Evan Mast and Mike Stroud make up Ratatat, another newish band from a plethora of newish bands that also hails from New York that is newly entering my newlist. Voiceless and lyric-less for the most part, they’ve been around since the early noughties. The music, faux metal guitars clashing with classical-esque synths, really lends itself to soundtracks and commercials and this is fact, not simply opinion. Cloverfield, CSI and Knocked Up are a few examples that have borrowed Ratatat’s sound to further their own interests.
Other than 3 full length LPs, they also have 2 Hip-hop remix albums out as well. Check out Mirando, off their latest album, LP3. Warning! Replete with scenes from Predator.
So much so that I couldn’t resist kopping one of the LaCie external hard drives he designed. The black monolith, just like the one in 2001. Only mine comes with a blue light flashing below and I know all the mysteries it contains. 750Gbs of goodness that is. This particular design also won a Red Dot Award.
Mr. Poulton also pays homage to HAL 9000 with a server storage system that looks distinctly like one of film’s greatest villains in another design for LaCie. The front retains the eye, only its blue and the back side clearly resembles the memory banks like in the final scenes.
Ferran Adria’s first ever book in English has finally been released to some fanfare here in Sydney, when the man himself came down to give a bit of a talk. I couldn’t go, due to situation and hesitation, two good friends of mine, along with procrastination.
A fat, balding, Spanish waiter with some fat, balding, Jap tourist.
Anyway, the book is entitled: A Day At elBulli, and it really follows the master through a single day of operations at the restaurant itself. From the moment he walks into work till the moment the guests arrive and until the place finally closes, you get to see everything that happens. Throughout the pages, there are heaps of full colour, super detailed photographs which really go a long way to assisting the reader in understanding what is being conveyed.
The book itself is pretty massive and hefty, both in terms of size and in content. Whilst it is just one day of operations in the best restaurant in the world, the book goes rather in depth into accounting for each situation, at times casting side glances to Adria’s history or the methodology of the cooking or the “stages” that elBulli conducts to bring in young chefs from around the world.
Lauded by Bocuse, fawned over by Time and causing the normally caustic and chatty Bourdain to be reduced into a stumbling and awestruck mess, Adria is the man. The man who changed the way the game is being played and the man who has completely changed the gastronomic landscape across the world. The amount of detail in explaining ideas, idea generation, experimentation and actually making it reality is incredible. It is a feast for the mind. Trust Phaidon to do an amazing job. A Day At elBulli is a fitting tribute, a textbook and an inspirational piece of food history about a legend of the art of gastronomy.
For whatever money, this book is a must for any foodie, chef, intellectual or creative person looking for pure inspiration. At $80, I thought it was a steal considering how much a volume of works from the restaurant normally goes for. This is about as close I can get at the moment to getting just a whiff or a glance or an inkling of something amazing that is happening right now, in my lifetime.
For me, to simply see the kitchen itself, or the workshop in Barcelona, both in fact, would be rather high up on my bucket list. To eat there, would be second. To work there, right on top. Costa Brava, here I come.
Recently, circumstances (read: work) have led me to wake up at the unearthly hour of 4am and travel for an hour or so on a bus that is filled with an odd mix of post party poseurs, louts, hobos and non-english speaking foreign workers. The common thing between the lot, including the bus itself, is that they’re all fucking noisy. The ride is always bumpy and the chatter typically higher in the decibel and frequency.
Bottom line was that I was suffering through lack of sleep, physical tiredness and irritation. My solution of sorts was to withdraw unto myself all the more, by purchasing a pair of in ear headphones. Previously, I’d been using the fancy schmancy B&O A8 I got as a pressie one X’mas. Now I’ve swopped those lovely, albeit none too lovely sounding, objets d’art for a pair of cans that cost a tenth of the price and come nothing close to the Grados that I would love to have.
I present to you ladies and gents, the JVC Marshmallows. These are like the best pair of cheap in ear headphones. The operating word being cheap, of course. I followed advice from the Head-Fi forums and modded/kramered them. The result now is that I can still hear the odd bit of chatter but thank god its muted. I can still hear the drone of the bus but its no longer an overwhelming torrent of sound. My eardrums are also thanking me for allowing the volume to be turned down considerably yet still hear everything clearly. Another side effect, strangely enough, is that I actually think the sound quality on these post mod, is better than the B&Os. Now I know the Bangers weren’t great to begin with but these JVCs cost me $30 off the bay. Which is amazing.
That said, I still love the B&Os. They’re probably the most elegant earphone design I’ve ever come across and they’re incredibly lightweight but well built and extremely comfortable. Pity about the tinny sound. Also, the Marshmallows aren’t that great either. I’ve heard way better. Both sets are decent, if non ideal.
Using the Marshmallows is weird. They’re the first pair of in-ears I’m using, so I’m still getting used to pinching the memory foam before placing it into my ear, then waiting as it expands to fill up the space. I feel like I’m underwater, I can hear myself breathe through the bones conducting and I can hear the cables as they sway, although this is not that big an issue when the music plays.
Thank the Marshmallow Man for inventing memory foam to save my sanity.
It’s been twice now, walking to work, when I’ve heard Angus & Julia Stone playing Bella and I felt my heart swoon. Probably helps that I’m starting at 6 in the morning and there’s the rising sun together with a great view of Sydney’s CBD from the coastline at Manly. Still, it is a marvellously beautiful song nonetheless.
Marco Ferreri’s masterpiece, La Grande Bouffe, is about 4 friends who spend a weekend in a villa, resolving to literally eat themselves to death. Released in 1973, its stuffed with loads of dark humour, food, shit, farts and sex. Its a feast for the eyes as scene after scene plays out like great renaissance paintings. Yet its also scene after scene growing in revulsion. I feel like I got sucker punched in the abdomen after having dinner as I watched. A regretful decision for sure. Try to catch this one on an empty but strong stomach.
I’m not entirely certain but I think Peter Paul Rubens was the principal cinematographer.
A judge, a pilot, a chef and a producer say their goodbyes to those they cherish the most as the film begins. I’m not entirely sure what is happening, only that they meet up and drive to a villa owned by the judge to enjoy a feast of sorts. Even on the way there, they’ve already started eating in the car. When they do arrive, they’re greeted by a delivery of some of the finest meats. The best beef, venison, Bresse chickens, Ardenne roosters… It seems a lot more than too much for just 4 people.
The order and decorum on the surface slowly gives way to the orgy bubbling beneath. Ferreri begins to reveal more as we go along. An oyster eating contest set to a slideshow of some turn of the century pornography in the evening is followed by Kidneys Bourgignon for breakfast. But soon, they tire of just food. Enter 3 prostitutes and a seemingly innocent, plump schoolteacher so they can fuck and eat at the same time. After all, there’s so much food anyway, might as well share it around whilst having a roll in the hay.
Thereafter, its a descent into absolute depravity, excess and immorality as they eat, fuck, fart, eat, fuck and eat some more. These guys, for whatever reason, are seriously eating themselves into oblivion. The prostitutes can’t seem to take it and leave. The rest continue and eventually, one by one, they die in the most depressing of downward spirals.
Some scenes just cry out in agony and comedy all at once, like when the schoolteacher starts to fuck the producer who is suffering from indigestion and she moans whilst he farts in tandem. It all just kept making me wonder why. Why did 4 perfectly healthy, seemingly normal, wealthy upper middle class gentlemen want to end their lives? Why did they choose a method that is so ironic in its approach? After all, food is sustenance and sex is procreation, yet it was their chosen way to die, living to death.
The film is as surreal as it is insane. The premise is so absurd, so ludicrous. How is it even possible for one to eat until they died? If we could consume and enjoy anything and everything without remorse, without any consequence, would we really eat the entire earth and drink it dry? The characters in the film certainly seemed to adhere to this sentiment, obliterating themselves in their relentless feast toward death. Perhaps, it really is all about the decline of Western civilization as some have suggested.
Every character arrives at a turning point and possibly had some kind of a chance to redeem themselves. Yet they either chose not to or had no choice. Marcello, the sex depraved pilot, decided enough was enough and tried to escape the villa in his blue Bugatti but to no avail. He froze to death in the cold of the winter night, unable to control the machine that was his ticket to freedom. Even when he realised what he was doing was utterly insane, nature conspired to rebuke him. Similarly, the tv producer Michel, who had severe indigestion. Yet for whatever reason, decided to persevere, eventually dying in a final flatulent release and amidst his own faeces.
Also, were it not for the nurturing care of the schoolteacher, a couple of the characters would not have met with their deaths. The chef, who had his friend, the judge force feed him pates till his demise. Or the oedipal judge, fed a blancmange shaped like a pair of giant tits, much like the ones belonging to his nanny or the schoolteacher.
La Grande Bouffe is a powerful film. One that is revolting and provocative. It seems to satirize the rich West and its pillars of capitalism, like a death knell sounding for materialistic overconsumption and excess. Something which is probably hugely relevant at this point in time.
The one thing I couldn’t suffer was its use of food as a killer. Beautiful, delightful food. I feel like going on a diet right now.
I have been on that Hip-Hop tip lately. Some stuff I’m enjoying include:
People Under The Stairs – Fun D.M.C.
As the title insinuates, its a throwback to some old school beats and lyrics on the lighter side of life. This is a Hip-Hop album that doesn’t make any bones about saving the genre from extinction or talking about politics or other depressing dross. Its so easy to listen to its insane.
The Wiz is their tribute to Oz, filmed in Sydney and referencing every Australian stereotype in the lyrics. “I’m the wizard of Oz…”.
Madlib – WLIB AM: King Of The Wigflip
This shit is tight and smooth, running across a gamut of styles and never feels played out. Guests include Talib Kweli, Guilty Simpson, Prince Po, Murs, J-Dilla… Madlib also has another Beat Konducta album out, Madlib The Beat Konducta Volume 5.: Dil Cosby Suite which is also really chilled out.
This is a promo for Madlib The Beat Konducta Volume 3-4: Beat Konducta In India because I suck at finding current stuff on Youtube.
DJ K.O. – Picture This…
Strong beats to go with the soulful sounds. Talib Kweli, Elzhi, 9th Wonder, Black Milk, Masta Ace and many more lend a hand to proceedings on this flowing DJ K.O. project.
The first track on the album, Here We Go Feat. East & Silent Knight.
Elzhi – The Preface
The Preface is Elzhi’s proper full length solo release, having spent the rest of his career guesting everywhere and being half of Slum Village. Black Milk takes on the role of the main producer, working on 14 out of the 16 tracks on the LP. 4 tracks from his previous limited tour CD release, Europass make it onto this album, including Motown 25, Talking In My Sleep, Save Ya and Transitional Joint.
Elzhi performing Motown 25 and That’s That One live.
Its probably best to sit through Alejandro Jodorowsky’s films and not think too much, but that’s something that I just can’t seem to do. Watching The Holy Mountain had my mind racing through every scene, bewildered at the subject and absurdity of it all but also marveling at the visual aesthetic beauty before my eyes. It didn’t make any sense and probably wasn’t supposed to anyway but its a mindfuck nonetheless. I can see why John Lennon was so up on this shit he had Allen Klein fund Jodorowsky for this. Epic is one way to think of Holy Mountain.
The Alchemist as the film opens.
The film is sort of based on a book by Rene Daumal, Mount Analogue and takes the basic framework of a pseudo spiritual ascension up a mountain and the travails that follow it. The start of the show plays out like some sort of psuedo allegory to the last days of Christ almost. It focuses on a single, barely dressed man (The Thief) who befriends a limbless dwarf and proceeds to try to make a living in the city, presumably somewhere in South America. Because he looks like the stereotypical image of Christ, some fat dudes dressed like romans decide to get him drunk and proceed to make a mould out of him to make Christ figurines for profit. The Thief wakes up mad, smashes some fake Christs and then goes on some kind of last walk, carrying one fake Christ like a cross as he gets followed by a bunch of prostitutes, one of them with a monkey in tow. He then gets into a quarrel of sorts with a priest and gets chased away. Respondent, he then turns to eating the wax figurine he had been carrying, before he floats up on balloons that appeared outta nowhere.
After his ascension, The Thief spots a huge tower and gets inside, intent on finding its secrets. There he meets The Alchemist, played by Jodorowsky himself in some Shinto X frute swag attire. They fight but The Alchemist keeps winning. He then decides to take The Thief on as a disciple and introduces him to 7 other people, with whom they would ascend the titular Holy Mountain in order to ascertain the secrets of the gods. Each one of the 7 is a certified asshole, including war mongerers, moguls and politicians. They train together in preparation for the ascension, going through trial after trial, in the hope of achieving immortality.
The Alchemist & The Thief: Not a Stereophonics song.
Eventually, they leave for Holy Mountain on a boat, get sidetracked by a mad place called the Pantheon Bar, which is filled with people who got distracted from the ultimate goal of climbing to the mountain’s peak, where it is said, a group of 9 wise men reside. The group’s plan is to usurp the power the wise men have and they get the fuck out of the bar, proceeding through more trials and tribulations, both mental and physical until they finally get to the summit.
By this point, my eyes were slapped by a myriad of unbelievable images. One sideshow has geckos dressed in traditional Aztec garb getting attacked by frogs, representing the conquistadors. They fight in a scale model city before everything gets blown to bits. Another scene has got policemen in gas masks dancing with commoners. There’s also a scene where The Thief defecates into a container and The Alchemist turns it into gold. Yet, Jodorowsky keeps even more up his sleeve by the time the film reaches its conclusion.
A naked woman stimulating a robot with a phallus until it experiences an orgasm of noise and movement.
Compared to El Topo, The Holy Mountain is similar in that both films are allegorical, symbolical, pseudo religious, trippy hippy films. Yet, El Topo could respectfully contain a narrative almost. The Holy Mountain has such a loose narrative, with each portion of the film almost seemingly its own story almost. Its supposed to be one complete journey but you end up going everywhere else instead. Which I suppose ultimately relates to what Jodorowsky was getting at towards the end.
Maybe there is a Holy Mountain. If I could find and ascend it, I might attain some kind of immortality or superpower. Or maybe there isn’t and there’s nothing to gain in the first place. Maybe all I’ll gain is knowledge, that I was a fool to begin with but the journey was still a beautiful, memorable one.
A couple weeks ago, I ran across an article on a guy named Shai Agassi, who has absolutely no relation to the tennis legend. Instead, this is a guy that WIRED thinks might just change the world. Agassi’s idea is to replace existing petrol driven motor vehicles with electric ones, which isn’t fundamentally new at all. The difference is he’s coming up with the whole infrastructure to make it happen and how it is to be marketed. He wants to manage and control the demand for energy. His company, Better Place, is working together with Renault and Nissan to make the ubiquity of the electric vehicle a reality rather than some poncey celebrity environmental consciousness fad.
So electric cars. Are they all that much better? Whilst they produce zero emissions, won’t the fuel burnt to create said electricity still be an issue? Some argue that the pollution would at least be concentrated to power plants whilst others also look into the fact that alternative energy sources are becoming increasingly viable. I’m leaning a lot more to the latter these days, being the eternal optimist.
Agassi’s plan is radical in that he intends to fuck over the petroleum companies as well as major car manufacturers. He intends to convince whole cities and nations to build an infrastructure system to accommodate electric cars, including recharge stations and a grid network that can move the electricity freely from point to point, to account for changes in demand and supply. You pay for the electricity and lease the car instead, possibly even borrowing it for free. Its a bit like using a car like a mobile phone, where you have a monthly subscription or some such. Recharging can be done faster than at present, by changing battery packs at recharge stations or recharging at home overnight.
The point is, we all know burning fossil fuels is bad for the environment. That and just as important, it doesn’t last forever. So we need to be looking at a solution and they’re all around. The question is why aren’t things happening? One reason is the pace of technological advancement and the other is simply politics. Agassi’s plan, detailed more on the Better Place website, simply throws such problems aside and sounds pretty darn convincing in talking about how to really get the wheels rolling. It already is in fact.
I am awaiting the Jonathan Ive designed iCar sometime circa 2015 that can accommodate my 2015 version iMac (which is actually the iDSLR + iPod + iCamcorder + iWallet + iPhone + iKeys + iMac) whilst I dream about some iArabica to go with some iSourdough with iRoastPork, iceburgLettuce, iDJon and an Apple chutney.
My current fascination with the rather short but lovely Young Marble Giants track, Eating Noddemix, has levelled up my food knowledge by 1. By the way, Nøddemix, refers to mixed nuts in Danish.
