Pet Shop Boys / Battleship Potemkin
November 26, 2013 7:39 PM Subscribe
In 2004, Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe teamed up with the Dresdner Sinfoniker to perform a new score at a presentation of Eisenstein's 1925 classic silent film Battleship Potemkin in Trafalger Square, London. It is estimated that 25,000 people attended the screening. The Pet Shop Boys' score and the film have been combined and are available to watch on YouTube. [1h15m]
Neil Tennant writes about the project.
Neil Tennant writes about the project.
This post was deleted for the following reason: Poster's Request -- Brandon Blatcher
Excellent! The Tennant/Lowe Potemkin score never really clicked for me on its own, so I've always wanted to see it in the proper context. Thanks, hippybear!
posted by Lazlo Nibble at 9:29 PM on November 26, 2013
posted by Lazlo Nibble at 9:29 PM on November 26, 2013
In a reversal: the Red Army Choir covers Daft Punk and Adele
Bonus: Tennessee Ernie Ford
Bonus Bonus: Joe McCarthy's head explodes
posted by The 10th Regiment of Foot at 5:27 AM on November 27, 2013
Bonus: Tennessee Ernie Ford
Bonus Bonus: Joe McCarthy's head explodes
posted by The 10th Regiment of Foot at 5:27 AM on November 27, 2013
I like it! Have only had time to watch a bit so far.
posted by not that girl at 7:48 AM on November 27, 2013
posted by not that girl at 7:48 AM on November 27, 2013
So good. BIG thank you.
posted by brokeaspoke at 10:50 AM on November 27, 2013
posted by brokeaspoke at 10:50 AM on November 27, 2013
Did anyone else misread the FPP as "Einstein's 1925 classic silent film Battleship Potemkin," and think, just for a moment, "Shit, what couldn't that man do?"
posted by IAmBroom at 11:48 AM on November 27, 2013
posted by IAmBroom at 11:48 AM on November 27, 2013
Willie and Neil by Teodor (Chris Onstad)
Neil Tennant walked gingerly through the bright white kitchen of his downtown Notting Hill flat. It was before noon so he dressed only in a white bathrobe and white suede mules. He would have several outfit changes that day, much like every day, so he didn't bother dressing properly until his agent called him with the day's assignments.
He had been up until all hours the night before. As Man One of the two pet Shop Boys, it was his duty to serve as doyen of the large after-show crowds that gathered in the local underground discotheques. It was not unusual-in fact it was de riguer - for Tennant to call his driver around seven in the morning, summoning him from whatever garage he'd bedded down in, for the long ride home. Aside from the driver, Tennant was virtually always unaccompanied on his morning tour home. As for the low profile Chris Lowe, the Pet Shop Boys' synthesizer virtuoso, he always left whatever arena (and usually city) they were playing in directly after the encores, never so much as stopping for water. Aside from Neil, no one knew where he went on these hasty retreats, and no one dared ask. He had no patience for fans or the press.
He reached into the behemoth stainless steel refrigerator and pulled out the sole item in its inventory: a carton of freshly squeezed orange juice which had been placed there earlier in the day by Pasha, the elderly housemaid. He whisked a Tiffany highball off of the nearby dishrack and poured several ounces of the thick, vibrant juice into it. One unusually large gulp later, the glass was empty. The ablution always caused him to shiver a bit. A Gauloises Legeres and a glass of still water later, he was ready for the day.
Around 11:45 AM the phone rang, predictably. Bruno, his agent of nearly fifteen years, had finished his morning e-mails and was calling Neil to remind him of that afternoon's schedule. He picked the delicate Bang & Olufsen handset off of its angular, postmodern cradle. By the time the set was halfway to his ear he could tell by the silence that something was different - there was none of the usual atmosphere that one heard on Bruno's office line. And Bruno was usually talking at full speed by the time the handset was placed to one's ear.
He held the set to his ear for a moment longer than usual before speaking. Typically he was quick - almost brusque - about prodding a caller into action, but this silence was commanding. Something in the way it was meted out at that particular hour of the morning...it was clearly a person of consequence, and one he didn't speak with often, if ever.
His complacence was shaken.
"Good morning?" said Neil, dry as a bone.
"Neil? Is that you, fella?"
The voice had a polished twang, a natural charm. It was the voice of a man who knew you'd like him, but only because he figured he'd like you.
He tried a bit of impatience. "Who's calling, please." To end on a period, on a down note, would generally chill and subdue whatever solicitor held the other line. Or at least establish him as the superior. But not so here.
"Neil, buddy...this is Willie Nelson."
posted by Our Ship Of The Imagination! at 12:51 PM on November 27, 2013 [1 favorite]
Neil Tennant walked gingerly through the bright white kitchen of his downtown Notting Hill flat. It was before noon so he dressed only in a white bathrobe and white suede mules. He would have several outfit changes that day, much like every day, so he didn't bother dressing properly until his agent called him with the day's assignments.
He had been up until all hours the night before. As Man One of the two pet Shop Boys, it was his duty to serve as doyen of the large after-show crowds that gathered in the local underground discotheques. It was not unusual-in fact it was de riguer - for Tennant to call his driver around seven in the morning, summoning him from whatever garage he'd bedded down in, for the long ride home. Aside from the driver, Tennant was virtually always unaccompanied on his morning tour home. As for the low profile Chris Lowe, the Pet Shop Boys' synthesizer virtuoso, he always left whatever arena (and usually city) they were playing in directly after the encores, never so much as stopping for water. Aside from Neil, no one knew where he went on these hasty retreats, and no one dared ask. He had no patience for fans or the press.
He reached into the behemoth stainless steel refrigerator and pulled out the sole item in its inventory: a carton of freshly squeezed orange juice which had been placed there earlier in the day by Pasha, the elderly housemaid. He whisked a Tiffany highball off of the nearby dishrack and poured several ounces of the thick, vibrant juice into it. One unusually large gulp later, the glass was empty. The ablution always caused him to shiver a bit. A Gauloises Legeres and a glass of still water later, he was ready for the day.
Around 11:45 AM the phone rang, predictably. Bruno, his agent of nearly fifteen years, had finished his morning e-mails and was calling Neil to remind him of that afternoon's schedule. He picked the delicate Bang & Olufsen handset off of its angular, postmodern cradle. By the time the set was halfway to his ear he could tell by the silence that something was different - there was none of the usual atmosphere that one heard on Bruno's office line. And Bruno was usually talking at full speed by the time the handset was placed to one's ear.
He held the set to his ear for a moment longer than usual before speaking. Typically he was quick - almost brusque - about prodding a caller into action, but this silence was commanding. Something in the way it was meted out at that particular hour of the morning...it was clearly a person of consequence, and one he didn't speak with often, if ever.
His complacence was shaken.
"Good morning?" said Neil, dry as a bone.
"Neil? Is that you, fella?"
The voice had a polished twang, a natural charm. It was the voice of a man who knew you'd like him, but only because he figured he'd like you.
He tried a bit of impatience. "Who's calling, please." To end on a period, on a down note, would generally chill and subdue whatever solicitor held the other line. Or at least establish him as the superior. But not so here.
"Neil, buddy...this is Willie Nelson."
posted by Our Ship Of The Imagination! at 12:51 PM on November 27, 2013 [1 favorite]
I know what I'll be doing this weekend while my husband is studying for finals. Thanks for the post!
posted by immlass at 2:57 PM on November 27, 2013
posted by immlass at 2:57 PM on November 27, 2013
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