James Brooks and Josh Clancy are Elite Gymnastics
Elite Gymnastics is James Brooks and Josh Clancy. The duo have been receiving quite a bit of national attention for their brand of chillwave tunage. From the New York Post to Pitchfork, these two are getting positive reviews. Minneapolis’ own City Pages had this to say:
…a trance-inducing quality to them, akin to sitting in a darkened opium den listening to ’80s dance hits stream out of a telephone receiver, off in the distance, softly yet persistently.
Check them out for yourself below and if you likey you can listen to more via their MySpace page and/or download their Real Friends EP for free here:
We don’t have to ask why we love videos and movies, visual literacy is becoming more important as time goes on.
Produced by Thomas Edison and directed and filmed by Edwin S. Porter, The Great Train Robbery was the first narrative movie ever made.
Thinking about today’s conventions I see in contrast to the silent films of the early years of cinema, the first thing is obvious: there are a lot of talking heads. The cinematic elements that make me love movies, especially silent movies, are mostly lacking, having given way to VFX and complicated dialogue. Cool effects work well in the right places but, as we learned from the great, early filmmakers, a story is best told with a visual, artful use of the tools to lead us to make connections on our own. This is what cinematography is. The American Society of Cinematographers defines cinematography as:
a creative and interpretive process that culminates in the authorship of an original work of art rather than the simple recording of a physical event.
The difference between a good film and a great one is that even with the audio removed a great film stands on its own. The audience can still make sense of the action because the cinematic elements keep moving the story forward.
Silent films didn’t have the luxury of audio tracks to bolster what was happening on the screen. Directors worked feverishly to keep the inclusion of cards with words on them to a minimum as audiences often found them distracting because they broke a certain rhythm to the visual story that was unfolding before them. The fundamentals of editing were more than enough for directors in those early days as they saw a seemingly infinite number of conventions that could be used to craft atmospheres, psychological experiences that led audiences to emotional heights and dramatic lows in response to the visual sequences taking place in front of them.
In contrast to now, when a majority of popular films have so many stylistic choices in common, produced with technology that can shoot high and low, inside and out, leave no stone unturned, no thought of a character unknown, possessing perhaps a similar cultural rhythm about them, too, that can at times make them feel almost like the same movie. Technology has certainly opened up many more options for modern day shooters, myself included. Shooting with a Canon 5D Mark II allows us to shoot cinema quality footage at 24p at a fraction of the cost. However, as in design, there is a time and place for whitespace, which is to say, to not exploit the tools for all they’re worth just for the sake of exploiting the tools for all they’re worth. Does it add to the story? Yes? Keep it. Does it not add to the story? Lose it.
I surely don’t mean to discount the work of the great cinematographers of our age, only to suggest that limitations are what create the opportunities for innovation, not a lack of them. The life pursuits and soaring accomplishments of a legion of great screen directors in the early days of cinema stand testament to it.
So how has the rapid deployment of these new tools impacted our ability to tell a story cinematically? Surely it’s both helped and hindered. A great story is still a great story, regardless of what tools are used to tell it.
Last night in the car, the radio began to play this tune by Dave Loggins. By some fate of radio potluck, up until that moment, Pollee hadn’t heard it and imagine her surprise when I started singing along like a seasoned Dave Loggins groupie.
Now, there is quite a bit of back story here but I’ll keep it short. It’s rare that I know a song from the 70’s era that my wife doesn’t, owing to our different experiences growing up. As a kid, her life revolved around popular music and mine was devoid of any music deemed “secular” and therefore, there are still many songs and musicians out there that I’ve not ever heard of – the upside being that I get to “discover” bands and musicians that the rest of you have known about for, like, ever. Used to bother me but now I consider it the way one would consider finding money in an old coat.
So, that explains why we pulled the car off the road, into a huge parking lot, opened the doors, turned it up, got out and stood there under the light of the moon together listening, laughing and simply being thankful for music, music we’ve heard, music we haven’t heard, music we’re hearing for the first time, music we may never hear – all kinds of music – in our lives. What would we do without music? What could replace these moments, even such an odd song as this?
““Without music to decorate it, time is just a bunch of boring production deadlines or dates by which bills must be paid” – Frank Zappa
Thanks, Frank and thanks, Dave Loggins:
We salute at the threshold of the North Sea
in my mind
And a nod to the boredom that drove me here
to face the tide and swim
(Whoaaaa) I swim (Whoaaa) oh swim (Whoaaa)
Dip the toe in the ocean. Oh how it hardens and it numbs.
And the rest of me is a version of man
built to collapse into crumbs
And if I hadn’t come down
To the coast to disappear
I may have died in a land-slide
Of the rocks, the hopes and fears.
So swim until you can’t see land.
Swim until you can’t see land.
Swim until you can’t see land
Are you a man or are you a bag of sand?
Swim until you can’t see land
Swim until you can’t see land
Swim until you can’t see land
Are you a man or are you a bag of sand?
Up to my knees now, do I wait? Do I dive?
The sea has seen my like before though it’s my first
And perhaps last time.
Let’s call me a baptist, call this the drowning of the past
She’s there on the shoreline
Throwing stones at my back
So swim until you can’t see land
Swim until you can’t see land
Swim until you can’t see land
Are you a man or are you a bag of sand?
Swim until you can’t see land
Swim until you can’t see land
Swim until you can’t see land
Are you a man or are you a bag of sand?
Now the water’s taller than me
And the land is a marker line
All I am is a body adrift in water, salt and sky
So swim until you can’t see land
Swim until you can’t see land
Swim until you can’t see land
Are you a man or are you a bag of sand?
Swim until you can’t see land
Swim until you can’t see land
Swim until you can’t see land
Are you a man or are you a bag of sand?
This evening, I was heading to dinner in Sarrià when, to my surprise, upon entering the metro station @ Plaça de Catalunya, I found myself in the middle of a impromptu performance by some Cuban musicians – baila!!!
