Samantha Chater

Ah the French Film Festival. Automatically there’s a high bar right? After all France is considered the birthplace of cinema, not just of stripy shirts and carbs. This year’s festival pulls out the big guns as well, including one of the most anticipated biopics of the year: Gainsbourg – all about ol’ Mr Fistful of Gitanes himself. Jean Pierre Jeunet is back after a five-year absence with Micmacs, another beautiful-looking film, this time all about the arms trade -and it’s a comedy!

Best of all, however, octogenarian and French New Wave big cheese Alain Resnais returns simply to give the finger to Hollywood and turn cinema inside on itself with Wild Grass. It’s a story about a chance encounter by two people who aren’t meant for each other but can’t stay apart. Which sounds simple enough but becomes a complete genre mash-up, which not only tests Resnais’ directing chops but also proves he’s still got ‘em.

Originally published in The Thousands

Everyone has seen ‘Stereotyping People by the Favourite Bands‘ right? Well if I was going to stereotype someone whose favourite band was Houlette it would be someone who sports a fringe, likes unicorns, believes in ghosts and whose favourite book is The Virgin Suicides. Oh and they eat cupcakes – probably a lot of them.

How do I know this? Because I have most of these traits – which means of course I like the Houlette album a lot. It does make me think a lot of girly thoughts though – aided by the fact that album cover looks like a tear sheet from an Obus catalogue.

Houlette frontwoman Felicity Cripps is definitely a cut above your sad-eyed coffee shop chanteusse, her lyrics are evocative and she is at her best when she’s singing about wayward men and broken hearts, especially on album highlight ‘Prelude to Loveless Nights’. Cripps’ moodiness is matched by the pitch-perfect strings and tambourine flourishes which keep the songs poppy and charming rather than, well, too maudlin.

The whole package is perfect for creating a dreamy faraway look in your eye while you stare out your window and watch a thunderstorm rage outside… Okay I’ll stop now.

Originally published in The Thousands

It’s always a bit weird when two different worlds of your music taste collide. Like when your old high school friends crash your 25th birthday party it can be awkward and unnerving to see if two separate worlds can…mesh.

That’s pretty much how I felt when Swedish Shangri-La esque songstress El Perro Del Mar (aka Sarah Assbring) was getting Rasmus Hagg, the guy from Studio (nu-Balearic funk duo) to produce her latest mini-album Love is Not Pop.

However, Assbring and Hagg pull off their collaboration brilliantly and the album comes off sounding like one made of singular vision rather than a floundering push-pull of styles. Though Assbring continues to be the sad sack singer of choice to mope-away-the-day with, you can now do it to the best beach ‘n’ breeze instrumentation going round. The sound is an obvious break from EPDM’s previous Spector-fetish work - and her vocals (still beautiful) are now more akin to Stevie Nicks than Mary Weiss.

Love is Not Pop - a line lifted from Bertolucci’s Last Tango in Paris sets the tone for the album - apparently love doesn’t sound like pop it sounds more like heartbreak. Aw.

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Beautiful Losers is directed by Aaron Rose and tells the story of his semi-legendary Alleged Gallery in downtown ’90s NYC. Alleged provided an incubator for a group of taggers, skateboarders and other criminally disposed minds AKA young artists (such as Harmony Korine, Mike Mills, Ed Templeton, Barry McGee etc) who hung/worked and 20 years later became famous and successful beyond your wildest dreams. Tough life huh?

The film covers off their progression from DIY street art twenty-somethings to mainstream success in advertising, film, and graphic design. Even though it somewhat glosses over trickier subject matter about what happens to punk ideals when they meet big bucks – the film does provide nice insights into some of the greater artistic minds of our time. Plus their can-do-art attiude is pretty inspiring.

Special props must be given to Harmony Korine and his general randomness. “Hey, my friend Samuel’s head, was found right there back in ’86″. Yes its good to know he’s still got ’95 Letterman interview in him. Rad.

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Marc Jacobs & Louis Vuitton, Louis Vuitton, Champs-Elysees, the Countdown, Marc Jacobs’ New York, The Darjeeling Limited, Marc Jacobs, Designer Marathon, Slaves of New York **Marc Jacobs, I love you, let me countdown the ways!

I loved you first back in the Parsons days when you had long hair and wore it in pink furry pom-pom elastics – in fact this is when I loved you best! Your infamous ’93 Perry Ellis ‘grunge’ collection comes a close second though – take notes people, that’s how you turn a failure into a success. When you get fired for being too street and a few years later start running a major French fashion label!

I love you third and fourth best when you made bags with some of my favourite visual artists – Takashi Murakami and Stephen Sprouse. And fifth, ’cause you took those beautiful LV luggages you made for The Darjeeling Limited and auctioned them for charity.

I love you last because I could wear anything from every collection you release if I could afford it – which I can’t, that’s why this one is last.

PS: I also love that you let people make fly-on-the-wall documentaries of you (Marc Jacobs & Louis Vuitton) so I can revel in my sick-fan-girl obsession with you.

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I have soft spot for Noah Baumbach as he directed one of my favourite ’90s-era films Kicking and Screaming - all about brilliantly articulate (read quotable) downwardly mobile 20-somethings. Greenberg - Baumbach’s latest – is almost like Kicking and Screaming for 40-somethings: a rom-com that’s acerbic, funny and endlessly quotable.

Roger Greenberg (played brilliantly by Ben Stiller) is a 40-something carpenter (former 20-something musician) who, after a mini mental breakdown, returns to his home town of LA via 15 years in NYC to house sit for his more stable and successful brother. He reconnects with the people he left behind and half-heartedly woos his brother’s PA Florence, played with awkward charm by Greta Gerwig (she of mumblecore fame).

Greenberg is one of those guys whose life just didn’t turn out how he planned. Instead of coming to terms with this, he obsesses about his amost-made-it past and the fledgling romance that he is simultaneously trying to destroy. All this to avoid coming to terms with being old(er) and not “having it all” (aka career, spouse and spawn). Greenberg doesn’t spell death to rom-coms but it does show that they can have a darker (or more realistic) side too.

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‘Girl Power’ may be synonymous for most people with the Spice Girls, but writer Marissa Meltzer is doing her bit to reclaim the phrase from Posh’s cold, bloodless hands. Meltzer’s book Girl Power: The Nineties Revolution in Music gives a great overview of the women who changed the face of music from the ’90s to now, from ‘Revolution Girl Style Now!’ to ‘Teardrops On My Guitar’.

Mixing her own personal anecdotes with interviews from the musician’s front line with the likes of riot grrrl icon Kathleen Hanna and Indigo Girl Amy Ray, Meltzer manages to draw an evolutionary link between Bikini Kill and Britney Spears – without sounding like a university lecturer.

Like any good book, Girl Power makes you feel like you’ve experienced it too – which is handy since we can’t all have come of age in Olympia in the 1990s. Basically if you’re not thinking about starting a band or a zine or listening to a whole lotta angry girl rock by the end of this book – well – I’ll make you a tape.

Originally published in The Thousands

You might have already heard of The Pains of Being Pure at Heart. Given that they’ve been blogged within an inch of their lives and have the twee-est name in existence. It also hasn’t hurt the publicity zeitgeist that they’re label mates with Crystal Stilts and constantly compared to Vivian Girls and, yes, they’re from Brooklyn. Now would you believe that their album sounds nearly perfect?

TPOBPAH’s (or Pains for short) self-titled debut has obvious reference points with its jangly Jesus and Mary Chain guitars and Moz-esque lyrics, not to mention shades of the entire Sarah Records back catalogue. Derivative? Hells yes, but when when you’re songs are as infectious and clever as single ‘Young Adult Friction’, I can’t say it’s a problem.

Its hard to single out tracks when a band’s done you the favour of making a 35-minute album. ‘Contender’ and ‘Gentle Sons’ bookend the fizzy pop harmonies of this album in jackets of fuzzy guitar squall – you reach the end itching for the play button. TPOBPAH’s debut is catchier than swine flu and a lot more fun to listen to – if you like super cute noisy pop songs rattling around in your head for days, anyway.

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So, confession time…I am completely and totally addicted to the Perfume Genius album Learning. It’s one of those disgustingly lovey-dovey type things where I just can’t get enough of this record and need to hear it all the time every day and need everyone else to feel the same way or at least drive them insane trying.

I think I really fell totally head over heels for Perfume Genius (the moniker for one-man band Mike Hadreas) after hearing the heartbreakingly beautiful ‘Mr Peterson’ on a mix from a pal. I actually thought it was a demo version but turns out that’s just how Hadreas rolls – all sparse and lo fi with minor key piano backing his heartbreakingly confessional lyrics. Joy Division tapes and smoking weed in trucks never felt so right (yet also so wrong).

Another reason I’ve been listening to this album is that, clocking in at under 30 minutes overall, all the songs seem to slip away before I can (as Malcolm Gladwell would say) “figure them out” and by the time the record finishes I just want to hear every micro melodic confessional tale all over again.

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If you’ve come within sneezing distance of a blog in the last month you would have seen the Morning Benders video for their song ‘Excuses’ a live in-studio cut with the self-described Echo Chamber Orchestra. If you’re anything like me you’ve also watched that video about 100 times and favourited it on your youtube AND your vimeo.

So here’s the bad news – yes it’s that the waltzy wall-of-sound album opener ‘Excuses’ is the best song on the album. There is just no way it couldn’t be – hooky, hypnotic and huge, it ticks almost ever box. Sorry- I feel your pain too.

That’s not to say the rest of the album isn’t worth your time though, as it continues to mine a delightful mix of Beach Boys meets 90s pop outlined in ‘Excuses’. Produced with appropriate sonic wonkery by Grizzly Bear’s Christopher Taylor, the songs on Big Echo sound just that – big – real big. Filling in all the gaps with majestic strings, tinkling piano, heartfelt vocals and oh so much lovely percussion the Benders have made something that as a whole is highly enjoyable from one shimmering crescendo to the next.

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Mica, aka Micachu, is one of those really annoying, young, prodigiously talented people. At 21 she looks 12 and has already rapped with Wiley, finished her first album, studied at the prestigious Guildhall School in composition – oh and she was commissioned to write an orchestral piece for the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Plus she plays the Hoover live.

Perhaps all that prep work is how Mica learned the skills to make all her songs half NOISE! BLEEP! NOISE and half super-fun-catchy pop-yay! Either that or she has the same rare chromosome that made Bjork such a huge mainstream success. There is none of Bjork’s slick production here however Mica’s debut album Jewellery is much more crunchy and lo-fi – courtesy of producer (and occasional Bjork remixer) Matthew Herbert.

Jewellery‘s songs are hard to describe, it’s a frenetic mish-mash between a 2-year-old playing with household items, a grime mixtape and a synthesiser with tourettes – but in a good way. It sounds like nothing else I’ve heard this year (or last) which is all part of its charming where’d-I-put-the-Ritalin appeal.

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Do you know what some of the best Australian films have in common? They are usually made on no money and for that reason aren’t trying to please anyone. Pure Shit is one of those films – a reviewer actually called it the most evil film he’d ever seen, if you’re looking for a proper recommendation.

It’s raw, gritty and, best of all, true-to-life. Because of all that, Pure Shit was a pretty rare gem of a film when it was made in ’75 – and, whatever this says about the Aussie film industry, it still is.  Originally banned as Pure Shit and then un-banned and released as Pure S, it pretty much sank into the back of VHS bins – until now!

If you like your drug films as nauseating as they are funny then Pure Shit is for you. It documents Melbourne’s own junky culture – which is way more interesting than watching William Burroughs lie in bed and stare at his big toe. Fast paced and shambolic, it’s definitely a must see – probably a few times just to make sense of it all – and to spot the HG Nelson cameo.

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If you’re visiting NYC or LA, the Opening Ceremony store is a must stop shop, whether you are trying to spot Sevs herself or her new in-store clothing line. However, if you’re lucky enough to take a trip to the US of A it is likely that you will have significantly less cash to drop on OC’s hard-to-find designer gear.

The good news is OC has opened virtual doors, so if you live in Australia you can now rep your downtown fashion-cool minus the 20 hours in transit and 1000+ dollars in flights, which can instead be devoted to online shopping. OC’s e-commerce is available worldwide, with new shipments of hip hurting clothing lines such as Band of Outsiders, Alex Wang and Opening Ceremony arriving on the web weekly.

Better yet, they have staff recommendations and cheaper option ‘souvenirs’ for people stuck for gifts (NB: the bulldog bowtie series). Also, the site is super easy to navigate and pretty to look at – much like the real store – le sigh. 

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I love the idea of unisex clothing. It makes sharing wardrobes easy and there’s such a great novelty aspect to men in fem clothing and vica versa. Its a bloody hard thing to get right though. I’ve tried and if I could just throw on any guys shirt and have it instantly transform me into a new era Patti Smith (the image I’m going for in my mind) I would be dressing like this ALL THE TIME, usually it just looks plain wrong.

Chronicles of Never is a unisex label that actually does what is says on the, er, label. The whole deal is based on NeverLand (where I do dress like Patti Smith) and architecture and geometry – think asymmetric cuts and draping fabrics. The latest  collection ‘Black Noise, White Rain’ not only sounds like a lost Velvet Underground LP it looks like one – black, white and cool all over.

Since we’re all dressin’ for recessin’ CoN are having a timely end of season/sample sale. Thats up to 50% off a new streamlined wardrobe  accessories included) with something for the fella’s and the ladies. He can be Lou and we can be Patti. At the end of the day everybody wins.

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It’s not often that fashion works with me. However backpacks coming into vogue is something I can get behind. First off, there is something sweetly nostalgic about them – bringing out your inner eleven year old and all that. Also if you’re like me you’re carrying around various lipbalms, books, cameras, shoes, clothing layers and a George Costanza-esque wallet in your giant bag. Which is all well and good but have you ever tried running for a tram carting all these necessities in a handbag? Impossible!

Plus with all this evoking-your-inner-child going on let’s not forget no-one’s getting any younger (except Justin Bieber) and all this oversize handbag action is a pain in the shoulder. The cure? Weight distribution! When it comes to backpacks, Baggu’s bags are pretty much perfect. Not too big, not too small and perfectly unshaped – plus they are plain, affordable and come in a rainbow of colours. Oh and did I mention that they’re made of 100% recycled super durable cotton? Well y’know feeling good about the environment’s just the dressing on the salad ‘aint it?

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Reading books such as How Sassy Changed My Life make me super nostalgic for things that never happened to me. I never grew up in rural America and found a super cool mainstream magazine that became my lifeline through the perilous land of teendom. Which I’m totally pissed about by the way because I grew up in Sydney reading Dolly which had nothing interesting to say about books or movies and called a lot of guys hot who were really beige and lame.

Though Sassy was based on Dolly it was really the best teen mag of all time because it effectively preached things that other mags never got. Like, “Making music, art, zines etc is possibly the coolest thing you can do in your spare time.” Also the editors were into stuff such as turning Ian Svenonius into a pin up and getting dating advice from Sonic Youth.

The best thing about this book is it democratises these cultural experiences (kinda like a My So Called Life box set in book x magazine form). Because there are certain things from the ’90s, aside from Marc Jacobs for Perry Ellis, that we should be bringing back – even if it does mean we all end up moving to NYC and getting into publishing.

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Everyone knows kids these days can be cruel, and we’re not just talking Breakfast Club -type teen angst here. As subject matter, the violent teen crimes filling headlines all over the world have become creative fodder for some fantastic books and movies. Confessions is a revenge thriller that takes the kids as killers theme on an even more subversive turn by introducing a teacher directly into the fray, with positively creepy results.

The film opens with an arresting, if somewhat glacially paced, 20-odd minute monologue and stays tightly wound from there. The shocking subject matter is dealt with cooly via restrained performances from the three leads, whose stony lack of expression sit well with the minimalist grey colour palette.

Frequently the slowed down action and Radiohead theme song brought to the fore recalls the slick production of a music video and makes the extreme violence even more jarring. You might have guessed by now, but this is not a film to curl up with at the end of a trying day.

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The Red Chapel is one of those awesome films that went by relatively unnoticed last year, lost in MIFF’s gargantuan program. But its premise merits taking a chance if you have the chance.

An unscrupulous Danish journalist takes a South Korean born Danish comedy group to North Korea under the guise of cultural exchange (and a PR doco) all in an effort to expose and gain insight into the relatively unknown dictatorship. Did I mention that one member of the comedy duo Jacob is a self-proclaimed ‘spastic’? Overly ambitious much?

Of course the North Koreans aren’t idiots – they watched the tapes of the film-in-progress every night. In a fortunate twist, though, they couldn’t understand Jacob at all – so he is afforded a freedom of speech not granted to others in the final product.

You wouldn’t be wrong putting The Red Chapel in the same box as Borat or Bruno with regards to discomfort comedy. Although the North Korean government is a mightier force to tackle than frat boys. If The Red Chapel feels a little infantile at times, it’s still a refreshing Chris Morris-esque take on North Korea compared to the serious-slash-martyring vision we are often presented with.

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When Burlesque finally made its way to the big screen I found myself struck that there haven’t been more films about the modern take on burlesque culture. Of course, days later someone showed me this and then sent me a screener for On Tour about a group of real-life American Burlesque performers touring France.

On Tour is the fourth feature from Mathieu Amalric, who is known less as a director and more as Arnaud Desplechin’s muse (and/or the baddie in Quantum Solace). Though Amalric features in On Tour as the childish tour promotor Joachim, the best part of the film is of course the burlesque dancers themselves. With a semi-doco approach, the film takes a look at what happens on stage, backstage and all the between stages from bathrooms to hotel rooms.

From the brilliant opening credits to the lackadaisical ending, Amalric ticks the reference boxes somewhere in between Cassavettes and Fellini. Though he occasionally misses the mark, On Tour is no Showgirls – for better or worse.

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Girls remind me a lot of my favourite things – JD Salinger stories, Woody Allen movies and Jonathon Richman in general. Things that are one-part smart-alecky quips and another part Vaseline tears and heavy heartbreak. Despite being totally un-Google-able, Girls are easy to get crushed-out on, with their natural skill for catching feelings and passing them on.

Now there isn’t a stand-out track like ‘Lust for Life’ on Broken Dreams Club but, unlike a lot of EPs, it stands up as more than just new album off-cuts. Girls still have that carefree surf balladry sound going on, but the production is leaps and bounds ahead of Album‘s, with more confident vocals, complex instrumentation – and touches of free jazz and post rock worked in seamlessly.

If I say Girls have managed to maintain an endearing childlike quality (despite gross amounts of hype) don’t think it’s all happy-and-you-know-it, because it’s easy to forget how strongly and sincerely young kids can fall in love and get their hearts broken too. Remember, unrequited love at any age is a real bitch.

Originally published in The Thousands