The making of a headshot

Beba watched silently from a dark corner as I was being shot. "She knows all the poses," says photographer Irini Michopoulou of her trusted dog. "In fact, they used her for a TV publicity shoot. She's a model too!" There is something comforting about having a photographer's pet witness your headshot session. No grunt of judgement nor a bark of support but purely objective observation, exactly what's needed for an Actor's headshot. You need to be you, a blank face on which a casting director can project a character, but with enough expressiveness in the eyes to catch attention.

It is of course up to the photographer to bring out your best look, whether neutral, dramatic, cheeky or jovial. One only needs to look at a photographer's portfolio to know if matches your concept of mood and style. Now Irini has been a pro fashion and music publicity shooter for several years, and her attention to detail is immediately evident in her actor portraits. They convey a unique personal atmosphere with each individual, not an easy task considering actors are not models: stage presence does not always equal photogenicity.

And so it was that I found myself with several changes of black and white shirts at her central Athens home studio last week. Irini's allround experience meant she had stylistic facets covered. "They don't give you an assistant any more, so I do everything myself," Irini told me. The conditions for photographers in Greece are far from ideal, and so she frequently takes on projects abroad.

From a technical point of view, Irini's set up is basic but effective. One umbrella strobe and one flash diffuser aimed at the subject and a rolled-down backdrop respectively is all she needs in her 4x5. "The reflective black granite floor also creates an effect, as do the walls, so I know exactly what the room can give me." A Canon 1D Mark II fitted with a 100mm f2.8 prime lens rounds off the headshot equipment specs.

A pro set-up alone won't create great pics. Actor's need to be directed, so a photographer's coaching ability is just as crucial to getting great headshots. Irini knows what she wants and guides you through the motions smoothly, with the added advantage of digital being hat you get to see some shots immediately on the camera's screen, instantly setting your mind at ease that the shoot is going in the right direction.

My contact sheet will arrive within the next few days from which I will have to choose five favourites. Irini will then slightly retouch and adapt these to black and white where desired. A week or two later my smug mug should be hanging on a casting director's wall, or at the very least filed in one of their books, and round two of my quest for an IMDb listing begins.

Posted via email from Shot & Echo

Athens got Stiped

#remathens

The Athenian summer concert season just went out with a smashing bang thanks to Charismatic for the People purveyors R.E.M. What surrealistically started in June with local police locking up James Blunt's instruments inside the Lycabettus theatre (apparently the grandstand had become unsafe a few hours before the gig so lock and chain were applied for about 4 days) threatened to end in two Battle of the VIP Tickets playback pop overs between J-Lo and Madonna. But the saviour turned out to be an unlikely hero, MTV, who provided Athens with a free (!) mini fest headlined by Messrs. Stipe, Buck and Mills.

Now capturing Michael Stipe on camera is a music photographer's must, Danny Clinch has turned it into nothing short of an art form, but try telling MTV that who need the pit for their live broadcast equipment. So instead of spending 5 hours in line to get anywhere close to the first rows and then having to endure wannabe starlets, Heineken-wielding Britpoppers, and the mind-numbing commentary from "VJ's" who don't even bother doing an ounce of research (Hey Tim Kash, the album is not called "Accelerator" and this was not the end of their tour as we know it..) I watched the show from home. EVEN THEN Stipe managed to reach out to his audience. Bouncing on the edge of my big red sofa to Supernatural Superserious and singing aloud to The One I Love, I watched as the band tore down the "room", the classic Kallimarmaro stadium, and the whole city for that matter, right down to the last moment, when Mills cracked the head off his bass and rammed it into a amp. Take that, capitalist promoters!

P.S.: I didn't quite catch Michael's song of the summer, did he say Santa's Gold?

Momix: Detached Passion

Who turned a promising dance performance into an overpriced slideshow?




Dance troupe Momix has come round to perform their show “Passion” at the Badminton Theatre, from December 1-7. The setup looked promising: a modern dance performance accompanied by the music of Peter Gabriel - written for Martin Scorsese’s 1988 movie “The Last Temptation of Christ”, itself based on the eponymous novel by Nikos Kazantzakis - and choreographed by Moses Pendleton, Momix’s Artistic Director and co-founder of Pilobolus.

Passion is not a new creation. Pendleton pondered on the relation between the human body’s earthly presence and its spiritual incarnation as far back as 1991. It enjoyed complimentary reviews back then, and not without reason. The performing dancers portrayed playful and astounding investigations into the body’s capabilities, a trademark of Pendleton’s, as well as collaboratively evoking ever-changing images in 21 separated micro-routines. Even the inevitable image of Christ on the cross was dynamically recreated within ropes of a trapeze, allowing for a maximum of movement of three performers floating and spinning in the air.

But choices made in the work’s conceptualization did raise a few questions. Why, if wanting to show the beauty and expressive capacity of the human body, mask it for the entire duration with a gauze screen? This theatrical technique, in which projections cover the proscenium frame on one hand and atmospheric lighting reveals subjects in motion behind it on the other, has been used to great effect on many an occasion, and if done thoughtfully can work up magical tableaus. But in Passion, the selected visuals, still-images of faces, spaces, and the occasional pantheistic reference seemed only to interfere with the on-stage action. On one occasion only do dancers interact with the screen, shadow shaping bendable sticks into flowing patterns. However, this particularly anticlimactic finale scene would be much better served by shifting it to the show’s beginnings, after which the fourth wall could have been dropped or lifted.

Perhaps it was Pendleton’s motive to create this barrier between the oft faceless entities on stage and their observers. Maybe this constituted the proverbial rift between faith and the faithful. When it finally does drop at the performance’s very end, the immediate effect is a sigh of relief (and a breath of cool, fresh air wafting into the uncomfortably warm confines of the auditorium). Here, then, our artistic interpreters are finally united with our imaginations. We had to endure a sequence of depictions of trees, deities, statues, pyramids (the glass structure at the Louvre now sadly an unintended reference to Brown’s Da Vinci Code) and ice blocks floating in the sea (climate change, anyone?). Was this at all necessary?

The magic of art is that it can invoke a different picture to each individual spectator. When a body of dancers clusters together, arms and feet outstretched and swaying, one person will see a tree of life, another sees the goddess Shiva. This is the history of spiritualization. It should be left to personal interpretation, rather than hewn in stone, or inscribed in a book of laws.

Peter Gabriel’s score on the other hand leaves the gate open. Passion’s music is of a timeless quality which features the ephemeral voices of Yousou N’dour, Gabriel himself and the late Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, never laying on a particular style but merging earthy drones and worldly rhythms with melodic gravitas. It would have helped the flow and pace of the performance had the music been segued, without falling silent in blackouts between tracks. This became very repetitive, tedious, and in no way helped the show’s approachability.

Accessible art thus became last night’s theme. The show might originally have set out to ask “What is wrong with the world today?” Instead, it inadvertently posed the question “What is wrong with the world of arts entertainment today?” Supporting artists for their creations is a privilege. It is also heartwarming to see a modern dance performance fill up high capacity venues such as the new Badminton Theatre. However, with front section seats going for €70 euros a piece, this was one pricey slideshow, and at that sum one would almost expect to see Peter Gabriel perform the music live.

Next up from promoters GMI Corporation is Woody Allen with the New Orleans Jazz Band on the 28th & 29th of December. Yes, Mr Allen will be there in person, playing live, but it will set you back between €60 and €165. That’s right, €165.

Of course, you could always see Woody’s latest motion picture Cassandra’s Dream at your local cinema for €8. That’s a temptation many a Christos or Christina will be much more eager to give in to.

Two Englishmen and an American (and a Corsican) in Paris

“Now there’s three of you in a band, you’re like a proper band. You’re like the policemen.”
Flight of the Conchords manager Murray, Episode 12



In the early summer of 2005, driving back into the Hellenic capital with impressions of Sting’s Broken Music Tour concert still fresh in my mind, a sense of nostalgia hit me. Not mine necessarily, but that of the Englishman whose on-stage renditions of Roxanne, Message in a Bottle and the Punk anthem Next To You hit home a sense of longing for days gone by. He may not have been conscious of it at the time, but below the surface three people were simultaneously sending out an S.O.S.

“With Sting’s memoirs out,” I concluded a review of his Athens show, “Andy Summer’s One Train Later on the way and Stewart Copeland’s home movies of The Police years collected in the documentary Everyone Stares, maybe the time has finally come for the old mates to get together again for one penultimate tour?”

So when one morning late last year the jazz-bassist-turned-Punk-Rocker-turned-pop-renewer-turned-lute-player suddenly rolled out of bed and thought “What would surprise everybody now? What would surprise me?” the logical conclusion came to be a phone call to his manager. “I want to get the band together again.” By February the 13th 2007, a day after The Police opened the 49th Grammy Awards, the whole world knew that one of the most influential trios of the 70s and 80s were back together again. A special fan club concert in Vancouver kicked off the world tour on May 27th, a tour that is setting a fair bunch of records in highest grossing tours and sold-out venues.

Last weekend The Police were out in full force in the French capital Paris. Inside the majestic Stade de France, 80.000 people gathered on both nights to see the blonded bandidos de do do do their thing, while outside every conceivable police division made their acte de presence, on horseback, on scooters, in riot gear, and as gendarmerie. One wondered what they were there for. Did they expect a bunch of 30-somethings to go near-ballistic like in 1981 when The Police turned up 4 hours late at a gig in Le Bourget due to heavy snow? Were they using the show as a training exercise for the Rugby World Cup later that week, or has this show of force become the daily norm in President Sarkozy’s security state?

The early days of anarchistic Punk behaviour, both the bands’ as that of their fans, have long passed. The Police may only have started out as Punk band by design of founder Stewart and his manager brother Miles Copeland, but the subject material was sharp and edgy in its observation of personal angst, societies under pressure and destructive politics. To The Police’s great credit, the messages booming out of the immense sound system are still as strong now as they were back then, covering everything from loneliness (So Lonely) to human rights violations (poignant photographs of children during Invisible Sun).

But the most lasting quality of this trio has to be its musical prowess. This was to be expected of three individuals whose backgrounds have evolved to excel in jazz (Andy Summers Trio), soundtracks and operatic scores (Copeland’s Holy Blood and Crescent Moon) and Elizabethan era music of melancholy (Sting’s interpretation of 16th century composer John Dowland.) Nevertheless, the decision was made to stick as closely as possible to the original sound of The Police, keeping Copeland’s rich rhythmic complexities, Summers’ exquisite rock solos and Sting’s brilliantly layered bass accompaniment and vocal superiority. This makes the band sound fresh and recognizable at the same time, with all the advantages of 21st century technology and visuals to create a blast of a show.

Especially Stewart Copeland reigns supreme within his elaborate yet grounded drum set, raising the musical plateau even further when taking gems as Wrapped Around Your Finger and King of Pain to ethereal levels on his percussion rig. The man is truly in his element and gives 100 percent at every instant. Showman Sting seems to relinquish his usual front spot to give his band mates the attention they deserve, but is undoubtedly the cardiac epicentre of this body. Andy Summers has aged well, to say it with suitable British understatement, and serious glances of rock-god concentration give way to broad and tellingly infectious smiles. As an icing on the cake in Paris, the three were joined on final encore Next To You by Corsican Henri Padovani, the band’s original guitarist before being ousted by Summers.

It’s clear the band is having the time of their life on this long overdue reunion. As a comfortable bonus, each may well walk away with $50 million at the end of this tour, not counting the additional income from Best Of compilations, memoirs, lyrics and photographic book sales, DVD’s and other merchandise. But these are not the only records being broken. To be a true fan these days almost requires being a millionaire. Regarding the tour as an opportunity of a lifetime to see their favourite band live again, hard-core fans are visiting over 10, sometimes 20 performances on this tour. With ticket prices ranging from €67 to $250, if not above, this is a steep investment by any account. Add to that travel and accommodation expenses, not to mention a $100 fan club fee for access to 4 pre-sale tickets, and you’re looking at digging well into your pension fund.

That’s all very well for a reunion tour that might be their last. But what if, and Andy Summers has already indicated the door is open to this, there were to be a new album? Then the whole thing starts all over again. Perhaps promoters would be so kind as to consider dropping the cost next time round. At the end of the day the fans are a band’s lifeblood, and judging by Paris alone, a full stadium resounding with eyoh’s on Walking On The Moon, and choruses of CHA! on Can’t Stand Losing You/Regatta de Blanc, there’s a lot of them.

My First Attribution!!

From none other than the lovely Miss Norah Jones.


Thanks dear!

The Chi of Cha

A long essay on the most miniscule aspect of my favourite band's performance


In a world where Yeah-Uh’s and Bleep-Bleeps have saturated the music industry, one band’s Eeaayo is once again resounding in arenas, stadiums and music halls across the globe. The Police have come back to Roxanne fans and new converts in a Pangalactic gargleblasting reunion tour that has already broken every ticket-selling record known to man, at least the men who run Live Nation and Ticketmaster.com. Or is it women. Live Nation France is run by Jacqueline Lombard, so let us say the tour has broken every ticket-selling record known to person for political correctness. No offence to women. Or men. Or hermaphrodites.

But despite all the bona fide hoo-ha about the 70’s-80’s punk-turned-reggae-well-not-really-actually-rock-sort-of group returning to the world stage for one (?) penultimate tour to settle a never officially announced break-up, deep within the bowels of the band’s fan base, a small chorus of disenchantment has reared its little head. It’s quite small. Almost like a miniskirt in the sixties, short and suggestive, but not quite revealing the goodies. Nevertheless it’s significant in many ways. Some would even say profound. Massive. Humongous. But not as big as climate change or the Middle East peace process, mind you.

On June 21, 2007, at 02:22:06 AM on America’s west coast, just under one month after the dynamic trio’s Reunion Tour kicked off in Vancouver, a member of thepolicetour.com fanclub posted a small question on the site’s community message board that would change the lives of many other members forever. Or at least until their next Police live gig. The designated poster by the name of Charliearnold posed the following seemingly harmless but poignant question:
“Is there even one single "CHA!" in the entire set?”

One of the first replies gave an inkling of the mammoth proportions this thread would take on. “You can't get more esoteric and inside-baseball than this. I think we all enjoyed the band's ideosyncratic flavor,” said jerseyfan, and a few posts further scully9712 pondered even deeper by posing: “what the hell is a "cha" anyway, is it kind of like a "doo whop? I think i'll lose sleep over this one ...very philosophical question....what is the basis of the "cha" what does it do, what does it mean…what happens if we do not cha?? can we take a cha and give one as well (sort of like giving a s--t and taking one). I think I need to meditate over the cha.”

Indeed, the whole issue warranted a serious soulsearching session accompanied by a hotly brewed cup of tea, steeping profoundly on the stove to attain full flavour. What was our personal affinity with CHA? Why do we miss it, and more importantly, why has Sting omitted it from the songs that received their powerful potency from this three-letter word? As it turned out, the answer to the first two questions were not all that easy to decode, not even with an Enigma, Deep Thought or the weird scroll thingy with letters on it as used in that ominously badly written novel by Dan Brown. The answer to the last one however lay in the mind of only one man to whom access was not within everyman’s privilege.

The first sighting – or sounding – of the CHA came in 1979, on the band’s second album Regatta de Blanc. Voices Inside My Head on The Police’s third album Zenyatta Mondatta firmly positioned Cha among the eeyoo’s and eyayo’s so inextricably linked to the band’s sound, and the follow up Ghost In The Machine had Too Much Information with not enough Cha’s sealing the deal. Eeyo’s and eyayo’s may easily be considered as a simple yet effective conjuncture of vowels characterizing a pleasant configuration of the vocal tract without the build-up of air pressure above the glottis to create a resounding accompaniment of incremental chords, the charged, consonant top and vowel release of the CH-A attracts a much more endemic observation of its origins. Regatta’s title track brought forth a chorus of syncopated exclamations of what appears to the human ear to be CHA! Although, The Police having ventured their Punk foundations into reggae fusions, it would be conceivable that the utterance could originally have encapsulated a religious calling. “The word is actually JAH, the Rastafarian reference for God,” said sadandroid, adding that it “possibly arrived musically by Sting listening to the Beatles (at the end of Hello Goodbye...hella, ava hellooo um jah, um jah.... McCartney was also influenced by early reggae roots)” As the official lyrics never made a mention of Cha, there is no official documentation as to Sting’s intended source of the chant, adding to its mysticism and growing cult status among fans.

The allusion to a kind of “life force” is nevertheless not far fetched. Cha could be a police-ism for the ancient Asian concept of Chi, believed to be part of every living thing that exists, as a “spiritual energy” or “energy flow.” Had the 4th century BCE Chinese philosopher Zhuang Zhou (also known as Master Zhuang) lived today and been one of The Police’s most fervent fans, he may have indicated that cosmic Yin and Yang "are the greatest of Cha," describing Cha as "issuing forth" and creating profound effects.

The discussion's founding cha-ther, charliearnold, argues that Cha is the yin to eeyo’s yang, and therefore the Police are unbalanced without it. The contemporary TPT community philosophist arecev said that “the sound transcends the spelling and the meaning. It is neither. It is a feeling. Perhaps CHA is not the expression of just one feeling. Perhaps it is the culmination of several feelings: joy, angst, energy, sorrow.”

As TPT member jerseyfan explained, Cha’s versatility had no bounds. “Listen to the Synchronicity concert DVD. The first song- Synchronicity- ends with several Chas. But Chas can also start a song, or Sting can work them in at any moment. That's the beauty of the Cha.” When the almost inconceivable reconciliation of the band became a fact at the beginning of 2007, fans went wild at the thought of hearing their favourite chants put back into their intended context of Sting on bass and vocals, Stewart Copeland on his illustrious drums and Andy Summers on guitar. But when the reunion tour finally kicked off in Vancouver at the end of May, all the eeyo’s were in place, but no Cha was to be found anywhere. Hardcore Cha-ists were dismayed.

“Cha is one of the signature sounds of the Police,” wrote Message board Police Chief plutonic. “A Police show is not complete without Cha. It's like doing the show without Andy.” And so the quest was on to raise awareness about this discrepancy in what was otherwise a dream-come-true reunion, with message board members across the world rallying to bring back the Cha. Signatures were cha-enhanced, profile images were cha-ified and strategies were drawn up to get the CHA! Going at upcoming concerts with the help of cha-leaders. The movement demonstrated the deep cha-sm left by the word’s omission, and short of cha-stising their heroes, it became clear the revolu-cha-n would not stop until cha-stice was done.

Armed with white t-shirts emblazoned with large, bold letterings projecting CHA!, the movement of cha people made their way to stadiums and arenas, acquiring strategic seats at hefty prices close to the stage to get the man’s attention to their strife. But apart from brave comrades as donnanj and plutonic getting their image onto the show’s jumbo-trons, swaying sting’s position on the omission has so far proven fruitless, giving rise to an ominous conspiracy theory.

Just moments after secretjourney1 posted a youtube clip ( http://youtube.com/watch?v=wmNeZLVnJGc ) of The Police performing an extended version of Regatta de Blanc and I Can’t Stand Losing You recorded at Miami’s Gusman Theatre in October 1979, in his failed attempt to prove that the CHA! was in fact a bastardized JAH!, a possible explanation for the missing CHA was thrown into the ring. “That clip was freaking amazing,” said dinak of the raw, young energy displayed by the band. Having examined the clip, I chucked away the kebab I was devouring for dinner and drew an assiduous assumption. “Is that the same Sting on stage as the one in the reunion tour now? It's almost leading me to believe in a conspiracy theory similar to the Paul McCartney one, whereby the real Sting got killed in the Amazon by a school of Piranha's, and the record company brought in this look-alike to take his place. Too far out, I know, but mind you, it would explain why the 'new' Sting has no affinity with CHA! whatsoever.”

The gathered evidence, including the mystery of the missing mole below pre-Amazon Sting’s lip, right side, led more people to concur that something was fishy. And sticky. The crusade to get the truth behind the Cha’s disappearance temporarily sought to extract the answer from a case of exchanged personas. Freud and Jung would have has a field day, not to mention Gil Grissom. The plot thickened and became the basis for a screenplay about a rock-star’s mid-jungle doppelganger switch at the hands of peroxide activists being uncovered by a female conservationist starring Sandra Bullock and Jude Law (copyright pending).

Another valid explanation may be that the passing of time, the ageing and wisening of Cha’s creator has transcended the need for its utterance. The great Chinese philosopher Confucius may well have put his finger on the pulse when he said: “The [morally] noble man guards himself against three things. When he is young, his Cha has not yet stabilized, so he guards himself against sexual passion. When he reaches his prime, his Cha is not easily subdued, so he guards himself against combativeness. When he reaches old age, his Cha is already depleted, so he guards himself against acquisitiveness.” Could Cha be sting’s unwritten life story?

The fact remains that the longer the world tour continues without Cha, the more fans and auxillary family, friends and pets are jumping on the Cha bandwagon, eager to get the 55-year old bandleader’s attention. This may already have happened, as plutonic’s efforts at cha-miming the trio have resulted in an oblique reaction, even a possible single cha sneaked in by Andy Summers as an act of friendly provocation towards the frontman. It’s all very well having a young generation reviving CHA in popular R’n’B music (Pussycat Dolls: Don’t CHA wish ur girlfriend sang CHA! like me) but can a Police reunion tour ever be complete without them?

Will the true meaning of Cha ever be revealed? Will our heroes be able to bring on the night with a crowd-generated chorus of CHA? What is the real reason behind the missing Cha, and does it have anything to do with a grassy knoll in the Amazon? If the Cha does not return, will Sting at least answer the movement in a corresponding post, open letter, or even autobiographical book (Broken Cha)? Has writing this essay truly been a totally useless endeavor?



Perhaps it is best left to an avid cha-ist, plutonic, to make the plea, direct and to the point. “Mr. Sting, I humbly beseech you. You yelled "CHA!" repeatedly in my ear for the better part of a decade, in my formative teen years, so I'd really appreciate hearing just one, on Mic, from you the Papa of CHA! I've waited 23 years, paid a fortune in tickets and tickets. Why deny me, your humble ombudsman? I mean, come on, you got me to sing such inanity as your ode to Doo doo: De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da. A little CHA's not gonna hurt anybody.”

Talkin' About a Revolution

King, Kennedy, Castro... and a mouse

A short scroll through history will show that 1963 was an eventful year. Martin Luther King delivered his “I Have A Dream” speech on the steps of Washington DC’s Lincoln Memorial, in front of 250,000 participants of the March for Jobs and Freedom. USA’s first discotheque, the Whisky a Go Go in Los Angeles, was opened and USA’s most notorious prison, Alcatraz, was closed. Fidel Castro visited the Soviet Union, Johnny Depp, Mike Myers, Elle McPherson and Brad Pitt were born. But ‘63 will be remembered most as the year President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas, on the 22nd of November.

Another significant yet much less known event also took place that year. A young inventor and philosopher at the Stanford Research Institute by the name of Douglas Engelbart, in his quest to augment human intellect through the improved use of technology and information, developed a device that would revolutionize the way the world would interact with their personal computers. A small wooden box with a red button, a wheel mechanism touching the surface of a desk and a connecting chord became the world’s first mouse. Ironically, Engelbart never received any royalties for his invention, partly because his patent expired in 1987, before the personal computer revolution made the mouse an indispensable input device. "Stanford patented the mouse, but they really had no idea of its value,” he said in an interview. “Some years later I learned that they had licensed it to Apple for something like $40,000."




Apple indeed became the first to produce a consumer mouse of plastic in the early 80’s, which accompanied their Lisa and Macintosh computers. Much like Engelbart’s invention it had one button and a mechanisms of wheels, which this time however registered the movements of a small tracking ball. At the same time, on the other side of the Atlantic in the Swiss town of Apples, two former Stanford graduates and an ex Olivetti manager founded Logitech International. The start-up had evolved from continued research on the device conducted at the École polytechnique fédérale de Lausanne. By 1984, Logitech had brought out its first mouse, a major bet in a yet uncertain market. But 25 years on, with Swiss precision and future vision, Logitech has become a household name in computer and audio peripherals. Their latest offering has been hailed by the company as the world’s most advanced mouse to date, so obviously I had to take it for a spin.



Freewheelin’
The new Logitech MX Revolution aims to live up to its name and completely change the way we master a mouse. Cutting the chord is by no means new, but by using its own wireless technology - complete with USB dongle - instead of Bluetooth the MX has already stepped ahead. My Apple Bluetooth keyboard still indiscriminately gets stuck on a keystroke every now and again for no apparent reason, with the only option left to turn it off an on again. The MX has so far never missed a beat and is on the whole delightfully stick-free. It has an extremely precise tracking laser which works impeccably on almost any surface (yes, even my jeans).

There are the standard left and right click buttons, smoothly carved out of the same curving surface. The extras start with a specially assigned One-Touch Search button behind the scroll wheel, which will open spotlight in Mac OS X, or the find files window in XP. On the left bevel, which hangs above a swooping rubber ‘cocoon’ designed as a thumbrest, are two assignable thumb buttons, that depending on which application you’re in can scroll, click, cruise, open a document, eject a CD, control the volume…pretty much anything short of making a nice hot cup of Fortnum & Mason tea.

Within the svelte curve is another little treat, a two-directional, spring-loaded thumb wheel which also acts as a button. Pushing it forwards or backwards switches to another application, or zooms a document or the entire display. While the button function can again be assigned to multiple actions in the control center software, I find limiting the wheel to just switching applications and zooming to be a bit, well, limiting. Adding a horizontal scroll function would surely have been one obvious option to include. Having used Apple’s Mighty Mouse I find its effortless left and right scrolling capability very enlightening. The MX does have a horizontal scroll facility by tilting the main scroll wheel left or right, but it is slow and staccato compared to the Mighty Mouse. Word for Mac does not always respond well to horizontal scrolling and it strangely doesn’t work at all in Safari, probably my only frustration about the MX’s many functions.

The major revolution however can be found in the MicroGear Precision Scroll Wheel, and its ability to change from ratcheting scroll to a continuous free roll, enabling you to sweep swiftly through a long document or web page. According to Logitech it can run through 10.000 lines in an Excel sheet in 7 seconds with just one flick of the finger. If you want to change back to ratchet, just click the wheel once and you’re going line-by-line again. The wheel is also intuitively responsive to application switching. If you’ve set it to automatically freewheel in Firefox and you click on iTunes, the MX’s SmartShift technology will autonomously switch to ratchet. It navigates easily through most websites, but even the MX can’t make some animation and video-heavy MySpace pages roll any smoother. Here’s an idea for Logitech: couldn’t chapter-markers in blogs like Engadget be recognized by the mouse, so that you can free-scroll the MX wheel until it automatically stops at the next blog entry?


Of Mice and Men
On the whole the MX Revolution weighs up nicely to its name. It’s battery life is excellent, running for 3-4 days at sustained use, and the green LED indicator lets you know when it’s time to place the device in its charger. The only thing that worries me here is the fact that it is a non-removable battery, meaning that when it eventually dies out after (hopefully) years of usage, it effectively becomes an expensive paperweight.

As far as ergonomics go, I still find myself moving it around with the tips of my fingers, my lower palm still floating in the air rather than riding on the MX’s back. Slightly smaller hands may well fit comfortably, and for the ladies or notebook users there’s always the MX’s sister, the VX. The good news is that I have not yet gone back to my Mighty Mouse, even though I miss its omni-directionally scrolling mini ball. But I do wish the granite MX would also come in Mighty white, MacBook Pro silver (like Philippe Starck’s swish Intellimouse), or even iPod Nano Product Red red.



The final question is of course if at the suggested retail price of €99.99 it’s really worth the whistles and bells. In my opinion, when it comes to buying new gear, gadgets, and electronic devices, there are two camps of consumers. There are those who are confused by too much choice and feel an anxiety as to whether a certain device will be the right purchase or not. In the end they may be swayed by a friendly price, slick design, or a catchy campaign, and following that, either be satisfied until it falls apart, or flog it on eBay at their next upgrade.

There are however others who read every conceivable review and acquaint themselves with all the latest technologies before making a choice, having a specific wish-list of features the device must possess. Nowadays, a mobile phone needs to have at least a 3-megapixel camera, play music and video, have high speed Bluetooth for wireless stereo headphones – watch this space for a future review of Logitech’s FreePulse - as well as synchronize all your contacts and appointments. Personally, I’m waiting for nothing less than Apple’s rumored iPhone, and have hence not spent a cent on a new mobile since 2004. With every innovation, man becomes more demanding. Present us with new possibilities and we will be prepared to pay the price. Show us a shorter way and we will walk it, and with each step forward we’ll set our eyes on the horizon, and see the promised land. I have a dream that one day all gadgets will be united as one, and will guide us into our salvation from entangled cables, incompatible platforms, system segregation, and utterly boring design.

Yet for those of us living in the now, most of our daily time is spent with a hand wrapped around a mouse, clicking and scrolling ourselves into fame, fortune, or oblivion. Should we satisfy our contemporary demands with a more sophisticated peripheral or will the beige, PC-bundled, no-name, 5-euro tracking device suffice? Should you embrace Logitech’s 7 clickable wonders? In the end, size is all that matters, and as history has proven over and again, revolution lies in the hands of the people.


Marq Riley for echo.fm