Last Halloween, British 12-string guitar wizard James Blackshaw, in collaboration with electro-acoustic composer and sound-instillation artist Duane Pitre, Slowdive drummer Simon Scott, and multi-instrumentalist Charlotte Glasson, delivered the live score for the final installment of master French director Louis Feuillade’s silent film series of 1913. Fantômas: Le Faux Magistrat, Tompkins Square’s 2LP/ CD/ digital issue of the performance’s recording, reveals an ambitious undertaking that succeeds due to a lively combination of respect and invention.
Perusing the details of the centenary celebration of Louis Feuillade’s Fantômas, specifically an event coordinated by Yann Tiersen hosted last year in Paris’ Théâtre de Châtelet (additionally broadcast live on the European ARTE TV channel) that indeed culminated on All Hallows Eve 2013, is enough to inspire Pavlovian levels of salivation in movie buff/music fans. The affair generated scores from Tiersen, Tim Hecker, Loney Dear, Amiina, and Blackshaw for all five parts of an enduring opus by one of cinema’s most talented and intriguing filmmakers.
Naturally a danger accompanies these sorts of endeavors, in particular the belief that the images receiving a soundtrack are somehow lacking in vibrancy and require a boost of modernization. This often results in knuckleheaded maneuvers (e.g. noise hostility, egregious dance beats) or more problematically gestures of shallow commentary or even attempts to subvert the message of the picture.
Of course, the other extreme is inhabited by scores, reliably knocked-off by studious nimble-fingered scholarly pianists, which are well-intentioned but unfortunately burdened with quaintness. At least this tactic eschews arrogance and largely avoids obnoxiousness; in the case of Feuillade though, playing it overly safe is almost as insulting as underestimating his visual skills and undermining his status as a visionary.
Louis Feuillade attained a dual triumph most filmmakers then or now can only hope to achieve, landing smashing commercial success while being beloved of the avant-garde simultaneously, his artistic champions a part of the fledgling Surrealist movement. It should be noted that the fandom was directed at the title character, Feuillade’s movies based upon an insanely prolific series of equally popular novels, 32 of them produced in 1911-1913 by Marcel Allain and Pierre Souvestre.
Quite a few listeners have been turned onto Fantômas simply by association with the avant-metal supergroup of the same name, and Blackshaw’s efforts here will surely lead many ears directly through the turnstile and into the realms of a cinema sweetly-aged; some converts will possibly attempt to synch-up sound and image. Fantômas: Le Faux Magistrat is by its very nature an incomplete document, and one yardstick of its accomplishment is how well it overcomes this absence.
Blackshaw and crew do so rather handily, it turns out. On one hand this is no surprise, since the guitarist’s abilities are well-established on a steady flow of material that began with the self-released Apologia back in ’03. Initially known as a finger-style player influenced by the American Primitive gang (Fahey, Kottke, Basho, Lang) and the ‘60s Brits (Bert Jansch, Davy Graham), like some of his cohorts in string dexterity he’s attempted to branch out and join forces; see ‘09’s The Glass Bead Game and his duos with Jozef van Wissem and Lubomyr Melnyk.
This recording, one continuous stream of music (except on vinyl, obviously) is broken into 13 parts, the proceedings commencing with appropriate portent and then quickly establishing Blackshaw’s use of piano across the album. His playing in the first section deftly combines with Glasson’s violin, Scott’s drums, elements of synthesizer and controlled guitar abrasion to arrive at an atmosphere comparable to the instrumental thrust of Godspeed/Silver Mt. Zion.
The next portion introduces a tense repetitive keyboard figure; along with gusts of saxophone it integrates a noir-ish air, Glasson reaching for a jazzy ‘50s tone aptly pegged as smoldering, the players thoughtfully blending subsequent yet fitting musical developments into the equation. This is followed by more spacious and at times ambient territory that’s initial abstraction (in a concrète/collage manner) eventually grows into an effective mood piece for guitar, drums, and touches of vibraphone.
Blackshaw then shifts into melodic mode, joining bass and bowed instrumentation to conjure a mixture of eerie and pretty, especially when Glasson’s vibes emerge. After the brief return of the earlier established piano line and its accompanying smoky sax, it becomes apparent the guitarist smartly chose to utilize recurring themes. This is in keeping with film-compositional tradition and highlights the participant’s seriousness in agreeing to this project.
Blackshaw has cited the impact of soundtrack men David Shire (Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation, Joseph Sargent’s original and superior The Taking of Pelham One Two Three) and Pino Donaggio (a go-to guy for Brian De Palma, scoring Dressed to Kill and Blow Out, amongst others), but the melody for keys and strings that occurs next is soaked in the melodramatic/classic soap opera methods of prime mid-20th century Hollywood.
That might not read as appetizing, but in the context here it makes total sense, and I frankly dig it completely. It’s followed by a combo of cleanly plucked strings, fluttering flute, and brushes on snare; this segues into a longer section that at first lays on the creeping dread like a snippet from a low-budget nearly-contempo horror flick.
Industrial-tinged (fans of Lynch and Splet’s soundscapes for Eraserhead should approve), it gives way to a short vocal bridge before Scott’s drums redirect back into the Godspeed/Zion zone, though the use of vibes has me fleetingly thinking of numerous projects that originated in post-rock Chicago. Glasson’s horn inspires thoughts of Johnny Staccato.
Pitre’s input amplifies the thread of the avant-garde, but he also easily falls into the sonic weave; the music here is certainly progressive (silent film purists will likely balk), but it’s never slapdash and the dissonance isn’t flagrant. In fact, upon listening it’s readily clear that serving the images was the foremost objective.
If themes do recur and motifs sometimes extend longer than expected (this is a 75 minute recording), these circumstances shouldn’t infer a lack of variance. For example, the repeated appearance of Brazilian guitar widens the scope, mingling with bowed strings and percussion to create an invigorating segment. And Blackshaw’s citing of French Impressionist composers (Debussy, Ravel etc) as an influence is obvious, discernible in the earlier melodrama and again later between the Brazilian excursion and a lengthy rise of guitar textures/increased rock weightiness.
Unsurprisingly for a soundtrack to what‘s basically a thriller, the final section delivers the most intense moments. It’s a methodical scenario though, with the abovementioned theme resurfacing one last time. I’ll admit that the music and its dynamic conclusion inspired the desire to re-watch Feuillade’s masterpiece; it’s easy to see via Fandor, a streaming website (one named after the newspaper reporter character in the serial, to boot), but physical media junkies should be able to procure the Kino Lorber DVD, as well. I’ve relented in another viewing until the completion of this review, however.
Do aspects of its conception in service to another work of art remain? No doubt. Does the music stand up alone? Yes, unquestionably. Is Fantômas: Le Faux Magistrat an admirable achievement? Most definitely.
GRADED ON ACURVE:
A-
