Photo par Scott Murdoch

Film and TV composer Amin Bhatia started in synthesizers

Article par Kevin Young | dimanche 11 mars 2012

Les traductions pour les articles avant l’automne 2013 ne sont pas disponibles pour le moment.

When Amin Bhatia released his 1987 debut album, The Interstellar Suite, his intent was to create a loyal tribute to orchestral music using analogue synthesizers exclusively. “I’m a sci-fi and 20th Century orchestral-music geek, » he says. « Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky, film composers John Williams and Jerry Goldsmith. My albums are an homage to that.”

Before then, Bhatia never imagined he’d make a living composing. “I was working as a radio producer, but after the album deal came along (brokered by Toto’s Steve Porcaro) I told my bosses, ‘Goodbye, I’m going to be a famous composer now.’” Unfortunately, owing to personnel changes at Cinema Records/Capitol, Bhatia couldn’t find a single familiar face at the label willing to promote it. “Six months later I said, ‘Can I have my job back, please?’”

Over time, however, the album gained a passionate following. Consequently, when the Toronto-based composer celebrates the record’s 25th anniversary with a new 5.1 surround sound remix later this year, he doesn’t intend to change a note. “Fans who’ve written to me have said, ‘Don’t change a thing,’” he says. In fact, when Bhatia released his follow-up, Virtuality (2008), and augmented his synthesizer tracks with acoustic orchestral instruments, some die-hards were upset, Bhatia explains, laughing. “They said, ‘How dare you bring in real players?’”

Ultimately, Bhatia has made a living in music; scoring the likes of Iron Eagle II and John Woo’s Once a Thief, winning multiple Gemini Awards, and garnering an Emmy nomination (with Ari Posner) for Disney’s Get Ed animated series.

Bhatia had no desire to leave Canada, but considered relocating to L.A. to further his career. “And then along came Flashpoint,” he says. Bhatia and co-composer Ari Posner have been scoring the groundbreaking CTV/CBS crime drama since 2008. Flashpoint’s score and theme have garnered the pair 2009 and 2010 Gemini nominations and two 2011 SOCAN Awards, for international and domestic film music.

“Ari’s the best collaborator I’ve ever had, » says Bhatia. « We each know how the other works. The thing I love about film and television music is that the story tells you what to do. When we sit down with the rough cut, we don’t know what our week will be like. That’s the joy – and the challenge.”
Although Bhatia works from Canada, after scoring Iron Eagle II (1988), his U.S. attorney recommended membership in BMI. In 2010, Bhatia finally made the move to SOCAN. “I’m an avid member of the Screen Composer’s Guild of Canada, » he says. « I’ve had a bird’s-eye view of what SOCAN is working on. Their emphasis on where copyright is going and philosophy of looking for fair ways to make it work just made sense to me. And, frankly, SOCAN answers my calls.”

Track Record
• Bhatia realized he wanted to work in film music after seeing Disney’s Fantasia at age eight and the original Planet of the Apes at age 11.
• He won the World Grand Prize at the Roland International Synthesizer Competition in Tokyo for two years running, in 1981 and 1982.
• As a synthesist, Bhatia has also worked on Michael Jackson’s Thriller (1982), David Foster’s The Best of Me (1983) and Toto’s Fahrenheit (1986).

Anonymus

Article par Stéphane Martel | dimanche 11 mars 2012

Si le thrash métal (style plus lourd, nerveux et rapide que le heavy métal) a connu le zénith de sa popularité au cours des années 1980 grâce à l’arrivée de groupes tels que Metallica, Slayer et Megadeth, ses racines remontent à la fin des années 1970 avec l’influence déterminante de formations comme Motörhead, Venom et Diamond Head. Plus près de nous, c’est en 1982 qu’un quatuor nommé Voïvod fait ses premiers pas à Jonquière. Deux ans plus tard, il fait paraître un premier album (War and Pain) sous l’étiquette américaine Metal Blade. Puis, naissent les Damnation, Agression, Soothsayer, Dead Brain Cells et, en 1989, Anonymus.

En six albums et plus de 1000 spectacles en carrière, la bande n’a cessé de creuser son sillon en chantant en anglais et en français et, par la force des choses, est devenue une véritable institution du thrash métal québécois. Aujourd’hui formé d’Oscar Souto (chant, basse), de son frangin Daniel Souto (guitare), de Carlos Araya (batterie) et de Jean-François Fortin (guitare), le quatuor lançait État brute l’automne dernier. Proposant un son toujours aussi urgent et agressif, l’album marque un retour à des textes essentiellement livrés dans la langue de Molière. « Au fil des ans, on a découvert que nos fans étaient majoritairement francophones. Ils viennent du Québec, de la France, de la Belgique. Retourner au français était une façon de les remercier de leur loyauté. Au début des années 1990, il y avait ce désir de chanter en français, mais au fil des ans, ça s’est détérioré. Beaucoup de groupes ont tenté de percer sur le marché international. On trouvait qu’il y avait très peu de groupes d’ici qui s’exprimaient en français. Avec État brute, on a voulu se réapproprier ce drapeau et représenter le Québec à l’échelle internationale, » confie Souto.

Retour aux sources
Contrairement à l’album précédent, Chapter Chaos Begins, qui s’était échafaudé dans la frustration et la douleur suite au départ de Marco Calliari, État brute se démarque par un retour à une simplicité volontaire. « Pour cet album, le travail fut agréable. Il y a six ans, on a vécu la première et seule séparation du groupe. On était frustrés et l’album fut composé dans un sentiment de rage. État brute fut créé dans la bonne humeur et la joie, sans aucune pression. On savait que c’était un album qui allait être vite fait. On avait trois mois pour composer les chansons. On ne s’est pas compliqué la vie et on a cessé de se poser mille questions à propos des arrangements. On voulait un disque rentre-dedans avec de bons riffs qui préservait néanmoins notre agressivité, » avance l’homme de 38 ans.

Bouillabaisse créative
Alors qu’Oscar s’occupe de rédiger les textes (une fois les musiques composées) ainsi que les mélodies vocales, le reste de l’aspect créatif appartient au groupe en entier. Chaque membre met la main à la pâte. Souto explique : « Notre groupe est comme un chaudron rempli de spaghettis. Tout le monde y ajoute son épice ou son ingrédient particulier. Si quelqu’un a une bonne idée, il la partage avec les autres. C’est très démocratique. On travaille ensemble, puis c’est à moi d’écrire les mélodies vocales et les paroles. Le défi est de toujours arriver avec une mélodie punchée et mémorable. Pour moi, la voix est un instrument à part entière. C’est ce qui donne un sens à la musique. Ce qu’on aime, c’est l’aspect accrocheur. Il faut être capable de chanter le refrain ou une ligne vocale. Lorsque tu finis d’écouter une chanson, il faut qu’elle te reste collée en tête. »

Bêtes de scène
Marqué au fer rouge par l’album And justice for all… de Metallica, Oscar estime que ce qui anime encore et toujours le groupe après toutes ces années est de débarquer avec du nouveau matériel et de le présenter devant un public réceptif. « Ce qui nous motive est d’écrire des chansons. Nous sommes, d’abord et avant tout, des musiciens et nous avons la chance d’avoir un public qui est encore intéressé à écouter notre musique. C’est un privilège d’être écouté, tu sais. Cinq minutes avant un spectacle, il nous arrive d’être fatigués, mais on doit oublier tous nos maux et notre manque de sommeil en sautant sur scène. Lorsque les gens devant nous chantent nos paroles et lèvent le poing dans les airs, c’est la plus belle source de motivation au monde. C’est pour ça qu’on continue. Être dans un groupe thrash métal au Québec, ce n’est vraiment pas facile. Je te le jure. Sans la fidélité de notre public, ça ferait longtemps qu’on aurait tiré la plogue. »

En plus de continuer à promouvoir le nouveau-né, le clan Anonymus roulera sur les routes québécoises et présentera des spectacles aux quatre coins de la province, et ce, jusqu’en décembre. Évoquant aussi la possibilité d’une escale en Europe (Belgique, Suisse, France) au cours des prochains mois, Oscar hésite quelque peu lorsqu’on lui demande s’il y aura une suite aux aventures ludiques avec Mononc’ Serge. « Qui sait? L’avenir nous le dira, mais je pense qu’on retravaillera ensemble éventuellement. C’est une toute autre dynamique pour nous tous et c’est très plaisant. C’est ça qui compte aujourd’hui : le plaisir. Plus je vieillis, plus je suis fou, mais la récupération est aussi beaucoup plus difficile. On survit. C’est ce qui importe. » Pas facile la vie de métalleux.

Electronic dance music breaks through

Article par Mike Doherty | vendredi 9 mars 2012

Les traductions pour les articles avant l’automne 2013 ne sont pas disponibles pour le moment.

When deadmau5 became the first Canadian ever to headline Toronto’s Rogers Centre last November, he turned the dome from an unwelcoming concrete hangar into the perfect rave venue. It felt like a defining moment: electronic dance music had clearly gained a foothold in Canadian culture. Likely a number of mouse-eared-glowstick-wearing fans went home inspired, eager to try their hands at music production. After all, if a self-taught misfit rave kid from Niagara Falls could achieve so much on the strength of tracks created using readily-available software, why couldn’t they?

It may be even easier for deadmau5 followers to kick off their careers than, say, the 1970s generation of DIY punks who bought guitars after seeing The Sex Pistols. For one thing, according to Azari & III producer Alphonse “III” Lanza, some of today’s software has an exceptionally short learning curve. “If you want to learn to play guitar, you can hack your way through it, but it’s a 10 [or] 15-year process to get your own sound and really vibe. Kids these days would rather learn Ableton [Live]. After two nights you already have some kind of listenable product.”

And as Ableton and even easier-to-use software (e.g., FL, GarageBand) facilitates the means of production, demand is rising. “DJs need a new record every two minutes,” says Lanza. “As long as [your effort is] decent, someone will put it out. It’ll be on Beatport. Someone will play it.”

That said, a track thrown together after two days of practice probably won’t have staying power. Indeed, the 10-15 year process can also apply to electronic music, as Lanza and Christian “Azari” Farley have shown with Azari & III. While the band itself – which also includes singers Fritz Helder and Cedric Gasaida – dates back only to 2009, Farley and Lanza have been creating electronic music separately since the mid-‘90s. The quartet seductively streamlines house, ‘80s-inspired pop, and soul into a sound that’s lush but cool, dark but danceable. “We’ve been veterans in the scene in our own right,” says Farley. “We’ve paid our dues, and that helps you create. You have a nice library of sounds in the back of your head from different types of music.” It also helps broaden appeal: with a full release of their self-titled debut album on the way in North America, Azari & III have already achieved European stardom and, at press time, were being considered for an opening slot on Madonna’s upcoming tour.

Likewise, Edmonton’s Shout Out Out Out Out benefits from Nik Kozub’s lifelong familiarity with synthesizers. They were “always around,” he says, when he was growing up in the ‘80s and his father, Wilfred Kozub, was making electro-pop records with Wilfred N the Grown Men. He grew to love “manipulating voltage, creating sound with electricity, and having synths with a bunch of knobs on them.”
Like Lanza (a guitarist) and Farley (a drummer and percussionist), Kozub grew up playing a more “conventional” instrument, wielding a bass in punk bands and then in the indie rock trio Veal. Shout Out Out Out Out, with its four bassists and many analog keyboards, inventively combines his two musical loves.

He sings mainly through a vocoder – an instrument whose lineage includes Wendy Carlos’s 1971 Clockwork Orange soundtrack and Neil Young’s 1982 album Trans – to mask Kozub’s often personal, introspective lyrics (“I like the idea of someone spending the time to listen closely and figure out what I’m saying”) and help his vocals mesh with the band’s lush analog textures. He’s drawn to “playing somewhat energetic and fun music with a more serious lyrical base,” and by mining this complexity, the band has progressed beyond the highly-touted live act that was lumped into the mid-2000s “dance punk” scene. Kozub promises that the band’s third album, due this year, will be “a bit slower and a lot more melodic. It reflects my disinterest in just making something slamming. The songs are still energetic; there’s more to them than there was before.”

Complexity is also key to the music of ill.Gates, a.k.a. Dylan Lane, whose website bills him as a “glitch hop” artist but whose music encompasses varying styles, all of which are underpinned by heavy-duty bass. Over the phone from his San Francisco pad – the Ottawa native  divides his time between there and Toronto – he speaks about constantly questioning the “underlying assumptions” in his own work. “When things start feeling too formulaic or repetitive, it’s hard for people to feel spontaneous when they’re dancing. The element of surprise is so important.”

Lane’s parents bought him his first synthesizer – a Radio Shack-model Concertmate 800 – when he was seven, with a view to his learning to play piano. And yet, it was the four small yellow sampling pads above the keys that fascinated him. As he grew up, he came to feel that the sampler, as a technology, “needed” him: he wanted to be “involved in its infancy, helping to explore and define what that instrument is culturally.”

By 19, in 2001, he was releasing fairly commercial breakbeat-based productions as The Phat Conductor; in 2007, he adopted the moniker ill.Gates in conjunction with a change in his outlook. Since then, he’s forged a unique career that’s found him playing a record 21 sets in five days at last year’s edition of the renowned Burning Man Festival, filling dancefloors with collaborators from Toronto rapper Masia One to rising-star Kelownian dubstepper Datsik, playing the first-ever concert for the deaf, and even making ringtones in collaboration with his near-namesake’s company, Microsoft.

As he tours, Lane gives workshops on production and DJ-ing; this spring, he plans to launch an electronic artist-education website at ill-methodology.com. Despite electronic music software’s quick learning curve, it still helps to have someone guide you through its more arcane workings. Kozub, who teaches a music recording course at Edmonton’s McEwan University, has started incorporating electronic music production into his classes in response to a growing demand, and even deadmau5 has taken time out from touring to broadcast studio tips on his Ustream channel.

Perhaps the key to electronic music’s flourishing – not just as popular music, but as art – is the fact that its creators, sequestered as they may be in their home studios, are always collaborating. They swap tips, advise software developers, share bills, and send files back and forth to create tracks. The strong sense of community among producers across Canada and around the world continues to grow as boundaries between styles break down. Deadmau5’s Rogers Centre gig, for instance, featured opening sets by Crystal Castles (whose cult following grows internationally as their abrasive synth-pop becomes more melodic) and electro-house duo MSTRKRFT (who’ve remixed everyone from Kylie Minogue to The Yeah Yeah Yeahs). By working together and drawing on combined expertise, electronic dance artists can push innovation and keep their music fresh.

It was this very sentiment that spurred on the formation of Azari & III. Lanza compares their early days to “one of those post-apocalyptic movies where you make associates to get by. In a bleak world where nothing’s happening, you’re not too picky. It’s like, ‘Oh, I found someone else in this barren wasteland – doesn’t matter, white, black, gay – I’m just happy to see somebody.’ The musical landscape at the time was all tied to indie rock and harsh electro stuff; very few people had any interest in doing anything other. You just take what you can get. If these people are willing and talented, that should be better than giving into the current sound to fit in.”