BLANK CINEMA
DEMO
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Luke Kyd holds his ground-to-air rocket launcher over his shoulder and
aims it at the blinking pink light of a passing airplane over Vancouver’s East
Side. “Sssssssshhhhhhhhcccccchhoooooooooo! BOOM!” Kyd’s eyes light up, and he
laughs as he describes the ensuing carnage his imaginary weapon wreaks upon the
unsuspecting plane overhead.
It’s a common scene outside of Blank Cinema’s rehearsal space as Sarah
Sangster and Jake Fox chime in to augment Kyd’s cinematic detail, using
childlike sound effects to illustrate the immensity of the imagined
destruction. The scene could match any blockbuster’s visceral effect on an
audience seated in a modern multiplex theatre with 5.1 digital surround sound.
In October 2008, Jake Fox released a solo musical effort that would
soon sprout a new band. The six-song EP Fickle Creatures, which Fox says he “wrote, recorded and released
from home, just to see if I could do it,” was described critically as “an
odyssey of sorts, revolving thematically around a movie that takes place in
Fox’s mind.”
The record attracted two intensely creative musicians. Sarah Sangster
a multi-instrumentalist and songwriter; prior to entering the Cinema, she was a
creative force behind two notable Winnipeg bands, Sixty Stories and Anthem Red,
touring Europe and appearing in various projects around the ‘Peg. Luke Kyd, a
touring percussionist from the age of 11 with a background in reggae, punk rock
and metal, had the fortune of seeing his mother perform backup vocals with the
Wailers; he also played drums for his sister, Van City punk legend Ani Kyd.
Together,
the sound they make in the 200-square-foot rehearsal space is loud. As the
opening thump of Kyd’s drum machine rhythm kicks in, his down-tempo/dub DJ
experience becomes apparent. Slowly, Kyd dials down the high pass filter,
allowing the pounding beat to catch up with Fox’s eerie fade-in guitar line.
Cue Sangster’s ominous film-noir bass lead-in, and so begins one of Blank
Cinema’s latest concoctions. An electro-grunge rhapsody with elements of Dick
Dale and David Byrne: call it “Rapturehead.”
Having immersed from the dark and heavy, the three jump into an
up-tempo indie-synth-pop track. “Seventeen” sets the tone somewhere between
Depeche Mode and The Rentals—two bands whose MVPs are often cited by the band.
Alan Wilder, the sonic architect behind Depeche Mode’s success, is revered by
Kyd. And Sangster is inspired by Matt Sharp’s bass playing, which heightened
the greatness of Weezer’s first two albums.
What sets Blank Cinema’s new material apart from the Fox’s
self-produced EP, is the band’s playful and enthusiastic experimentation, and
commitment to the individual ideas within each track. For Fox, writing material
with Kyd and Sangster means the song ideas can evolve further. They also have
less personal attachment, which in turn means they become more personal to the
listener.
Kyd describes the process of writing with the band; “I see Blank
Cinema as a clean pallet. Jake, as the original and founding member, brings
material to the table that begins the process of the three of us melding our
different, yet like-minded styles. The mixture of our varied approaches seems
to combine indie rock, post-punk and synth-pop, with a peppering of reggae and
DJ soundscapes.”
As
is the case with Fickle Creatures,
the lyrics of Blank Cinema’s fresh material are both vivid and surreal. Fox
assumes the perspective of a specific character or being, playing all parts in
an ensemble cast. He describes “Rapturehead” as a genealogy of the lost, naming
the Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil” as one conceptual influence on the song.
And “Seventeen”? That’s about a card prodigy who loses to the devil. The viewpoints are
farfetched, but the choruses apply to the acceptance of daily trials: “And if
we’re stuck here till were seventy-one, we might as well get used to it.”
“Money
in the Bank,” which could well become the first hit off Blank Cinema’s upcoming
full-length, is rich in its simplicity and monotone refrain: “You put the money
in the bank/ Is that where it goes? Is that where it goes?” The single conjures
up elements of Talking Heads’ “Naïve Melody” deposited over Eno-esque
soundscapes. Blank Cinema continues to explore new terrain, and imaginary
airplanes explode into sonic smithereens.
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