Justice: A Cross the Universe

Written by Sombra Blanca

If your rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle, like mine, can only be lived vicariously, the Justice documentary A Cross the Universe packs in a few years’ worth. Despite the fact the documentary’s subjects, Frenchmen Gaspard Augé and Xavier de Rosnay, don’t play rock ‘n’ roll at all, at least not in the traditional sense.

Whether their brand of banging electronic house music is “the new rock ‘n’ roll,” as one fan proclaims, I’ll defer to others. But A Cross the Universe, a summary of their three-week North American tour in early 2008, reveals enough antics to rival the legends of any hesher hero.

At 64 minutes (shorter than the accompanying audio CD in the two-disc set), Filmmakers Romain Gavras and So-Me haven’t the time to delve into the duo’s history, why they make music, or any other biographical sketches. A little airport confusion, a stock shot of a plane in the air, and the film is off, fueled by the frenzied, over-the-top music from Justice’s first and only full album so far, Cross. (Not the word but the symbol, kind of like what Prince did).

Naturally a documentary about touring is going to include some live footage of the shows, and the directors include plenty of it, or at least a generous amount of fan footage. Crowd surfing in every clip, crazy costumes among the concertgoers, hands in the air as if they didn’t care, and an almost painful amount of strobe lights. Seriously. I understand the intent is to match the “thump-thump-thump” of the beat, but how their uninspired lighting tech avoided seizures, I have no idea. The lighting is the main reason it’s a good thing A Cross the Universe isn’t a straight live show.

If I had a gripe about the live footage, it would be that the close-up crowd shots dominated any clips of Augé and de Rosnay actually “playing” their instruments, even if it would horrify purists by showing a couple of CD players among other equipment. And especially because one of the gigs, the 2008 Coachella Festival, was purportedly their first performance with a live PA setup. It would’ve been nice to see trial-and-error (or success) footage from that show alone.

Instead, the directors never let the film linger too long in any one moment, and constantly flip back and forth between on- and off-stage. The duo, their tour manager Bouchon, and other members of the entourage find themselves in a hotel room filled with pantily clad ladies one night, watching a marriage on another night, and peppered along the with way with arrests, celebrities, and bottles both emptied and broken on purpose.

The chaos that follows Augé and de Rosnay is usually sorted out by Bouchon, who throughout the film aligns himself more with the American way of life with an increasing obsession with guns. He keeps one at his hip, takes others to firing ranges, and even argues with locals about gun rights. At the suggestion he carry a shoulder holster, for example, Bouchon without a hint of humor says “This is not a movie, man; this is the real life.”

The filmmakers also lucked out with the selection of Roger (no last name given) as the group’s bus driver. A baritone-voiced Christian who fills his cell phone with pictures and aims to break the Guiness record for the lowest musical note, Roger’s southern drawl brings a bit of calm to the Justice storm, both through interviews and the occasional narration.

If Augé and de Rosnay adhere to similar Christian beliefs or behavior, as the rumor goes, A Cross the Universe leaves the question murky at best. At worst, it would be seen by some god-fearin’ folk as an abomination. Whether the directors — also friends of Justice — intentionally left drug use out of the final cut, or if it just didn’t happen, we don’t know. But there’s plenty of alcohol passed around and consumed most often (in the film, anyway) by Augé. He’s also the one caught on camera the most with the ladies, including a couple of tour bus rendezvous. Yes, they ritually kiss a cross before walking on stage, and yes, their stage design includes a cross tucked between (unplugged) sets of Marshall amps, but even though their music thumps, it doesn’t appear they’re thumping bibles.

While the documentary is frenetic, funny and at times just strange, the audio disc from San Francisco in the set is a bit of a disappointment. At first I wondered if the crowd was just “that loud” to be picked up so well through the soundboard. But it turns out the crowd really is that loud for one of two reasons, depending on who you ask: either the crowd noise was boosted in the final mix of the show, or the show was recorded with several microphones around the stage.

I subscribe to the former theory, because although the music gets muddy at times, it still bumps quite clear through most of the disc. Microphones, it seems, would’ve lowered the audio quality to the level of a cell phone YouTube clip. And the adage about “really being there” fits with the effect of hearing the crowd lose it every time Justice drops the beat and follows the group through every twist and turn, bleep, and blurp.

The nearly three minutes of only crowd noise that starts the disc probably could’ve been trimmed, but from there the duo slams through “Genesis” and “Phantom” before working through an altered four-minute version of their biggest hit so far, “D.A.N.C.E.” Augé and de Rosnay continue to pound out “Waters of Nazareth,” “Stress,” and a goosebump-inducing run through “We Are Your Friends” along with the other cuts from Cross, before finishing the encore with their take on a Metallica classic, “Master of Puppets” (there’s that rock again).

I love this music, and I’m happy to have it, especially until I have the chance to see Justice live myself. But by the end, even I found the need to turn it down just a little. The eardrum-challenging sound of the music itself, along with the crowd, approaches white noise instead of wonderful noise. Rather than bumping up the bass, I felt more like lowering the treble. Still, considering that on its own, Justice’s music has a raw, haphazard sort of feel to it. Maybe the mixing was a conscious decision to avoid a sound too polished. And with a crowd as enthusiastic as this one, they deserve some credit too, I suppose.

All in all, between the crazy antics of the documentary and the balls-out live show, A Cross the Universe is a safe bet if you haven’t thrust your devil horns up in a while.

Moby: Last Night

Written by Fumo Verde

I’ve heard some jams from Moby on KCRW over the years and thought I would take a stab at reviewing his latest CD Last Night. I was never into the rave scene or into clubbing all night long (although believe me, I love the drugs), but that thumping bass line vibrating the floor along with masses of hot sweaty people does nothing for me. Though I never attended any of these types of parties I do have to say the music, at an audible level and with a fat bowl burning, always gave me great ideas for surf videos.

I’m not going to lie and tell you that I know each lick or track Moby sampled from, but they all had a late ‘80s/early ‘90s feel. “Every Day is 1989” says it all right there with a Gloria Gaynor-type of howl singing “Every Day I Got To ….” This hook, of which the last part I can’t make out, is mixed over a quick-tempo, high-pitched electric snare drum sound pushing the beat. I can just see it now, glow sticks waving around the blacklight-lit dance hall, someone puking over in the corner from some bad X. I’m glad I listen at home. Did this track bring me any vision for a great surf video? No, and neither did the very next one “Live for Tomorrow,” just another Flashdance flashback with too many of the same lines repeated over and over and over. But the jam after that, I did like.

On “Alice,” the first sound begins with the slow entrance of a singular voice, “My head keeps turning/ Turning like Russian Roulette / Thoughts are like bullets/ I can not do this/ Do this/ Do this.” It caught me, and the next thing I know I was dropping into a sick barrel somewhere tropical. With a hypnotic hook being broken by quick fire rapping, jumping back to the hook, it breaks again with a more climatic tempo that peaks then drops you back into that hook once again, which drifts into an even slower rap to finish off the jam. As the music closes, all I’m dreaming of is the soft shoulder of the wave and making my exit. I also enjoyed “Sweet Apocalypse,” an all-synthesized instrumental. What gives this jam its outer orbital funk is the sound of a single keyboard repeating the signal given to the mothership in the movie Close Encounters, just as “Mothers of the Night” feels like it’s all the break-up music from those John Hughes’ films I grew up watching.

The only other track I liked was the “hidden” track, which sounded like an after-hours jazz club. From what I gathered this album was a night out on the town and if you are the type of person who parties from ten p.m. to eight a.m., then you could see this whole night unfold before you. For someone like me, who if I do stay awake late it’s because of the History Channel or CSPAN, it just sounds like a bunch of re-mixes I already heard. I checked around to see what other critics thought, and they are bashing the shit out of it. I didn’t think it was that bad of an album; as for background music, it’s great to screw to.