Look at these jokers. Just look at these kids, these fooligans, these hippies. It doesn’t matter what you call them, they’ll take on the name you give on impulse to someone who shatters your sense of normalcy and the monotony of your daily routine, an outrageous name for an outrageous encounter. You could be an arthritic old woman, an irascible shopkeeper, a bunch of hooded kids; you could be terrified, annoyed or thrilled; you will name them, you will call for them, you will join in their antics. They’re called Foxygen, they come from a faraway land called California where weed smoke is thick in the air and people wear mohair sweaters in infernally hot weather, and they’re here to vanquish dull routine with carelessness and yeah, a little insolence.
I remember the first time I heard ‘Take the Kids Off Broadway’, Foxygen’s first LP. Abounding, chaotic, carefree and rich–you might have said the album was recorded by a teenager locked in his room with the volume cranked all the way up and his entire record collection playing at once.
That’s what Foxygen is. A band of friends that relishes freedom, and who take what comes their way without thinking twice. Might be an apple from a street vendor’s stall, or it might be the end-of-day rush outside a middle school in Paris.
It’s been awhile since we filmed a group so well suited to a Take Away Show. A group whose presence alone suffices to shake the street, that provokes without seeming involved, that jumps around so much, makes a point of hanging out with everyone around them, and that mocks the fact of being on camera with a playful disdain. Overall, a band that can do all of that without fucking up their harmonies. A group that goes so far as to write the film we’re shooting while we’re shooting it.
Because in the end, this film is just the story of a stolen apple.