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Salient. Victoria University Student Newspaper. Vol. 38, No. 18. July 23rd 1975

Numerous Reviews

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Numerous Reviews

Numerous Reviews

Test Pictures - Geoffrey Steven

New Zealand

This film (NZ's first feature film in 4 years) was the most talked about film in the festival. It was also the first to be booked out.

On seeing this film most viewers have arrived at a very pessimistic view of the capabilities of New Zealand film-making. New Zealand film-making has, however, much greater potential than this film would indicate.

Photo from a scene in Test Pictures

Although Test Pictures is at least better than the soap opera Close to Home it is still a pile of junk. The scripting alone would have ensured the failure of the film. The directing was un-coordinated and obviously did not belong to one person. The camera work was painful. Fancy panning around for no reason at all where no special effect is created is a despicable fault in a film-maker. The sound work was atrocious. The sound levels were completely unbalanced and extremely irritating. The editing was extremely sluggish, main faults being: shot after shot of the same scene without any change in perspective, pointless rolling of of the same shot and the conflict between the cutting and dialogue. Finally the acting was simply non-existent. There was no human-ness about it at all. More identifiably human expressions could be got from a chimpanzee walking around. Although the occasional well-created shot (largely contributed by the beautiful scenery) and several good ideas in amongst the footage made the whole thing a bit more bearable, many people left early.

I rip shit out of this film not just for the hell of it but rather I do it in defence of New Zealand film-making. My criticisms have been as simple as possible to point out that the defects shown in this film are simple to overcome and that there is no reason for New Zealand films to remain in the rut in which they seem to have entrenched themselves.

Of course, the development of New Zealand film-making is hopeless as long as the government and other people see their aid to the film industry in terms of only thousands of dollars. Much more simply has to be spent so that independent film-makers can get off the ground. By this I don't mean that present amateur film-makers should be given the money to become professionals but that highly skilled people within the film business should be given the chance to leave the establishments and combine together in various independent crews to make features. (NZ is the only country of any size which doesn't have a film industry). Amateurs would also gain an opening through this scheme. For example at the moment, there is little attraction to join one of the established institutions for the creative person. There could not only be apprenticeship jobs with the independent maker; but apprenticeships with TV 1, TV 2 and the Film Unit would be much more attractive because the lack of prospects would no longer exist

After having said all this one might say why have such an industry at all since we can pick and choose from overseas productions. If we take this attitude I think that we miss out on a great deal because film has incredible power to reflect a national identity. It can play an extremely important part in the development of all aspects of a society. This is shown by the use which all third world countries, and many other young societies have put it to. Good examples are Czechoslovakia (before the 1968 Russian invasion), Cuba, Chile (during its short freedom under Allende), India and even Australia. These countries and many more have realised the very great significance of their own film art.

Film is increasingly becoming aligned with the pursuit of social justice, freedom and economic progress because its communicative potential is almost unlimited and similarly with its artistic potential. New Zealand will wake up to this one day and there will no longer be any necessity for judging films like Test Pictures so harshly.

They could then truly be regarded as test pictures or experiments which are a highly desireable part of the whole process.

An American Life

A sustained plea in mitigation by Jeb Stuart Magruder, one of the organisers of Nixon's ill-fated re-election committee. Young Jeb had his life story published just prior to his being sentenced for perjury in the Watergate scandal. The timing strongly suggests that he had in mind the principle that to understand all is to forgive all; plus the motive that an inside story on Watergate would sell sufficient copies to buy the best legal advice available.

The book failed to keep him out of the can and this bright-eyed boy of Tricky Dick's served seven months before turning to Jesus and carrying on the good old style of work as an administrative vice-president of an evangelical organisation, Young Life.

Nixon and his retinue has spawned such films as The Werewolf of Washington' and 'Milhouse', and books like, 'All the Presidents' Men', Magruder's work is different for it is a tale told by a participant - albeit signifying very little. Magruder tells the story of his life through Ivy League, army and the corporate empire. He believes in conservative politics as a way of life and his own role in that way of life is one of personal advancement into the politics of the White House. Repentant as he is, his faith in the philosophy of those who have the most to conserve remains untarnished.

It is not so much his own story which is of most interest. His own role is that of a young cypher, interchangeable with a host of other individuals, invariably described as self-confident and all anxious to do the President's bidding. The profiles of the idiosyncrats, the men who have power are more interesting: Chuck Colson:- I came to regard Chuck Colson as an evil genius. His brilliance was undeniable but it was too often applied to encouraging Nixon's darker side, his desire to lash out at his enemies, his instinct for the jugular.' John Mitchell, Magruder's immediate superior in the committee to re-elect the President - his Dad-figure:- Young men like John Dean and myself thought of him in those terms, and even the President seemed to regard him as a tower of strength, an equal, someone to take his problems to and be counselled by.'

Photograph from An American Life

Most power lay with H.R. Haldeman, the ruthless Chief of Staff, who interpretted Nixon's wishes and ruled absolutely over the White House and Nixon's cabinet as well - the biggest office boy in the world. There is even an implicit [unclear: esion] that the crew cut Haldeman not only passed on Nixon's paranoic orders but put them in Nixon's mind in the first place.

Nixon appears briefly in such anecdotes as when he demands to be let off a temporarily stranded plane in his pre-president days. It is left unclear what role Nixon had in the cover-up, so closetted was he by Haldeman. It is thus the austere memo issuer Haldeman and Quasimodo Colson who get the blame for Watergate and Mitchell and Magruder who are the unwilling victims of their machinations when they are oushed to create the plumbers squad of Watergate burglars.

Magruder's story is one of rise and fall in the rat race. Given the capacity of American society to convince itself of it ability to cleanse itself by forgiving the elite their sins Magruder may yet achieve the vantage point of Number One U.S. Rat in Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington.

Cheech & Chong

Six o'clock comes, we're sitting, waiting in the Opera House for the duo Cheech and Chong. The lights dim - and here's a DJ presenting the invisible Band', sure enough music from an invisible Band' - okay, so when does the show start. Then, casually strolling, outcome Cheech and Chong - to those that have never come across these two they specialise in a type of situation comedy. They exploit the crazy, the ridiculous and claim 'We're not funny unless you are."

So now sister mary elephant (Cheech) and this delightful religious arch-type of the Catholic sister calmly trots out to the mike, hands clasped piously over her nose and in a high-pitched voice announces to her class "Class, today, we have a special guest to talk to you on those nasty things, drugs - Sargent Stadanko." The audience boos. Sister reprimands the class anxiously - out comes your friendly neighbourhood [unclear: narc] 1969 - green trousers, red shirt, black and white jacket and red-rimmed glasses.

"Contrary to some tests", Stadanko reveals, "this stuff can give you brain damage. Believe me kids this stuff is dangerous to fool with. Only dopes use dope. Marihuana is really a dangerous drug, people have been known to OD on peanut-butter sandwiches. Imagine eating 3 tons of peanut-butter sandwiches. Now, I'm going to show you a film so that you can identify a Dope-Pusher! One last thing you can help us to catch these terrible people - Turn your friends in!" General laughter, lights dim, spot comes up centre stage, this cool cat strolls out, fur-trimmed jacket, stylish white stetson, plastic bag clasped in hand, held high -"Dope, dope, anyone want some dope" he cries. Sargent Stadanko comes out disguised as a freak trying to buy some dope

"I want to buy some pills."

"Well what sort?"

"Well something to get me up there...."

"Well how much.....?"

"Well just a few, about a kilo."

So it goes, it's fast, funny, dirty, crazy.

Then we have a series of skits with 'Laid-Back Lenny', the classic stoned out freak, acting as a DJ for various pieces of talent, some of the more memorable being:-

'Blind Melon Chitlin', the dug-up old blues man revered because he's a dug-up old blues man. The audience claps, "Now, I want you to give a big hand to my band.' So after a slightly bewildered pause the audience claps again-'Blind Melon Chitlin' chuckles - "Jes you must be blinder than me. There's no band there". Hal Ha! Ha! He stomps his left leg, waifs and blows harp - wow man - he has a lot of problems with that leg - he'd just get enough blow up to get a noise out of the harp and that leg stops - so he gets the leg going brother does he what, the leg goes out of control folks and poor old Melon just about jerks off stage.

"I'm 156 and can still get it up" pause "but not in"; later, "I'm 18 inches wide and two inches long - that's why I can't get it in."

Next the rock star that makes Mick Jagger look like a faggot. Out prances one of the few guitar weilding, micky mouse hatted ballerinas in show biz. to the straining of "Ear ache My Eye", one of the greatest parodies of rock guitarists is seen going through all the Hendrix stocks in trade in a way Jimi would have loved.

Then we were given this brilliant piece of mime, "The Astronaut'. Out he comes, space suit, helmet, climbs into the capsule to the echoes of 2001. He goes through the motions -the blast-off and finally floating - Cheech was brilliant, you try sitting on a chair with your arms and legs floating up around your eyes, and you could have sworn they were floating. In a way it's a pity that this obviously technical competence in the art of theatre, mime, is not used more often, in this way.

Towards the end Chong comes out and talks about the sights of Wellington and in particular Pigeon Park, where they saw this old guy who sits and feeds the pigeons while mumbling amiably at them. It develops into one of the best skits of the night. Picture an old feeble man in a park, gently coaxing the pigeons close with breadcrumbs, then suddenly whack, with the walking stick, and there's pigeon for tea tonite. Then along comes grease ball 1975, tough kid having the old man on.

"Do you speak English, kid?" the old man sputters out.

"Yeah."

"Well....Piss Off!"

"I like that.....I like that...."

After some more ragging the kid really starts to get heavy, the old man totters to his feet, raising his arm menacingly then drops still to the ground. The kid suddenly turns into the blithering bully he is, scared...."O God, Holy Mary, Mother of God, I didn't mean to....." The kid's desperate, bang! The old man rolls over and laughs out "Scared the shit out of you that time, didn't I."

The end, the audience stamps, claps, cheers, they come back out. "You're really one of the best audiences we've had. O'we just want to say one thing. We know some of you came along here not knowing what to expect so if anything we did or said upset you then we say from the bottom of our hearts that we don't give a shit. So because you've been such a good audience we'll do one more thing. Actually we were going to do another bit anyway, It's just a nasty show biz trick.

Photo from a Cheech and Chong

page 13

Maha vishnu Orchestra, Visions of the Emerald Beyond. CBS SBP 474293

'Visions of the Emerald Beyond' can justly be considered the first self-contained product of the current Mahavishnu Orchestra; their other release, 'Apocalypse', including as it did the combined force of the London Symphony Orchestra.

'Virions' was recorded just a few months after the Orchestra's amazing NZ tour of last year. The line-up is the same; a nucleus of Ralph Armstron (bass), Gayle Moran (key-boards), Michael Walden (drums), Jean-Luc Ponty (electric violin), and, of course, Mahavishnu John McLaughlin (6 & 12 string guitars), augmented by five others including violins, trumpets cello, saxes and flute.

'Visions' soon reinforces the impression pined live of the prowess, indeed virtuosity, of all musicians (I was fortunate enough to see the Mahavishnu Orchestra Mach 1 in Montreal as well as the present line-up). Comparisons with the first orchestra may be pointless, but Ponty is clearly in a class of his own with his violin playing; Jerry Goodman to Jean-Luc Ponty is what Cilia Black is to Kiri to Kanawa. Even Roxy's music 'Golden Boy' Eddie Jobson is a comparative lightweight. Ponty's recent departure must have created a vacuum in the Orchestra. Again Michael Waiden can more than match Billy Cobham's express speed drum delivery, and Ralph Armstrong's bass provides all the balance and stability you could wish for and then some.

Side 1 opens with 'Eternity's Breath', Parts 1 & 2. The creation of a soaring atmosphere is impeccable; the sound of an organ rises, a plaintive, high-pitched guitar, quick switch to a wailing violin, a combined, light-ening-fast riff, drum roll, then a crescendo of voices invoking the love supreme. You're immediately transfixed, and the fade to violin and keyboards affords a welcome chance to breathe again. Tension builds with brass and voices returning, and the song fades out strongly (is that possible?).

A quiet piano introduces 'Lila's dance', then comes the typical McLaughlin surge upwards (a la 'Dream' or 'Inner Mounting Flame'). A haunting blues atmosphere dominates, Ponty's phrasings and the string section making significant contributions. The next track, 'I can't Stand your Funk', would leave Stevie Wonder or Billy Preston breathless. McLaughlin's visions may reach for the emerald 'beyond', but this shows he can play earthy soul pieces as well as anyone. Then a complete change of pace to bird songs. (It is called 'Pastoral') and an accoustic guitar intro. Ponty enthralls with a compelling solo. Then back to the bird songs. It's not Rock n' Roll, but I like it. A short testament of faith sees a sensuous laugh bring side I to a delightful conclusion.

How can you follow 24 mins. of music like that? Michael Walden answers with his own vigorous composition 'Cosmic Strut', More contrast comes with Gayle Moran's clear majestic vocals on 'If I could See', then it's back to the intoxicating high speed energy of 'Be Happy', McLaughlin and Ponty partake in a ferocious duel in which the only winner is you. A stand-out track ending all too soon, replaced by the exquisite flute and Moran's vocals on 'Earth Ship'. The next two numbers, 'Pegasus' and 'Opusl', run into each other, and with a duration of 2:12 it' scarcely a 'magnum opus'. They provide my one point of reservation about the whole album, for they see the Orchestra unexpectedly enyer the electronic eyries, occupied by Pink Floyd, Tangerine Dream, etc., most competently, naturally, but inconsequentially. 'On the Way Home to Earth', however sees them in a more characteristic setting, and a menacing aural change brings this amazing album to an end.

Amazing Grease, The Grease Band - Goodyear L35379

The Original Soundtrack, 10 cc - Mercury 6310 500

These two albums are conveniently linked both stylistically and by the English R & B milieu which provided the training ground for their originators. In this day of the garish production job at the expense of the exquisitely raunchy feeling that lies at the core of rock and roll their total effect is as stimulating as discovering that Baudelaire, Paul Robeson and William Westmoreland all share the same zodiac sign - Aries.

Greasy is not really the adjective to apply to the way Joe Cocker's ex-support group approached their music; amazing's probably closer, even though their album lacks lacks the inspirational flash that could have made it great. You may recall their bobbing round the stage at Woodstock as Cocker contorted his vocal chords through 'With a Little Help',–long-time Cocker confidant, Chris Stainton, on keyboards; Henry McCulloch, the ethereal dark-eyed lead guitarist; portly Alan Spenner laying down a throbbing base line—the picture of a working rock group.

On Amazing Grease, their second release in New Zealand, sans Cocker, they have refined and developed their style moderately and widened their scope to include a Dylan song. New Morning', among their original material. They have also subtly altered their tonal colouration with the addition of sinious saxaphone rills and other instrumentation more often connected with American neo-counlry rock cabal. The sound is clean and crisp –evocative of Little Feat's chrome and piston pumping rock - but a trifle thin in parts.

The Dylan song stands out because of its inherent lyric possibilities and the band's swept up arrangement which places the emphasis strongly on rhythm. It is broken up neatly by a precise economical guitar solo. Piano and sax framed atop a surging bass contributes to Blue Monday, while Honky Tonk Angels develops ingeniously above steady rhythm.

Amazing Grease has its share of weaknesses, the most glaring of which remains the trite lyrics of Reminiscence. It's nearly saved by the haunting sax, but eventually flounders among its own pretensions. However it stays just this side of banality, and that's not the easiest thing in the world to pull off. Overall an album whose qualities are enhanced by the good naturedly informal professionalism of all involved.

The Original Soundtrack represents the first attempt by 10 cc to move outside the self-imposed limitations of the four minute traccks of their previous two albums, 10 cc and Sheet Music. Their chosen vehicle for this is "Une nuit a Paris" where, its promised one night is like a year in any other place. Of all the extended pieces I've heard in the last two years, and there have been quite a few, (especially those where the total concept is not matched by the ability to carry it off successfully - too much flesh and too little in the way of skeletal structurc)—this stands with the most impressive.

10cc are a fine four piece outfit, and include among their members one Graham Gouldman, who penned a string of hits for the Yardbirds, way back in the formative days of the English Rythm and Blues scene –For your Love, Evil Hearted You, and Heart full of Soul among them. His cohorts in 10 cc display an equally refined sense of the commercial, without ever descending to the merely vapid. Their writing ability is complemented by a high standard of musicianship which, mercifully, also allows for concise expresion of their ideas. They don't, for example, in the aforementioned "Un Nuit A Paris" take the ten minutes to thrash an outmoded idea into shape, preferring to express themselves with a more disciplined framework.

The Original Soundtrack is heavier, both musically and conceptually, than Amazing Grease, insofar as it explores some areas of a fringe consciousness that most group's don't even know .exists, would prefer to ignore it if they did, or simply cannot even comprehend.

Tonights the Night

Neil Young Reprise MS 2221

My condolences to Mr. Young, but if he feels as depressed and as tired as he sounds on this album, why did they let him inside the recording studio in the first instance -even with a motive as praiseworthy as a tribute to Danny Whitten - rock's first Mandrax casualty. As for the rest of the album, Neil Young has become the prisoner of his own image. In trying so hard to act the role of the hippest dude on the planet, he has only succeeded in carricaturing himself through an overbearing pledge of allegiance to the freak flag of hippiedom.

Image of two Victorian boys

Sorry He Played.

"Tonight's the Night" contains two more or less outstanding commercial ditties, either of which would improve the average radio play list a hundred-fold. The live version of Downtown - which appeared on the first Crazy Horse Album - is here much harder edged and vibrates with a nervous energy that makes it consistently appealing. New Mama is similarly successful, its major attraction being a plaintive accoustic guitar. The simple honesty of the song pulls it through, a quality which is too much in absence on the remainder of the album.

The other songs are nearly indiscernable variations of Young's downer-laced formula. Muddled arrangements - lyrics like "a Cadillac put a hole in his arm" and overdone references to dope - and a mix that lacks specific direction are rolled into a glib and slick package, that seems devoid of any real emotional involvement.

Image of a Victorian era child crying

Bouldah and the Red Hot Peppers in Concert

Eight o'clock in the Union halll — there's [unclear: goana] be a rock concert — but I mean, where is the audience? Hey! Here comes somebody! Quick — give him a chocolate fish or a joint or something so hell stay. . .

And that's the way it Went until 200 people filled the hall. I just can't understand why the hall was packed when Rip-off Rockinghorse and Alistair the Allstar played their inane garbage ( sorry they call it progressive but when two bands with talent like Bouldah and Red Hot Peppers (admittedly relatively unknown by the public) play a great concert and only 200 turn up, it really is a shame. But, perhaps you'll learn something about them......

Bouldah is definitely a Rock and Roll band - dark glasses, slicked-back hair, and essentially simple music supporting a dynamic vocalist — basic music and rhythm that you've just gotta move to. With a 50's appearance (and just a slight touch of freaky) the band's feel of rock n' roll came through with Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry riffs (unbelievable) interspersed with other R & B influences.

What did they play? Well, I dunno but I remember 'Roll over Beethoven' with an amazing piano introduction, and other Rock n.' Roll classics. While their music may have disappointed the odd pure progressive freak, they revived rock n' roll in a way that compelled the audience to move, You'll see them again - so Watch out for them.

Incidentally, did you read the advertising posters? You know, the ones in glorious khaki green and sickly yellow - well, the supposed crowd drawer was that line 'Red Hot Peppers - ex 1953 Memorial Rock and Roll Band,' Bearded oldies should remember the 1953 MRRB! That's right, the cool band with that cat and his Triumph, on stage, chew'n gum and grooving to the music - real 50's atmosphere. Well, if you hoped to see that image revived, you're too late because it died with the formation of the Red Hot Peppers - sure, they're still cool but they're a bit more sophisticated.

Surrounded by eighteen (?) instruments on a stage exuding class (yeah, - sax on stand with a bunch of flowers in it, banana hanging from Mike stand, etc.), the lead singer wandered on and started playing an electric mandolin. He announced something, until he forgot what he was talking about (probably hadn't seen those nasty films about that weed) and he soon had the lilting sound of the mandolin filling the hall, while the other members of the group (lead guitar, bass, female vocalist and drummer) unobtrusively wandered on and arranged their instruments. As I became immersed in their songs, the music became nameless but I kept recalling the fusion of jazz-rock and dreamy sensuous music of a group called 'It's a Beautiful Day' (Maybe because I've been playing their record continuously for the past three weeks)

Then the music changed and the Blerta (nee Zappa) influence came across with the musical story of an elephant on a bed....

The multitudes of instruments were used to a really good effect - not just used at odd moments to create a new interest, but coordinated to preserve the unity in the music. Wooden percussive whatsits leading an African feel to the rhythm, and a percussive string instrument (dunno what it's called, but sounding like a harpsichord) sending the audience into a stupour with its alternate dreamy and aggressive sound.

Red Hot Peppers is, I think, a band to watch for. They have dropped Rock n' Roll influences, and broadly cover the jazz-rock, folk and blues. They also play classical Indian and meaty rock.

Perhaps the only definite classification I can really make is that they are really good - they are talented musicians who appear to want to create music rather than an image.