Futureproofing

At the age of 87 the singer Tony Bennett is about to release a new album - hence the interview with him on Radio 4 this morning. He made an interesting point about the record industry when he said it concentrates too much on a youthful audience with the consequence that much of its output is trivial and has no "lasting quality". This may amount to no more than the familiar argument that things are not as good as they used to be, but it does raise the question of what makes an enduring song. Time, of course, is the ultimate arbiter but when we find ourselves singing songs first heard as children are we singing them because they have an inherent lasting quality or is it because we are nostalgic?

And if Tony is right about record companies concentrating on a youthful market then it would seem that they are playing a losing hand in more ways than one. By all accounts the young are averse to paying money they don't possess for physical product they don't need, so why are companies trying to sell to a shrinking market? Have they lost their commercial nous in the same way that the once-successful HMV chain of record shops did when it failed to adapt to change? HMV could and should have turned its increasingly desperate, frantic shops into calm, comfortable lounges where legions of older, traditional collectors of records and CDs would gladly have spent their ample leisure time - and their considerable disposable incomes - in blissful disdain of downloadable mp3 files.

Yet, despite the failings of the distribution end of the record industry (and my relative ignorance of its contemporary output), I am sure that songs are being recorded today which will prove future-proof: there have always been artists creating melodies and lyrics which capture our sensibilities and implant themselves in our consciousness, like undercover agents waiting for the moment to re-emerge. As for songs, so with films: I saw two this week which seemed to chime with the argument.

The first, a film in French by director Jacques Demy, was The Umbrellas of Cherbourg whose charm and visual appeal still shine undiminished despite the years that have passed since it was released in 1964. Demy used the unique qualities of the medium of film to great effect: he created a hybrid - neither musical nor opera - in which all the dialogue is sung by the stylish characters and all the settings are exquisitely coloured, some of them in almost impossibly vivid tones. The result is a fantastical production but one rooted in reality by plausible - and universal - themes of love, sex, money and war, all of which are guaranteed to engage audiences regardless of time and place. And my enthusiasm was hardly diminished by the appearance of the young Catherine Deneuve as the heroine.

The other film, the just-released The Grand Budapest Hotel by director Wes Anderson, likewise demonstrates how well-suited film is to fascinating us with illusions and captivating our senses via its repertoire of colour and composition. With his quick dialogue, sharp editing and farcical treatment, Anderson approaches the story-telling differently but no less engagingly than Demy. His mastery of the medium is convincing and he is confident not only in his idiosyncratic treatment of the story but also in its power - as well he might be - for it is about those favourite themes; love, sex, money and war.

According to my theory, all this should ensure that his film will still be entrancing 50 years from now. For a second opinion, though, I could ask Tony: he's been around long enough to make a call.