Ladytron are one of those bands that seem to engage in a world of their own, that have such a well-defined sound that it’s impossible for their music to ever be outdated. Sure, we can call them synthpop or new wave or synth punk or whatever, but we all (those familiar with the band) know that labeling them is nothing but a convention. Any of Ladytron’s albums could testify for that, but I have to admit that Witching Hour has something slightly more mythical to it, maybe because you can find the band’s best stuff on it. Destroy Everything You Touch is, of course, the first to come to mind, but you can’t leave out Beauty *2 or the eerie good mood of White Light Generator.
International Dateline has an unique sense of immediacy, while being as melancholic as lovers saying goodbye in the wintertime. The punkish beat will make you expect someone singing “Here comes Johnny, he’s gonna do another striptease”, but that’s just one of Ladytron’s area of expertise: raw energy administrated through delicate means. This track will make you think of endings, but endings you don’t want to end. Facing the silence at the end of these four minutes is always desolating.
Today, October the 14th, marks the 50th anniversary of Errol Flynn’s death. It was five decades ago that he suffered a fatal heart attack — the enemy‘s sword finally hit its target. And, without intentionally trying to be too melodramatic, it seemed that the whole swashbuckling genre died some that day. It had occasional resurrections, but no other actor emerged as the poster boy of the sword-adventure flick.
Errol Flynn is pretty much like all golden age superstars, you have to get him, let his errolesque charm inside your mind. The overall good mood, the bigger-than-life style of expressing his beliefs, the way he teases Una O’Connor or seduces Olivia de Havilland (”You love me, don’t you?”), the teeth grinding when he fights and, of course, the not-so-innocent grin.
And also, like many golden age superstars, Errol Flynn had plenty of secrets and scandals surrounding him, but, to be honest, rumours that he was a SS spy just make him even more fascinating. He had his wicked ways and his vices, but naming them all, would leave no room in the coffin for the man himself…