e l y, the Radiohead DVD’s cover
art is obtuse, to the point where you
almost can’t see the band’s name. The
DVD has no chapters, which may
annoy those accustomed to selecting
particular slices of the movie for
repeated viewing. But the constant
alternation of black and white with
color footage, and slightly grainy film
with more vibrant stock, combines
with multi-perspective angles (many
shot with a minicam) in creating a
stimulating A/V presentation that
DVD, with its digitally clear resolution
and seamless flow, best
allows. Sonically, the
DVD has 5.1-channel
and
AC-3 surround
sound that serves us
well. Since Meeting does not focus on
concert footage, but is instead a col-
lage of events and experiences, it’s
appropriate that the sound wraps us
in a cocoon, and lathers us with ambi-
ent electronic pulses, squealing fans,
and the echoes of interviews. In
scenes where we’re surrounded by the
crowd, the band, and the acoustic ric-
ochet of a concert hall, and simultane-
ously see strobe lights dance off the
band members onstage, the DVD
delivers a menacing, and almost claus-
trophobic, feeling.
Whether or not you like or know
Radiohead’s music is beside the point.
Tour documentaries have existed for
years, but Meeting assails your senses
and then dares you to think. You’ll
come away feeling as if you’ve been
through the grind yourself, and it’s that
realism, however unnerving, that
makes the film worth owning. Consider
it an introduction to media studies:
Meeting
demonstrates how the media
manipulates and harasses rock stars in
an effort to glamorize rock stardom for
all it’s ($) worth.
Fugazi: Instrument. Jem Cohen
(director). Dischord 80. $18.00
(VHS only).
Fugazi is difficult to describe – the
band escapes classification. Even when
I state that Fugazi is a band, I fail to
provide the whole picture, because
Fugazi is more than a band; it’s an ideal,
a political concept, a paradox. I’ve had
an easier time explaining The Grateful
Dead’s 30-minute “space jams,” full of
guitar feedback, to people who wanted
to understand what that group was
attempting (if wasn’t just pure obfusca-
tion, which sometimes it was). In
Fugazi we have a band that distributes
its own records, books its own shows,
has never taped a music video, works
exclusively with independent promot-
ers, hawks no merchandise (not even T-
shirts), and charges only $5 for a con-
cert ticket. Think about it. Today, $5
wouldn’t even buy you a Rolling Stones
bumper sticker. Does all this sound like
what some artists are doing on the
Internet? Yes, indeed, but Fugazi was