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Cutting for Feeling: How J-Cuts, L-Cuts, and the Editor's Toolbox Shape Tension, Release, and Energy
The Cut Is the Smallest Unit of Feeling A cut is not punctuation. A cut is a decision about where the audience’s attention should go, what it should be told to expect, and how it should feel about what it just saw. Editors talk about pace, but pace is only the surface; the deeper craft is what kind of cut you reach for at any given frame. A J-cut and an L-cut sit one keystroke apart on the timeline, but they pull the viewer in opposite emotional directions. A match cut and a jump cut both leap across time, but one says connection and the other says unease. This is the editor’s toolbox — organised not by name, but by the feeling each tool produces. Tension and Anticipation: The J-Cut A J-cut is the cut that pulls you forward. The audio of the next scene begins before the picture has changed — a voice, a phone ringing, a distant traffic hum — so the viewer hears the future a beat before they see it. What it does: It plants a question. The brain registers “where is that sound coming from?” and leans into the cut. Why it builds tension: The viewer is no longer a passenger; they’re anticipating. By the time the picture lands, they’ve already half-arrived. Where you see it: Dialogue scenes that bleed into each other. A character speaking over a wide of the next location. Spielberg, Fincher, and most prestige TV editors live inside the J-cut. On a timeline, it makes the shape of a “J” — the audio extends back under the previous picture. Hence the name. Release and Easing Down: The L-Cut The L-cut is the mirror image and the opposite emotion. The picture cuts away, but the audio of the outgoing scene continues — a laugh, a piece of dialogue, a last note of score — hanging in the air over the new image. What it does: It lets a moment breathe past its visual end. Why it releases: Where the J-cut accelerates, the L-cut decelerates. It tells the audience: what you just heard still matters; carry it with you. Where you see it: End of a confrontation cutting to a quiet exterior. Last line of a goodbye continuing over a wide drive-away. Soderbergh leans on it constantly; so does almost every editor working in long-form drama. J and L are not opposites for the sake of theory — they are the editor’s accelerator and brake. Used in sequence, they create the rolling momentum that good dialogue scenes seem to have effortlessly. Energy and Shock: The Smash Cut A smash cut is the hard slam between two images or sound worlds that have no business sharing a frame boundary — quiet to loud, calm to chaos, still to motion. What it does: It denies the audience the easing transition the brain expects. Why it injects energy: Surprise is metabolised as adrenaline. The cut becomes the joke, the scare, or the punch. Where you see it: Edgar Wright’s comedy timing. Horror’s loud sting after a held silence. The wake-up cut in a thousand thrillers. The smash cut is the only cut where the absence of a sound transition is the entire point. If you bridge it with a J-cut, you’ve killed it. Suspense and Parallel Stakes: Cross-Cutting Cross-cutting — also called parallel editing — interlaces two or more locations happening at the same time. Two storylines, one timeline. What it does: It forces the audience to hold two stakes in their head at once and wait for them to collide. Why it builds suspense: Unresolved tension compounds. Every return to a thread without resolution increases the pressure. Where you see it: The baptism sequence in The Godfather. The final act of almost any heist film. Christopher Nolan’s entire career. The rhythm matters as much as the content. As the sequence climbs, the cuts come faster, the durations shorten, and the audio begins to bleed between threads — until cross-cut collapses into a single moment. Meaning and Connection: The Match Cut A match cut joins two shots by visual or conceptual rhyme — a shape, a movement, an object that carries from one frame into the next. Graphic match: Two shots share a composition. The bone tossed into the sky cutting to the orbiting satellite in 2001. A match cut between a sun and a face. Form does the work of words. Action match (or match on action): A movement starts in one shot and finishes in the next, hiding the cut inside the motion. This is the workhorse of invisible editing. Why it carries meaning: Match cuts feel inevitable. They imply that the two images are part of the same idea. Where you see it: Lawrence’s blown-out match to the rising desert sun. The training-to-fight transition in any boxing film. Used sparingly, it is the most quotable cut in cinema. Unease and Compressed Time: The Jump Cut A jump cut removes a chunk of time from inside a single continuous shot — the subject jumps forward without the camera moving. The eye registers a missing piece. What it does: It draws attention to the cut itself. Why it produces unease: Continuity editing trains the audience to forget the cut exists. The jump cut breaks that contract. Where you see it: Godard’s Breathless — the founding text. YouTube vlogs and TikTok have since made the jump cut native to a generation. Used deliberately, it signals anxiety, dissociation, urgency, or unreliable narration. The jump cut is the only entry in this toolbox whose power comes from looking wrong. Use it on purpose, never by accident. Time, Theme, and Argument: Montage Montage is the long-form cousin — a sequence of shots compressed into a single emotional or thematic statement. Two traditions worth knowing: Soviet montage (Eisenstein): Cuts collide to produce a third meaning the individual shots don’t contain. The Odessa Steps sequence is the standing example. Hollywood montage: Cuts accumulate to compress time and progress — the training montage, the falling-in-love montage, the city-waking-up montage. Less ideological, more narrative shorthand. Why it sustains energy: A montage is a sustained promise of forward motion. The viewer accepts that time is passing quickly and the story is gaining ground. Where you see it: Anywhere a film needs to move months in ninety seconds without losing the audience. Invisibility: Continuity Cutting The cuts you don’t notice are doing the most work. Continuity editing — the 180-degree rule, eyeline matches, action matches, shot/reverse-shot — is the grammar that makes everything else legible. What it does: It hides itself. Why it matters: Every expressive cut listed above only works because the audience has been trained, scene by scene, to trust the invisible ones. Break continuity without intent and you don’t get a stylistic effect; you get confusion. The best editors break the rules at exactly the moment the audience has stopped noticing them. The Cut You Don’t Make: Silence and the Held Shot A note on absence. Sometimes the most powerful editing decision is to not cut — to hold a shot past the audience’s expectation, or to let silence sit where music or dialogue would normally be. The held shot lets feeling settle into the viewer’s body. The held silence before a smash cut, a scream, or a reveal weaponises anticipation. Editing is not the act of cutting. Editing is the act of choosing where cuts belong and where they don’t. Putting the Toolbox to Work A scene rarely uses one of these tools at a time. A well-built sequence might J-cut into a confrontation, jump-cut inside it to signal a character unraveling, smash-cut out of it, and L-cut the silence over the next establishing wide. Each choice does specific emotional work. Each one tells the audience how to feel about the next frame before they’ve seen it. The cuts are not the craft — the reason behind each cut is the craft. Tension? Reach for a J-cut. Release? Reach for an L-cut. Energy? Smash cut, or cross-cut into collision. Meaning? Match cut. Unease? Jump cut. Time? Montage. Trust? Continuity. Always continuity. Editors who think this way stop “covering” the script and start scoring it. The timeline becomes an instrument; the cuts become the notes; and the audience — without ever knowing why — feels every one of them.
Music Supervision
Class of ’96: Rise of a Nation – African Music Meets South African Storytelling
Biblo.tv is proud to have been closely involved in the music landscape of Class of ’96: Rise of a Nation, the acclaimed South African sports documentary series that premiered on e.tv and eVOD and is currently streaming on Netflix. Class of ’96 revisits one of the most pivotal chapters in South African football history: Bafana Bafana’s 1996 Africa Cup of Nations victory and their subsequent qualification for the 1998 FIFA World Cup. It is not just a documentary about sport — it is a cinematic reflection on national pride, identity, and transformation. At the heart of this story is a deeply personal connection. The series was directed by John Barker, who brings both professional craft and familial insight to the project. Barker is the son of legendary coach Clive Barker, the man who led South Africa to its first major African football title in 1996. This story illustrates that there is strength in diversity, and that South Africa can be the greatest sporting nation in the world — if you keep politics out of it. This was Coach Clive Barker’s belief. The story takes on a deeper dimension when you consider that it was written and directed by his son: a monument to his father’s legacy, a decade in the making. John Barker has a well-established career in South African cinema, with work that has travelled to major international festivals. His earlier films include Bunny Chow, which screened at the Toronto International Film Festival, and The Umbrella Men, which reached global audiences and was widely recognised for its distinctive voice. His approach to Class of ’96 blends rigorous documentary storytelling with a strong cinematic sensibility, giving the series both emotional depth and narrative clarity. Alongside Barker, Robin Adams is credited as co-director on the series, helping to shape the narrative structure and visual logic of this expansive historical project. The series was produced by Known Associates Entertainment, guided by founders Joel Chikapa-Phiri and Tshepiso Chikapa-Phiri, whose strategic vision steered the project from development through to release. Their leadership ensured that Class of ’96 operated at the intersection of local cultural significance and global storytelling standards. Moroba Nkawe, CEO of Known Associates Entertainment, served as producer on the series, bringing strong creative oversight and production discipline to the project. Athos Kyriakides acted as Series Producer, drawing on more than two decades of experience in film and television. His work spans South African and international markets, including award-winning writing on the sci-fi series Room 9, as well as feature film projects such as Mandela’s Gun, which received festival recognition. Together, Nkawe and Kyriakides helped ensure that the series balanced historical detail, emotional resonance, and cinematic scale. From a music supervision perspective, Biblo.tv’s genre-spanning library was instrumental. Our catalogue spans cinematic and ambient textures alongside contemporary African genres — from amapiano, gqom, and hip-hop to electronic, jazz, and experimental music — giving the creative team instant access to underground African gems that felt both modern and culturally rooted. We facilitated nearly 40 unique sync licenses from gifted artists across the continent, ensuring that every musical moment served both story and authenticity. Class of ’96: Rise of a Nation is more than a sports documentary — it is a cultural testament, a legacy project, and a celebration of sound, story, and national identity. If you watch it, please give it a big thumbs up — it helps in the algorithm while we’re all dancing to the algo-rythm 🕺 Biblo.tv remains committed to connecting African artists with film, television, and advertising, ensuring that local sound travels globally without losing its edge, identity, or authenticity.
Loeries
Chicken Wars
Listen to this article Who will reign Chicken Supreme? Once a year, all of South Africa unites to celebrate the best use of chicken in advertising. Each year the greatest minds in the country converge to showcase their chicken campaigns, each hoping to reign supreme at the annual Chicken Wars! First there was Nando’s, who under the tutelage of Gordon Ray at M&C Saatchi Abel was guided to a Grand Prix at the Loeries for Print Communication in 2016, and again in 2018 for Print Communication. Gordon continued to crush it with yet another Grand Prix, this time in film with the “Afro-tising” campaign directed by Teboho Malope at Star Films. The advent of Joe Public’s work for Chicken Licken ushered in a new chapter in chicken advertising: Brand of the Year, year after year, like clockwork. The fact that Greg Gray of Romance Films won a Gold Loerie for them for three years in a row is nothing to sneer at. Leaving many people wondering, what is Greg Gray’s secret? When reached for comment, we were informed by his publicist that he’s out swimming. Ever enigmatic, this legendary team has forever carved their names in the annals of Chicken World History! But wait. This reporter was informed by a dirty little bird that there’s a new cock in town. The dirty bird himself: KFC. Since 2023, KFC’s been racking up numbers. First came “Anything for the Taste” — directed by Greg Gray, who scooped Gold in Film for Ogilvy SA. KFC also walked away with Integrated Campaigns, plus a Grand Prix for good measure. Next, in 2024, KFC upsized with Kim Geldenhuys’s cinematic epic “Beyond the Sea.” This kept the pressure up, and at the 2024 Loeries they won Gold for Ogilvy South Africa. Word on the street is that Bruno’s new KFC commercial is some kind of hit. Can Joe Public stand their ground with their latest spot directed by Peter Pohorsky? Will Nando’s suddenly appear from a bush like some sort of ninja and karate chop them in the neck? Only time will tell. Tensions have reached a boiling point as the country waits with bated breath. The question on everyone’s lips: Whose chicken will reign supreme in the 2025 CHICKEN WARS! Written by an intern
Electronic Music
The Slow Death of Electronic Music
by Markus Wormstrom Listen to this article In 2022, I was asked to write the music for the Star Wars short film Aau’s Song. I had nine months to compose it, which is a long time. I write a lot of music for advertising, so I’m used to unrealistic short deadlines. I started composing confident that I would create a beautiful, well-crafted piece of music. But after our first review with Lucas films, seven months later, it was clear that I had shat the bed. My rare optimism bias was replaced with my familiar imposter syndrome, and I was convinced I would be taken off the film. This would not only be a financial disaster, as I’d turned down other projects, but would no doubt also be a blow to my, so-called, reputation. Being taken off a project is always possible in my line of work. Take the Icelandic film composer Jóhann Jóhannsson, for instance. He worked with director Denis Villeneuve on early films, writing the original soundtrack for the films Prisoners (2013), Sicario (2015) and Arrival (2016). But it was taken off Villeneuve’s most significant project at the time, Blade Runner 2049. In September 2017, Villeneuve told Screenrant that “Jóhann Jóhannsson is one of my favourite composers alive today. But the movie needed something different, and I needed to go back to something closer to Vangelis. Johan and I decided that I would need to go in another direction—that’s what I will say. I hope I have the chance to work with him again because I think he’s really a fantastic composer.” Jóhannsson died of a drug overdose less than four months after that quote was given. He died alone in a hotel room in Berlin. I haven’t heard anyone else make this connection, though it was so painfully obvious to me. Being taken off a film as a composer is always a real threat with real consequences. I went into a slump and started asking myself why I ever got into this business. I traced the source of my fascination back to one specific afternoon. Anyone who grew up in the 80s with an appreciation for electronic music has a ‘the first time I heard Aphex Twin’ story. Mine was in my cousin’s room, tripping on mushrooms, listening to the latest Nine Inch Nails release, Further Down The Spiral (1995). This was Aphex Twin’s first US exposure. For those who don’t speak nerd, this means that the guy who scored Gone Girl introduced North America to the experimental electronic music that had begun to develop in the UK in the early 90s. Experimental electronic music, when combined with psychedelics, evokes synesthesia but more than colors; it’s environments where sounds have haptic qualities. The song is called At The Heart Of It All, and it’s like a train made of knives scraping through your brain. I had never heard anything like it. It was slow and dramatic, like the Ravel my father used to play. It is more akin to Prokofiev than industrial music, which is what we were into at the time. Our music was so aggressive back then, but this had another feeling altogether. My cousins and I stayed across from a park where we spent most of our adolescence. We’d go there most afternoons to ‘walk the dogs,’ which was code for smoking pot and listening to music on a boombox. We were bugging out on this mysterious artist Aphex Twin but could find very little info on him. This was the 90s, Hammer Time, and finding CDs of an obscure artist was no easy feat. Thankfully, we had a wealthy friend who, on a trip to New York, brought back tons of Aphex Twin and some similar artists, Autechre. He brought back a ton of information, too. Aphex Twin’s real name was Richard D. James. His bio is filled with many strange half-truths disseminated to further the mystery around him. He was first compared to Mozart in 1994 by Mojo magazine, and its comparison has stayed with him throughout his career. Despite his strange nature and obvious disdain for any limelight, Aphex Twin is a near archetypal figure at the heart of all electronic music. His synth collection is legendary, and so is his drum machine programming and step sequencing. His genius, apart from his natural talent for melody and counterpoint, is his syncopation and rhythm. It can’t be matched precisely because he uses old gear that’s very hard to come by. Autechre, his early 90s contemporaries, is an electronic duo from Manchester, Booth, and Brown. Like Richard, they were pioneers of this new experimental sound through the late 80’s and 90’s but seemed to achieve unanimity with more success than Richard. In that scene, it was never about the artist but rather the music. It was about programming and making machines make sounds never heard before. Someone coined the term IDM, short for Intelligent Dance Music, which everyone hates. I much prefer the umbrella term experimental electronic music. These early pioneers were technically gifted; they were programmers. Everyone was obsessed with how they, Autechre specifically, generated their sound, as it was a complete mystery to anyone who heard it. There were entire websites and messageboards dedicated to these questions. Some interviews can still be found online. To this day, my favourite Autechre album is Chiastic Slide (1997). It has complex and exciting rhythms in uncommon time signatures. Their sound is haptic; the drums sound like pistons, propellers, and jet engines. It stands the test of time; their unique approach is still unmatched by modern electronic music. This is perhaps because it was programmed on an Atari sequencer, triggering external analog synthesizers. These old analog synthesizers sound so good because it’s the sound of pure electricity. The waveform isn’t generated digitally but rather flows through a circuit board in a similar way as water. It’s not the most sophisticated comparison, I know, but it holds true. The sound produced by a speaker is shaped by electricity. The oscillator generates a waveform, either sine or square, etc. The current moves through the system, further manipulated by effects that filter or perhaps duplicate it in an endless array of options. This electric current then flows out the output and into a speaker, where it manipulates the magnetic field of a magnet, which in turn vibrates the speaker cone, thereby transmitting the shape of the electricity into the air in front of the speaker cone. This moves the air in a room, as well as our eardrums, and the next thing you know, you’re dancing. Once a sound is digitized, however, that’s to say, recorded onto a computer, the sound is converted into data, 1 and 0’s. If you zoom into a sound file on a computer closely enough, you will see little, square blocks or bits. These represent the digital information of a sound. So when the electricity flows from a computer, there are tiny, imperceivable, jagged movements in the speaker cone producing the sound. Whereas analog is different. There are no bits, just the natural flow of electricity as pure and real as a bird song. Techno heads are real Puritans when it comes to this sort of thing. Sometimes, their music is never digitized. They record their analog sequences on reel-to-reel tape machines from the 70’s and send it to the vinyl press without digitizing the signal. The reason for this is the purity. Autechre and Aphex Twin have both continued to release music thirty years later; they are cemented into the collective culture, forever synonymous with the advent of experimental electronic music. But I personally feel that Autechre has plateaued since then; their generated algorithmic and microtonal compositions seem devoid of personality. It’s a bit much and hard to listen to. I should be clear that I am a massive Autechre fan, and I’d go so far as to say that their song Rae, released on LP5 (1998) is the greatest electronic composition in history. A pretty big statement, I know, but let me elaborate. First, Autechre isn’t known for its melodies and counterpoint, but in LP, it displays a surprisingly deep knowledge of chord development. Rae, the 3rd song on the first of their unnamed EPs (only known as LP5), starts with a bang, which is mature as many lesser electronic composers tend to want to build a song over time. It begins fully formed, then slowly dissolves over the 5 minutes. Listening to it now, 25 years later, I have no idea how the drums were programmed or perhaps generated by an algorithm. The sound is bold and upbeat, but after 2 minutes, it begins to disintegrate. The tempo starts to change, which is usually a cardinal sin in electronic music, and then something very interesting happens as it slows down its shifts from a classic 4/4 signature into a triplet. The song becomes deeply emotive with a soothing synth line that always seems to me to say “toe maar,” an Afrikaans phrase you’d say to a child, something akin to “it’s all going to be ok.” This probably reveals something about me and why I was drawn to electronics as an adolescent. I only mention my connection to this song to illustrate that it’s hard for me to say that, in my opinion, Autechre has plateaued creatively since then despite the cutting-edge tools at its disposal. So why is it that Aphex Twin has remained relevant and not them? The answer is simple: analog gear. Aphex remained focused on analog synthesis to a point where his interactions with these machines seemed unnatural; he’s like an athlete, a sort of aural cyborg. The Mozart of our generation. I sat down with a well-known producer friend of mine to chat about his vintage gear. He asked to remain anonymous under threat that someone will steal his stuff. He’s one of South Africa’s leading musical exports whose music has millions of listeners across the planet. But I didnt reach out to him to talk about his music; rather, I wanted to talk about something that only a few people know. He is also one of the most prolific gear hoarders in the world. When I first met him, he was a downhill skater, winning many competitions. He is a bit younger than me, and when he told me he would be a rapper, I treated him with some skeptical remarks. Fifteen years later, there’s egg on my face, as he’s killing it. “It all started,” he says, passing a cup of matcha,” when I found this old Jupiter 8 in a guy’s garage. I knew it was something special, but I did not realize what it would lead to.” A Jupiter 8 was first released in 1981 and recently became famous when it was featured throughout the Stranger Things soundtrack. We’re chilling in his Houtbay flat, a town near Cape Town, talking music and gear. “3 months later, someone offered me 2 times what I paid for it.” He laughs. “Every year, someone offers me more for it. Someone recently offered me 6 times what I paid for it.” That’s what we’re talking about, the way that old synthesizers appreciate in value; the older they are, the more valuable they become. But he uses it in all his productions and has no plan to sell it. Isn’t this just the very definition of an appreciating asset? Asset being the key word here; something that generates income while growing in value. His collection grew over the years, filling his first studio, which was still in his parent’s basement. He recently moved it all to another, much more secure underground location. The issue, of course, is maintaining these old machines. He once found a sought-after Lexicon reverb unit in a dusty garage. He repaired it by replacing its CPU with a 2 megahertz chip he dug out of an old 80’s game machine. “The real issue is vacuum tubes. No one produces them anymore; if someone did, it would have to be in mass.” But he tells me he has hoarded enough of them to last two generations. Our conversation drifts to why people are so obsessed with old machines and microphones; he thinks it’s nostalgia. The Roland 909 drum machine is the holy grail for some producers trying to capture an ‘authentic’ old-school sound. But when it was taken to market in the early 80’s, it was considered a flop and not well respected. But it was cheap and was used on all early hip-hop tracks. So now, despite the early sentiment, it now evokes nostalgia, and its value has increased over time. Perhaps this is where Jóhann Jóhannsson went wrong while composing the score for Villeneuve’s Blade Runner. Maybe he was trying to create something new, not as close enough to the original 1982 film score. Afterall, Villeneuve said, “I needed to go back to something closer to Vangelis.” Vangelis, the legendary cinematic composer, famously used the CS-80 synthesizer for the original Blade Runner soundtrack. Hans Zimmer used a CS-80 when he took over composition for Blade Runner 2049. Perhaps it never occurred to Jóhann that the instrument is sometimes more valuable than the artist. I went into a spin after that first review with Lucas films. Then my wife, generally an anxious person but who always keeps a cool head in a crisis, reminded me that it was just a review and that my head was playing tricks on me again. She was right; I figured it out. In the end, our episode was rated number 1 by Screen Rant for that season. They even commented on the music, saying, “The music and sound design are breathtaking, seamlessly blending with the animation to create the episode’s atmosphere.” So I got to see another day. The solution to what my Star Wars film was missing is surprising. I initially saved no expense. I recorded the Cape Town Youth Choir in St. Mary’s Cathedral on twenty-two microphones and worked with the modern sound manipulator tool called Reformer to transform the choir’s voices into crystal shards and, so doing, create Kyber crystal’s theme, but that wasn’t enough. In the end, it wasn’t any of the modern tools at my disposal that did the job, but rather an old dusty synth, half-forgotten on a shelf in the back of my house. The Roland SH1000 was released in 1972. It is the first mobile synth. It is monophonic, which means you can press one note at a time, and has a single oscillator, as opposed to a modern synth like the Virus, which has 1800 oscillators. An oscillator is the part of a synthesizer that generates the initial electric signal that flows through the system’s components like effects and filters, etc. When we started working with the synth, the film suddenly came alive, and the texture that the directors were after appeared almost effortlessly. It felt like cheating in comparison to what we had; playing this instrument live through analog effects added a depth I couldn’t achieve otherwise. I guess I was just lucky to have the right synth laying around. Growing up poor, I never had the luxury of hoarding gear. I always focused on the tools at my disposal. I felt that hours and craft make art. I felt everyone’s fascination with old analog machines was nostalgia. But, this experience changed me, and I have a much deeper appreciation for analog synthesis. It feels to me that we have not furthered the technology much in fifty years. There has been a lot of development, sure, but has it gotten better? If it has, then why do we fixate on these old machines? Are we simply longing for a simpler time, or has the technology plateaued?
Origin
The Biblo.tv origin story
Physically Digital Biblo.tv’s story began a long long time ago, in the year 2010. Back then, advertising agencies still briefed musicians in person, if you can believe that! At those meetings, Markus would try pedal Biblo.tv CDs to creatives and producers as a side hustle. The CD featured music from other bedroom producers. The idea was to get some money to his friends while cementing his reputation as a one-stop shop for everything music. One of the first Biblo.tv marketing memes Markus Wormstrom expands the bedroom boundary Markus Wormstorm is a known composer / bedroom producer who has won several major awards, including ASIFA-Hollywood’s Annie Award, the Annecy Special Distinction Award, and the SAFTA Award for Best Original Score. Biblo began as his side hustle but over the years has grown into a complimentary force in his creative output, allowing him to score films, games, commercials and series with unparalleled efficiency. The first incarnation of the site launched in 2012. It used a humble search engine, with a unique design that led clients to unknown artists and let them license their music with a click of a button. By 2015, Biblo had grown into a network of more than a hundred artists from across Africa and beyond. This site was slicker , featured voice artists and could handle more downloads. Biblo got a new look in 2015 - with the help of design legend Si Maclennan and dev house Codeswop. Biblo.tv began to function as a record label putting out compilation albums or record. These limited run compilations are in high demand, featuring the hottest musical talent from Cape Town, New York and across Africa. The first and second releases of the Friends with Benefits vinyl release series Over the years, Biblo went from strength to strength and was voted one of the top music houses in South Africa in 2019, boosted by Biblo artist Grant Sissons’s win that year. In 2025 Biblo teamed up with Malvah.co and Codeswop to launch the latest version of the platform. The new interface makes it easy to share playlists, and the AI-driven search takes you straight to the track you need. Biblo.tv now features 10 000 hours of music and we have stems for all of it. Click on any playlist below to test-drive the new Biblo.tv.
Film
Honouring an Icon
In 2018, Philips and the Nelson Mandela Foundation marked Mandela’s centenary with #ShaveToRemember—a public invitation to wear his iconic side-part haircut and share his words. Sales of the shavers helped fund the Foundation’s work. Director Kim Geldenhuys and producer Jo Barber (03:07) led the hero film for Ogilvy Johannesburg, capturing South Africans getting the cut and reciting quotes that still carry weight. Watch the film here: Biblo.tv’s role was the score. The track anchoring the film is “Man on the Hill” by Biblo artist Grant Sissons (aka Kidwithamatch). The brief was simple: leave space for voice and performance, keep the cue steady, and let the message lead. Our supervision approach paired the cut with writing that supports, not competes. At first there was some confusion between Kim and Markus—Kim assumed Markus had personally composed the music. That opened the door for Markus to explain Biblo: a curated network and supervision service that connects directors and agencies to the finest composers across Africa. The best option for their budget was a library track from the Biblo catalogue, supervised by Markus. Commercial Director Kim Geldenhuys Crucially, although it was a library selection, Biblo delivered full stems—and we do this for every track in our catalogue. Having drums, bass, melody, pads, and FX on separate stems meant the team could mix around dialogue, reshape dynamics for the cut, and build alternate durations without compromising the feel. Once the model was clear—Kim and Jo focused on picture; Biblo focused on music and deliverables—the collaboration clicked. #ShaveToRemember picked up international and regional recognition, including a D&AD Pencil and multiple Loeries, with Gold for Music (2019) affirming the craft choices across composition, edit, and mix. For Biblo, the project demonstrated how our approach scales on high-visibility work with lean timelines: bring us a tight cut and a clear intention; we’ll bring the right composer or catalogue track—always with stems—and a delivery that serves the story and clears cleanly. Core credits Client: Philips × Nelson Mandela Foundation Agency: Ogilvy Johannesburg Director: Kim Geldenhuys (03:07) Producer: Jo Barber Music: “Man on the Hill” — Grant Sissons / Kidwithamatch Music supervision & production: Biblo.tv (Markus Wormstorm, executive supervision) If you worked on #ShaveToRemember—Kim, Jo, the Ogilvy JHB team—thank you for bringing Biblo in. And to the Nelson Mandela Foundation and Philips teams: we’re proud to have contributed to a campaign that pointed attention and funds toward ongoing work in Mandela’s name.
Film
The Art of Authenticity: How Robert Eggers Uses Props and Sets to Transport Audiences
The Power of Authenticity: Robert Eggers’ Immersive Worlds Robert Eggers has carved a distinctive niche in contemporary cinema through his unwavering commitment to historical authenticity. His films—The Witch, The Lighthouse, and The Northman—are renowned for their meticulously crafted props and sets, which transport audiences to bygone eras. Collaborating closely with production designer Craig Lathrop, Eggers creates immersive worlds that ground even the most fantastical elements in tangible reality. This blog post delves into how his dedication to authenticity elevates storytelling. How accurate is ‘The Northman’ to Viking history? Well, it’s a Robert Eggers film. The Witch (2015): Crafting 17th-Century New England In The Witch, Eggers and Lathrop reconstructed a 17th-century Puritan homestead with remarkable precision. Traditional building techniques and period-appropriate materials—such as hand-hewn timber and thatched roofs—were employed to ensure historical accuracy. The team consulted experts and museum resources to recreate every detail, from the farmhouse to the surrounding wilderness. Props like tools, furniture, and clothing were crafted to mirror those of the time, resulting in a setting that feels both authentic and deeply atmospheric. This attention to detail grounds the film’s supernatural elements in a believable reality, making the horror all the more unsettling. The Witch) The Lighthouse (2019): Building Isolation For The Lighthouse, Eggers faced the challenge of depicting the desolate life of 19th-century lighthouse keepers. Unable to find a suitable existing structure, the team constructed a 70-foot lighthouse and keeper’s cottage on Cape Forchu in Nova Scotia. The design drew from architectural blueprints and photographs of the period, ensuring structural accuracy. Inside, the sets were filled with era-specific props, including oil lamps, nautical instruments, and period-accurate furnishings. These details contributed to the film’s claustrophobic atmosphere, immersing viewers in the characters’ isolated and increasingly unstable world. Step Inside Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson’s Creepy New Movie The Northman (2022): A Viking Epic Realized In The Northman, Eggers expanded his scope to the 10th-century Viking world. The production team built entire villages using traditional methods, such as turf-roofed longhouses and wooden palisades, based on archaeological findings. Props like weapons, tools, and household items were crafted to match historical artifacts, with attention to materials and construction techniques. Costumes were made from authentic fabrics like wool and linen, dyed with natural substances to achieve period-appropriate colors. Filming in Iceland and Ireland further enhanced the film’s authenticity, as the untouched landscapes mirrored the rugged terrain of the Viking Age. The True story behind Northman Alexander Skarsgård on the Brutal Production of The Northman: “I Love That Shit” The Impact on Storytelling Eggers’ dedication to authentic prop and set design does more than create visually stunning films—it enhances storytelling by immersing audiences in the characters’ environments. The tangible realism of the settings allows viewers to suspend disbelief, making the narratives more impactful. This approach demonstrates how meticulous production design can serve as a powerful storytelling tool, providing context and depth to the narrative. At Biblo.tv, we recognize the importance of such authenticity in storytelling. Our platform offers a curated selection of music and soundscapes that complement and enhance the immersive worlds filmmakers like Eggers create. By providing access to culturally rich and period-appropriate audio resources, we aim to support directors and production teams in crafting compelling, authentic narratives. In an industry increasingly reliant on digital effects and virtual sets, Robert Eggers’ commitment to traditional craftsmanship in prop and set design stands out. His films serve as a testament to the power of authenticity in storytelling, reminding us that meticulous attention to detail can transport audiences across time and space. Whether through the eerie homestead of The Witch, the oppressive isolation of The Lighthouse, or the brutal grandeur of The Northman, Eggers’ work invites viewers to step into history—and feel it come alive.
Advertising
Why the Cannes Lions' New Humour Category Is a Big Deal in the Age of AI
The Power of Laughter: Human Creativity in the Spotlight In 2024, the Cannes Lions International Festival of Creativity introduced a new Humour category to its awards lineup, marking a significant shift in the advertising industry’s recognition of comedic creativity. This addition underscores the enduring value of humor in advertising, especially in an era increasingly dominated by artificial intelligence (AI). Why Humor—and Why Now? The Humour category was established to celebrate work that uses wit and satire to provide amusement and create memorable, laughter-inducing connections with audiences. This move reflects a broader industry acknowledgment that, while AI excels in data processing and pattern recognition, it struggles to replicate the nuanced creativity inherent in humor. (Cannes Lions introduces humour category to awards - Campaign US, Cannes Lions looks to laughter as ad industry feels threat of AI) A Strong First Showing In its inaugural year, the Humour category attracted 798 submissions, accounting for 5% of all entries within the eligible Lions. This response indicates a growing appreciation for humor’s role in effective advertising and a desire to balance the recent trend of purpose-driven campaigns with content that entertains and engages audiences on a human level. (Cannes Lions entries drop slightly as new humour category attracts …, Cannes Lions looks to laughter as ad industry feels threat of AI) What AI Still Can’t Do The category was perhaps introduced to highlight the limitations of AI. Here me out; While AI can generate jokes based on existing data, it lacks the human touch required to true humour that will resonates with diverse audiences. This distinction emphasizes the role of human creativity in areas where emotional intelligence and cultural nuance are paramount. (Cannes Lions looks to laughter as ad industry feels threat of AI) Parallels with Music and Creative Expression Music, much like humor, thrives on a balance between familiarity and innovation. Popular songs often utilize common chord progressions, but it’s the unexpected twists—a unique chord change or an unconventional rhythm—that captivate listeners. AI can analyze and reproduce existing musical patterns, but it struggles to introduce the kind of creative deviations that make a piece truly memorable. The Enduring Role of Human Creativity So, the Cannes Lions’ addition of a Humour category serves as a testament to the enduring power of human creativity in advertising. It reinforces the idea that, despite technological advancements, the ability to evoke genuine laughter and connection remains a uniquely human trait.
Reality Tv
Die Brug: South Africa’s Emmy-Nominated Reality TV Show
South Africa’s television industry has recently garnered international acclaim with the reality show Die Brug (The Bridge), which has been nominated for an International Emmy Award in the Best Non-Scripted Entertainment category. This nomination not only highlights the show’s unique format and storytelling but also underscores the growing global recognition of South African productions. Die Brug, produced by Red Pepper Pictures and aired on kykNET, brings together twelve strangers tasked with constructing a bridge to an island where a cash prize awaits. The challenge tests their physical and mental endurance, as well as their ability to collaborate under pressure. The show’s format, which combines elements of adventure and strategy, has resonated with audiences, contributing to its critical success. The International Emmy nomination is a significant milestone for South African television. The awards, which recognize excellence in television produced outside the United States, have acknowledged Die Brug alongside other notable international programs. This recognition places South African content on a global platform, showcasing the country’s talent and storytelling capabilities. The success of Die Brug reflects a broader trend of South African productions gaining international attention. The show’s nomination is a testament to the quality and creativity of local content creators, encouraging further investment and interest in the South African television industry. As the industry continues to evolve, Die Brug serves as an example of how South African television can compete on the world stage, offering unique narratives that resonate with diverse audiences. The show’s recognition by the International Academy of Television Arts & Sciences is a proud moment for South African media and a promising indicator of future successes.
Film
Kim Geldenhuys: A Case Study on His Directorial Style and the Role of Music in His Films
Kim Geldenhuys: The Master of Visual Poetry and Musical Narratives Kim Geldenhuys is a name synonymous with evocative storytelling, visual elegance, and emotional depth. As one of the most celebrated directors in the world of commercials and short-form storytelling, his ability to weave music seamlessly into his narratives sets him apart. This case study delves into Geldenhuys’ distinctive style as a director, focusing particularly on his meticulous choice of music and how it elevates his work. The Kim Geldenhuys Style: Cinematic Storytelling in Miniature Geldenhuys’ work is marked by a meticulous attention to detail, profound emotional resonance, and a knack for telling stories that feel universal yet deeply personal. His commercials often blur the line between advertising and art, transforming brand narratives into moments of human connection. Visual Poetics: Geldenhuys employs striking, almost cinematic visuals that captivate audiences. Whether it’s a sweeping landscape or a close-up of raw emotion, his imagery often feels like a moving painting. Emotional Weight: His stories frequently tackle themes of love, loss, perseverance, and identity. Music plays a pivotal role in reinforcing these emotions, guiding viewers through the narrative arc. Music as a Character in Geldenhuys’ Work For Kim Geldenhuys, music is not merely a backdrop—it’s a character that interacts with the visuals and the story. He often collaborates with composers and sound designers to ensure every note serves the narrative. Mood and Emotion: Geldenhuys has a gift for selecting music that complements the tone of his work. A melancholic piano piece may underscore a moment of introspection, while an upbeat rhythm can inject energy into an otherwise subdued scene. Layering Sound: In many of his commercials, music is layered with natural soundscapes to create a sense of place. This approach makes his work feel immersive and grounded, even when the visuals lean toward the surreal. Case Study: The Power of Music in His Commercials Santam Insurance – “The Real McCoy” In this commercial, Geldenhuys tells a story of authenticity and trust, using music to evoke a sense of nostalgia and reliability. The subtle orchestral score mirrors the campaign’s theme, creating an emotional connection with viewers. Why It Works: The music doesn’t overshadow the narrative but gently amplifies the brand’s message, ensuring it resonates with audiences. Vodacom – “The World’s Shortest Ad” This playful ad highlights Geldenhuys’ ability to use music rhythmically. The fast-paced score mirrors the comedic timing, enhancing the humor and energy of the piece. Why It Works: The music acts as the pulse of the edit, driving the tempo and ensuring each moment lands perfectly. Geldenhuys’ Philosophy on Music In interviews, Kim Geldenhuys often emphasizes the importance of intuition in his music choices. He believes that music should feel organic, arising naturally from the story rather than being imposed upon it. This philosophy ensures his work remains authentic and emotionally impactful. Conclusion: A Director in Harmony with His Craft Kim Geldenhuys is a master at creating emotional resonance through his visuals and music. His work reminds us of the power of sound to shape narratives, evoke emotions, and connect with audiences on a deeper level. By treating music as a vital element rather than an afterthought, Geldenhuys continues to set a gold standard for directors in both the commercial and cinematic worlds. If you’re inspired by Kim Geldenhuys’ approach to storytelling and music, explore more of his work—you’re sure to discover a rich tapestry of art, sound, and humanity.
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