Sony G90 manual Tabloid, because of its sensational pur, Insignificance of the media and with a

reviews scrolling across the screen,

and the many images of endless pave-

ment, tunnels, and indistinct automo-

bile headlights vaguely glowing from

neon-lit gridlock. Much rock journal-

ism might as well be printed in a

tabloid, because of its sensational pur-

suit of rumor and hype. This film

exposes the soap-opera mentality of

writing like that, with segments in

which sound check footage drowns

out interviews (the music audibly suf-

focates the press to symbolize the

insignificance of the media) and with a

revealing scene where lead singer

Thom Yorke’s reluctant, wiry body

contorts under the onslaught of merci-

less flashing cameras. By the end of

the film, you will ask yourself, “Why?,”

the same question Radiohead probably

ponders as well.

Several scenes demonstrate the

group’s occasional lassitude (an

expected side-effect of touring), but

none more so than the bored look on

Yorke’s face when he’s performing

“Creep” in Philadelphia. As the audi-

ence chants the song’s verse, Yorke

apathetically stands like a cardboard

cutout, holding his mic towards the

crowd. He finally turns it inward with

apparent disgust, as if he imagines it

to be a painkilling dagger, and telling-

ly slurs the tune’s climactic line,“What

the hell am I doing here?” We can

barely hear Yorke against the din of

the band; all we clearly make out are

cries from the audience, “We love you,

Thom!” Still, compared to the exas-

perating journalists Radiohead

encounters in every town (and who,

among other offenses, ceaselessly fire

redundant questions and arrive at

interviews unprepared), the fans and

their blind lust for the band seem easy

to cope with.

Meeting is Capitol Records’ first

venture into the DVD market, and

strangely, the Radiohead DVD’s cover

art is obtuse, to the point where you

almost can’t see the band’s name. The

DVD has no chapters, which may

annoy those accustomed to selecting

particular slices of the movie for

repeated viewing. But the constant

alternation of black and white with

color footage, and slightly grainy film

with more vibrant stock, combines

with multi-perspective angles (many

shot with a minicam) in creating a

stimulating A/V presentation that

DVD, with its digitally clear resolution

and seamless flow, best

allows. Sonically, the

DVD has 5.1-channel

and AC-3 surround

sound that serves us

well. Since Meeting does not focus on

concert footage, but is instead a col-

lage of events and experiences, it’s

appropriate that the sound wraps us

in a cocoon, and lathers us with ambi-

ent electronic pulses, squealing fans,

and the echoes of interviews. In

scenes where we’re surrounded by the

crowd, the band, and the acoustic ric-

ochet of a concert hall, and simultane-

ously see strobe lights dance off the

band members onstage, the DVD

delivers a menacing, and almost claus-

trophobic, feeling.

Whether or not you like or know

Radiohead’s music is beside the point.

Tour documentaries have existed for

years, but Meeting assails your senses

and then dares you to think. You’ll

come away feeling as if you’ve been

through the grind yourself, and it’s that

realism, however unnerving, that

makes the film worth owning. Consider

it an introduction to media studies:

Meeting demonstrates how the media

manipulates and harasses rock stars in

an effort to glamorize rock stardom for

all it’s ($) worth.

Fugazi: Instrument. Jem Cohen

(director). Dischord 80. $18.00

(VHS only).

Fugazi is difficult to describe – the

band escapes classification. Even when

I state that Fugazi is a band, I fail to

provide the whole picture, because

Fugazi is more than a band; it’s an ideal,

a political concept, a paradox. I’ve had

an easier time explaining The Grateful

Dead’s 30-minute “space jams,” full of

guitar feedback, to people who wanted

to understand what that group was

attempting (if wasn’t just pure obfusca-

tion, which sometimes it was). In

Fugazi we have a band that distributes

its own records, books its own shows,

has never taped a music video, works

exclusively with independent promot-

ers, hawks no merchandise (not even T-

shirts), and charges only $5 for a con-

cert ticket. Think about it. Today, $5

wouldn’t even buy you a Rolling Stones

bumper sticker. Does all this sound like

what some artists are doing on the

Internet? Yes, indeed, but Fugazi was