In an era when the average film soundtrack is an artless, marketing-driven jumble of unrelated hits and warmed-over covers, the idea of an established act writing and recording a complete film score seems about as remarkable as John Rocker visiting a Chiapas rebel encampment. Still, a few signs may point to a change in this sorry state of affairs: The soundtrack to Magnolia, Paul Thomas Anderson's latest effort, is mostly comprised of new Aimee Mann songs, and now Sofia Coppola has commissioned French electronic duo Air to create and record the score to The Virgin Suicides, her forthcoming directorial debut.

Though they're generally lumped in with the "electronica" crowd, Air's Jean-Benoit Dunckel and Nicolas Godin have always had more in common with Ennio Morricone than Moby or the Prodigy. Moon Safari, the duo's widely acclaimed U.S. debut, is unabashedly cinematic in scope and sensibility, better suited to an early-morning drive across the desert than a night on the dancefloor. And since The Virgin Suicides (adapted from Jeffrey Eugenides' darkly romantic novel of the same name) takes place in the melancholic haze of the mid-Seventies, Air's analog-based, Kraftwerk-meets-Electric Light Orchestra approach makes for a perfect match.

But as nearly a thousand hipsters shoe-horned themselves into Hollywood's ancient American Legion Hall, leaving several hundred others begging for tickets outside, a thorny question arose: Though the evening's entertainment has been advertised as "Air Performs the Score From The Virgin Suicides," how will the audience respond to an entire hour's worth of music they've never heard, written for a movie they've never seen? Would they listen attentively, or grow restless and shout for "Sexy Boy"?

After a backlit Dunckel and Godin took the darkened stage to a thunderous hero's welcome, the crowd settled in with an air of quiet expectation. "I hope you will like it, thank you!" Dunckel offered simply, as Air's special guests -- Redd Kross's Brian Reitzel on drums, the Screaming Trees' Barrett Martin on vibraphone, the Moog Cookbook's Brian Kehew on keyboards and Jason Falkner on guitar and bass -- took their respective positions onstage. The first number began with Falkner and Reitzel building a meaty mid-tempo groove, which was gradually layered with sound by the other participants, and then topped off with high-pitched, human-like trills from Godin's synthesizer. The audience hung reverently on every note, responding with rapturous applause as the final one died away. Godin's silhouette responded with a wave and some mock-triumphant posing.

By the fourth number, everything was completely locked in -- the band, the music, the audience, and the floodlights (which formed majestic patterns against the venue's vaulted, neo-Romanesque ceiling) all seemed to be pulsating together, with one heartbeat. None of the selections were introduced by name, which made it unclear whether they were being played according to the soundtrack's running order. But it didn't really matter; whether it was a funereal organ intro or a lilting vibraphone melody, each piece was distinguished by a specific musical device of its own. The climax came about seven numbers in, as a galloping bass-and-drums groove set off a mighty explosion of synthesized sound, almost like the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey played at 150 beats-per-minute. As the floodlights swept crazily across the room, a giant Virgin Suicides logo, looking like an ominous cross between Big Brother and the Herbal Essence Shampoo label, glowered down from behind the band.

After three more pieces -- one featuring nearly unintelligible vocals from Falkner and guest singer Gordon Trucks -- drifted sweetly by, the band closed the set with "Talisman," one of the more cinematic tracks from Moon Safari, and "J'ai Dormi Sous L'Eau," a brooding cut from the Premiers Symptomes EP, before leaving the stage. Upon their return, Dunkel announced that he would like to introduce "a friend we met backstage -- Money Mark!" Grand Royal's resident keyboard whiz then took his place at a bank of synthesizers, and a spectacularly funky take on "La Femme D'Argent" ensued, powered by Martin's propulsive conga groove. As the song built to its final ecstatic crescendo, Dunckel and Kehew manned their keyboards like starship crewmen trying to keep their spacecraft aloft in a meteor storm.

And then it was all over; the band exited the stage for the final time, leaving the audience drained and thoroughly satisfied. Another Virgin Suicides performance was planned for this week's Sundance Festival, ensuring that Air will get plenty of promotional juice out of the project. But, as the American Legion Hall show proved, the film is damn lucky to be associated with Air.

DAN EPSTEIN
(January 25, 2000)