Every week, The Take Away Shows invite an artist or a band to play in the streets, in a bar, a park, or even in a flat or in an elevator, and we film the whole session. What makes the beauty of it is all the little incidents, hesitations, and crazy stuff happening unexpectingly.T he videos are unedited and look unusually flawless, complete with raw sound of the surroundings. The Take Away Shows capture instants, film the music just like it happens, without preparation, without tricks. Spontaneity is the keyword.
Founders Chryde, who wanted to shake things up and find another way to share music, and Vincent Moon, who wanted to film music differently began The Take Away Shows in April 2006. Since then, other directors across the world have joined the project.
On this day of June, we were in the backyard of an apartment building. Somebody had given us the entrance code so that we could come in and shoot Piers, Camille and Dominique covering Nick Drake’s “One Of These Things First”. At once the care taker came asking who had given us permission to sing here. Camille answered “God” but the caretaker didn’t believe her. Then the typical official tenant came and right away started talking about calling the cops if we didn’t leave. Then another tenant came down, on her way to the gym class; she clearly said that this was no joke and that the police was going to be informed…
Filmed and edited by Jeremiah
Sound by Renaud Duguet
Mumford & Sons – ‘The Banjolin Song’ and ‘Awake my Soul’
Paris, April 2010
Everything after this point was built on the cheerfulness, enthusiasm, and the casual Britishness of a group whose power is fed by the evident pleasure they get from playing. On their strange music, music which is almost a religious experience, pastoral and fervent, fed by dozens of differing folkloric traditions. On a Johnny Flynn, who we had brought along almost without asking his opinion on the matter, and who improvised on the violin like he had created these songs which were not even his. And finally on the young woman who opened her door to us, her courtyard, and for whom the Mumfords sang in French, “Réveille mon âme…” An understatement, to say the least.
Images and Edit by Vincent Moon
Sound by Chryde
Mix by François Clos
It was the beginning of summer in Buenos Aires. The city had begun to empty out, but still contained enough energy to make it easy to find 2 or 3 concerts every night in its different corners. We had to see as many as possible during these first few days, while we searched for euphony; keep the first week for listening and the second for filming.
Tomi Lebrero played one of those nights in a beautiful apartment that often opened its doors to a familiar crowd of neighbourhood folk musicians. A night in the good company of porteños, deep into the night when alcohol spilled into the last songs, and the next day one melody stuck in my head, the last melody, which the entire room had sung at the top of their voices.
When we travel for a long time, our relationships to objects and memories take another form. We can’t keep anything, add anything to our bags, without throwing away something else. The need to be precise in our choices applies itself to the experiences that we have daily while travelling, the small adventures we undertake and engage with during minutes, or hours, with other people. That’s how I approached Tomi – I wanted to leave Buenos Aires with this melody in my bag. It was more important than anything else at that moment – he had to play it.
Tomi was busy, Tomi had to leave the city as soon as possible. We couldn’t find space in our schedules; I had arranged too many other sessions. I only wanted one song, though; one only, to be able to bring it elsewhere and share it with my friends and sing it out loud over and over again.
It was Tuesday, February 2. I ran around the city filming, beginning with my friends at the label ZZK, then attempting a strange sound experience with Coso in the abandoned San Temo hospital. Tomi called. I was supposed to head to the other end of Buenos Aires as soon as I could. He gave me an address in Colegiales, told me simply, “I’ll sing you the song.”
Months have passed; I’ve travelled around the world, and everywhere I have shared this song. Everything seems simpler, and all of my musical discoveries seem to be summarized in these seven minutes. I can travel light; I carry with me this little slice of life that goes ‘la la, lala la, la la…’
a film by vincent moon
images, sounds & edit by vincent moon
mix by felix cristiano
produced by temporary areas
It seems like a fairly common dream. I have it often enough, anyway: dreams where I’m not exactly flying, but where I feel light, where each of my steps takes me two or three metres further than usual, like walking on the moon. We lived this dream on earth, in a faraway country, for a few minutes, thanks to two musicians
It wasn’t as simple as dreaming. We were in Ebuisu, a bleak neighbourhood of Tokyo, under wind and rain. We were supposed to meet the Tenniscoats in a museum where they were participating in an art installation. We waited for them for a long time; while waiting, we tried to explore the neighbourhood. There was nothing interesting waiting for us there, tall grey buildings, a railroad underneath a green footbridge, and streets empty of people.
Saya had a magnificent smile, an easygoing attitude, and took charge. When we got to the bridge, she started to sing, leaving us with no choice but to follow. Baibaba Bimba is the simplest of songs, a persistent and repeated verse, sung by a calm voice, strong without being overwhelming, echoing the same three or four words unceasingly.
Saya sang the melody as if came from deep within the song, a base strong enough to frame and repeat. Coming down the stairs, walking along the railroad tracks, over the noise of passing trains, she played with the surroundings to give rhythm to the song, taking advantage of everything she passed – some steps, a sewer cover, a fence, to cover her Bimba. We just had to let her take us, which we happily did.
Afterwards, she sang in French and laughed at the word ‘plage’ (beach), braved the wind and the rain, hummed in the middle of an intersection. A hideous neighbourhood on a rainy day. It’s still our best memory of Japan.
24 FEBRUARY 2010
EBISU, TOKYO, JAPAN
Produced by Chryde for la Blogotheque
Filmed and edited by Colin Solal Cardo
Sounds and mix by François Clos
Bucket-loads of these beautiful musical experiences at La Blogotheque Take Away Shows.