La Blogothèque » Séries » Pitchfork Music Festival Paris Thu, 24 May 2018 07:20:04 +0000 en-US hourly 1 Real Estate Thu, 19 Jan 2012 17:43:47 +0000 A the beginning of last year, in an article reviewing Fake Blues, Garrincha said that Real Estate played “the blues of a western world which does not only hear the sound of the waves but whose dream is to see the real sea”.

Keeping these words in mind, we were looking for a place out of time and far from the crowd, a place likely to echo the soft chorus and the reverb-filled nostalgia of the New Jersey band. We must say that the low and grey sky of this mid-afternoon encouraged a languid posture and a certain melancholy.

A bit away from the festival, we found the perfect place: an abandoned railway track, a metallic bridge over the Ourcq canal, and in the background a building under demolition which, if we had actually looked for it, could have looked like a schoolboy prank.

Once in place, and together with some festival-goers who fell in behind us, the guitars of ‘Green Aisles’ started to deploy their urban blues in this customised setting.  Then, looking in the distance for a few minutes, we started dreaming about somewhere else , comfortably cradled by Martin Courtney’s voice.

Translated by Coumba Diallo

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Pitchfork Music Festival in Paris, the Report Mon, 05 Dec 2011 21:48:15 +0000 When Pitchfork’s people contacted us about their Parisian festival, they asked us to do a series of Take Aways Shows. Quite obvious… and from Wild Beasts to Real Estate through to Dirty Beaches (published soon), Colin and François performed a beautiful series of film.

But it would have been a shame just to do only that. Why not document everything? Shoot a film over the entire three days? It was another challenge: preparing contracts, connecting our machines with the sounds engineers’ equipment on site, running from box to box, sitting down for five minutes for an interview and then rushing to film a set live from the stage, messing about with a band, begging another one, covering the huge show of Bon Iver with three cams…

Then editing the 11 hours shot.

This is the result. They asked us for 10 minutes, David made it in 35. There were a lot of things to show.

Well, yes. Fucked Up’s singer has a pretty…physical way to show his enthusiasm…

Translated by Johanna Burgos

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Stornoway Mon, 05 Dec 2011 21:37:51 +0000 They were practically the only Englishmen in a sea of American indie. They seemed a bit remote, shy but joyful. There were many bands and we knew that Stornoways’s best assets were their voices and the harmonies they created. They could have come with their hands in their pockets. But they didn’t. Guitars of course, but also a banjo, a cajón, a bass, a trumpet…They brought everything along. We didn’t go very far. It was on a saturday morning at la Villette, a place that turned out to be more lively than we expected. There were many strollers, children, groups of youngsters sleeping off their friday night drinks, photographers and their models. There were mirrors, steles. A nice backdrop ensuring a smooth filming of the session, with indolent bunches of spectators.

When we told him that we would hide the band behind the steles, the singer asked if it wouldn’t be too cheesy, he laughed. Then he played along.

Translated by Irène Clevenot

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Wild Beasts Mon, 14 Nov 2011 15:36:16 +0000 With Wild Beast, we had to catch up: It’s been two years since we filmed a Take-Away Show in speed. No sound engineer (ie: me at the controls), barely an hour, and above that in the worst district of the world, that part of the sixteenth arrondissement lurking behind the Maison de la Radio, where the old hide, the more blimpish, the most paranoid, cranky: On any kind of our music they tumble, you scream above, you cannot tell we are not gypsies in here.

In short, we put the Take-Away Show on the shelf, without losing the desire to one day release something with this unconventional English band with those incredible voices, who play so well that they can afford to brush excessive glam without ever having fingers that stick.

The Pitchfork Festival therefore was a great opportunity to catch the thing. Great, but far from being ideal: at festivals, bands are always less approachable than usual, and we have seen better locations than La Villette to shoot (yes, it gets difficult). There are just two of them this time, the voices aerobatics, with only one guitar. In the streets of the district hidden from the nineteenth arrondissement, it is a walk with no puffery. We knew their new album would be more temperate, mature, but we got the proof that day. Those voices that effortlessly, without rushing, fly together, intertwined like two birds drunk before nightfall. Effortless, weightless, as if there was nothing around.

Translated by Helena Kaschel

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