Thursday, October 18, 2007

Csardistic goodbye

I don't watch much footie games anymore -none in all fairness- , but I do love to hear underdogged countries beating established national teams, especially idf it's east against west. Such as last week; Russia beating Engand so that the ever arrogant lions might be cut out of the cup. Then Romania - Holland 1-0 to the Romanians, yay. Most dutch people always expect their team to win as if it's business as usual and therefore I'm happy for the Romanian people they got something to cheer about. Let's hope they'll fare well at the euro cup, better than the western euro teams, hah. In Honour to Romania (errr and partly Hungary) some csarda and szokos songs, nearly all by a multiple array of violins only, bar a cimbalum in the Taraf de Haidouks song.






Day before yesterday, an interesting conversation with a certain Kees, who knew a lot about the early start of immigrant integration in the early 70's and the then government's stance to it which he could explain to me by his own experiences. In those days, it was a very socialist government, so the dutch like to say and believe. Guess again. In some cities, developers built new *cheap* flats that the immigrant workers could buy through the government. Instead of selling them at the the low cost that the flats were worth, they were sold for the double amount and immigrants not knowing about the price-quality value, got suckered into buying them. Those flats are now in quite a bad state compared to other builings built during that period. Yeah sociaist government. I reckon for the builders it was all well and socialist. Even in Holland, socialism and moneygrabbing go and in hand;

Oh and then the upcoming law against the mushroom, which will make it illegal to sell fresh schrooms soon enough. Even liberal liberties are not free anymore nowadays. Thanks to all the shithead drugtourists that cause unhealthy usage in Amsterdam as some novice junkies feel mushrooms should always be used together with alcohol, pills or cocaine so they can occasionally die when jumping off a builing or in front on tra,s. No, surely mushrooms on their own are not enlighting enough to them. Idiots.
Back to the forests to forage it is then. Yipee kayee. In support to friends who hopefully can keep the mushrooms safe from this politcal witch hunt, I hope that they can win their battle in the next 6 months when I'm gone. See Paddoverbod Nee!

And so it comes to this, the last post on old style rabbit for a while. I'll be in India for the next 6 months, leaving in a few days.

But but but, I'll blog elsewhere on the newly created India blog; Ek, do, tin, accha! 1,2,3, ok! in hindi ;)
http://ek-do-tin-accha.blogspot.com/

Ok, bye for a while, see you at ek do tin!

Friday, October 12, 2007

Smoking frogs forget to explode

Little one from the temporary hiding place.

Mum has a new album, which I'm told is sweetly bizarre and special. Some will throw it into the pile of generic freakfolk or shape it in whatever categorised name but Mum have always had their own fair share of unique sounds that can be described as heartwarming icelandic snowcaps.
Put it any way that you like it, as normal analogies fail with the best.

I've only heard/seen the song They Made Frogs Smoke 'til They Exploded and I like it. Kiddie voices, fluffy beats, clinging melodies, it's all there to tickle the fantasy and innocent nostalgia. See the clip below and draw yourself a picture......

Ok, off to busy bee practices of running around and arranging stuff.

Monday, October 01, 2007

Male, 27, seeks closure to commute to freedom

It's been a while.

To speak with the Ladysmith':

*Homeless, homeless
Moonlight sleeping on a midnight lake
Homeless, homeless*

Since today I am out on the streets, officialy. and by my own signature. The stone heavy responsibility has fallen of me with its shackles cut.

Not much to say except that in about three weeks I'm on my way to India for 6 months. So it seems. With various projects in mind, so it hopes. With numerous vague possibilities ahead, so it relishes. Still lots to arrange, plan and improvise. Surely that's enough work for a 9 to 5 day job for the next few weeks. yay. But at least the boss doing the thinking upstairs is capable of doing, so one believes. Shackled to my own body and inerd processes that is.

Jessica Baillif's set saturday at the ambient festival in the Kikker theatre was deeply serene and shoegazer-polishing beautiful. check out song below.

Here some great songs, raps and instrumentals that I have been enjoying over the last year, yet never shared up till now. taste!

Jessica Baillif - Shadow (album to be found at the friendly good people of Morc Tapes label!)
Bird to Be - Shallow (in its lo-fi glory. chirpy birds sing nice songs)
Sandro Perri - Circles (from 'Sandro Perri plays Polmo Polpo' EP at Constellation)
Haruki - In The Garden (to get for free at the Rain Music weblabel. go forth and check)

Tsegue-Maryam Guebrou - Tenkou! Why Feel Sorry? (Ethiopiques#21, piano africadirium!)
Artur Adriano - Kalunga (1960's angola) (off some 4 disc compilation that has a 50 yoyo tag)

Bleubird - Blackhawk Down feat. Sole (from the album RIP USA/The Birdfleu on Endemik recs.)

Wooden Wand - Vengence, Part2 (off Harem of the Sundrum & the Witness Figg, is it doomblues, freakfolk, rock? just Wooden Wand)

nighty night.

In the next weeks till country kick-out I'll beep here from time to time with a letter or two, but always failing promises, promiscuously.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Bony kings and queens in improvised handwriting

And alas my loves, so the weekend surpasses its own current of constant backtracking on train tracks. From the Brabandian fields surrounding Eindhoven to the metropolitan bustle of Brussels, guided by warm wings :)

In a tucked away village field, the Broermoats festival took place from friday till saturday with a lineup of allsorts alternative music, put together by spiderthreadmaster Maarten, or better know under his nom de plume Flip met de hoed.
You could camp there and the idea was basicly to put your tent anywhere around the stages. Courtesy of free relocation and temporary bed placement. I was asked to put on some music inbetween some acts in the chillout area and with pillows aplenty, well, it easily turned into nest of comfyness as I pressed play buttons in relax mode while lying down of soft textures. Certainly way more enjoyable that way, dj-ing (or the attempt to) should always be that simple and lazy.
Saw some various electro and improv-like acts, having bits and bobs of food, watching visuals from a couch. Dead easy relaxed so the evening went and turned into night. The guys had made a shack into a cosy and arty lighted mini club, with the dj booth crafted like a cage. Me and Hank Long were locked into there from midnight till the bright morning, playing mashy stews of electro, rock, techno, jungle, computergame scores, hiphop, breakcore and world beats... you can play a lot in, say, 8 hours pfeww. Getting woken up by a soft daze of hazy saxphone and dubby sounds was a sleepy eyed pleasure. The festival picked up its pace at lunchtime and Benjamin's friendly Utrecht band Moi, Le Voisin did their folky set which was a bit too short, pity. Though I got real sunny and nice, we soon afterwards left the festival since we planned to go to Brussels, homestead of the bird. Together with the voisins on their way back to Utrecht for videoclip privilages, we got a lift by tractor on our way out.The last view was seeing some mad raver fella falling into one of the watery irrigation ditches. fun fun. The festival was great, such relaxed atmosphere, nice people, good music, booze n food. Plus all very well organised in a sincerely enjoyable amateuristic way. Oh, and the voisins running with their cello, accordeon and guitar was a fun sight to see.

The road to Brussels was all about lying down in the sun, whether in trains or on green pastures.
It was quite a while ago that I had been in Brussels and in the sun it all looked so different, hence I've mostly been there when it was raining. Me as the turtle, Ness as the snail, both shaped like backpacked animals. It's an analogy that made the burdened walk more funny.
Brussels has a lot of free festivals, there's always one of more going on it seems. The Klinkende Munt festival took place in the Beursschouwburg theatre with Jeremy Warmsley (UK) and Gary Lucas (USA) on the bill. Jeremy Warmsley was described as a songwriting Aphex Twin or Arcade Fire in a box. Kinda odd and you wonder why this spin is given to him, as to us, he sounded more like a Rufus Wainwright or Andrew Bird in younger years. The pianoplayer was the most entertaining character on stage. Not that he did so much, except just being the token eccentric type who performed like a skilled madman. Fun for the eyes and ears. Breaktime meant time for stairsitting with belgo beer at hand. It's always a bonus. It's funny to bump into someone you know in a place you've never been before, so it goes. After that gitarist Gary Lucas came on, famous from his escapades within the mighty Magic Band of the ole' Captain Beefheart that we treasure so dearly. He played improv guitar noise over classic cult horror movies. Fun for the eyes, fun for the ears. Next day we lazied around markets, parks and city views in a sunday manner. And ofcourse, another free festival, the Plazey festival in the open air surroundings of a park. We especially came for The Bony King of Nowhere, a young folky revelation from Gent, spearheaded by the 20 year old Bram van Parijs. Ness told me that Devendra Banhart praised this fella highly and since they played the Domino festival they are quickly rising to fame. Even without a proper album. Reason enough to catch them and yup, it was good. Good enough to put up some unreleased tracks here, taken from the Alas My Love demo ep that Bram was selling out of a shoebox. Earnest indeed. :)

The Bony King of Nowhere - Alas My Love
The Bony KIng of Nowhere - Jack Tar

We saw some other band playing, Donkey Diesel, though the rain and our hunger took the attention span off the stage. An Pierle was supposed to play after, but not to be seen as I had to get my train back to the rainy hollandonian landscapes. But soon to return to La Belgique, yay! Actually every weekend up to the beginning of August will be spend in the homelands, as there are just too many good festivals, gigs and sweet people to visit. One can't deny the roots under that joyfull suspicion.

this coming weekend.....Dour! starting thursday...Wu Tang Clan, Skatalites, Israel Vibration, Amon Tobin, Wilco, Les Ogres de Barback, A Hawk and a Hacksaw and whatnot... fun will continue! And perhaps Animal Collective too, playing in the open air next to a Brusselian railway station? Or the option of a monday evening, BBQing with Wolf Eyes? Overdose guaranteed.

I'm in by going out, out of it while staying in. Loophole roundabouts...merrily, merrily, merrily.
enjoy your week, ending into weekend.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Jackfruit in sweetened coconut milk

yeah, been awhile again. Though I had intended to post a lot...which never accumulated.

Myumm, it's kinda hot here now and I'm overloading on Foco's Jackfruit/Coconut ice cream, thanks to the Chinese supermarket. Brainfreeze and frostbite dazzle.

Last weekend included an old skool rave party (SL2, Neil Landstrumm), a Kimya Dawson concert, a reggae bash of the good elephant crew and a sunday afternoon of world music in the park shaped into a festival. In a nutshell.

To make the shell smaller, I'll just add a petite thing for now on Kimya Dawson. Since she has had her baby Panda Bear (hmm, a spurr of Animal Collective fame) she has gotten u-turn cleaned-up motherly and even sweeter in her songs, crafting them like kiddie songs. Sesame street turned all bizarre and emo for the adults. I got her funny handcrafted ep filled with kid songs with pictures to colour in yourself. Happy times to be suckered into feeling like a kid allover again, guilty pleasures do me no harm :) No more songs about broken love, suicide and alcoholism for once, so mother Dawson..please stand up.

Kimya Dawson - Little Monster Babies
Kimya Dawson - Alpha Butt
Kimya Dawson - Seven Hungry Tigers


I will soon post something about that gypsy csarda violin style I was rambling on about before, which has been taunting my brain deliciously for the past few weeks. violins and drones; a perfect combo of acoustic lull.

Friday, June 08, 2007

Ethiopiquette

Quickie. quack quack.

The Dutch cultural VPRO organisation always does very well to produce special docu's about lost and new music.....

A recent broadcast featured Terrie of legendary Dutch punk band The Ex and Tsehaytu Beraki. Terrie has his own world music label Terp, on which he mostly releases music of older Ethiopian artists. He discovered Tsehaytu Beraki living anonymously in Rotterdam, she's an old Ethiopian star singer from Eritrea who had been in the Eritrean rebel forces during the late 60's and in the mid 70's she fled to Holland as applied for political asylum. You can see the show streamed! she's one spicy granny.
http://www.vpro.nl/programma/vrijegeluiden/afleveringen/?programs=29601959
-only to be viewed in WMP though, and yup..mostly in dutch.-

This weekend, they will broadcast a documentary about Jimmy Mohammed Jimmy which should be online after the weekend at the same website as above.

On the subject of the recently deceased Jimmy Mohammed Jimmy:
-I sadly have slacked to post a memorian that I planned to do so at the start of this year -sigh-

Tonight the good people of the Ex are organising an Ethiopian fundraiser night in the OT301 for Jimmy's family. See below all information, so come! These concerts and Ethiopian disco sound too special to pass and good causes deserve good attention. Life is sweet with all this sun and sticky heat. thanks for the feed Rik!

TRIBUTE TO MOHAMMED JIMMY MOHAMMED

A special benefit night to pay tribute to Mohammed JimmyMohammed, the amazing blind Ethiopian singer who died onDecember 17, 2006 in Addis Ababa. Jimmy played with histrio 3 times at OT301 and is greatly missed by all of ushere as well as by the many friends and fans he made onhis Dutch tours. All proceeds from this night will go tohelp Jimmy's wife and 2 young children.


ETENESH WASSIE [Ethiopia] + LE TIGRE DE PLATANES [France]
Etenesh Wassie - vocals
Marc Demereau - saxophones, melodica + gueulophone
Piero Pepin - trumpet, bugle, trombone + melodica
Mathieu Sourisseau - bass
Fabien Duscombs - drums
http://www.myspace.com/tigredesplatanes

ANDY MOOR + TERRIE EX - guitarshttp://www.theex.nl

Film premiere; "THE JIMMY" by Stephane Jourdain
CD Release; "HULGIZEY" by Mohammed Jimmy Mohammed Trio

Plus....
Photo and video gallery
Ethiopian food
Ethiopian disco with DJs Terrie + Andy

Entrance 8 euro

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Burst of the dam, music pours out and drowns us.

Suddenly you get whirlwindsucked into a weekend of diasporic world music and *whack*, inspiration fish-slaps you in the face and words dribble out. loooooong read ahead.

Friday.

We had our 3rd Rebel Up! Soundclash party but despite our effort we got about 20 people in. Whether the lack of people was due to the heath or that no one could be bothered remains unclear. But at least we had fun playing our mishmash of foreign spiced sounds for the swaying international folks on the dancefloor, with Rik and Friso joining our audio couscous feast with good ingredients. Surely our next party with Maga Bo (live!) on the 29th of June should be an earopener and floorfiller, hoping we can raise way more funds for the Rwandan charity.


Saturday.

I sometimes get quite quickly bored with abstract electronic music for a while, so I gave Francisco Lopez performance a wide berth and last-minute decided to go and see an Indian raga performance in Amsterdam. Last week, my Hindi teacher Darshan Kumari had quietly told me that she would play at a small concert, to accompany the main performer. What she didn't say was that it was for the famous sitar talent Purbayan Chatterjee in the grand hall of the Tropentheater! Purbayan comes from a line of respected musicians and he followed his father's footsteps when taking up the sitar at the crisp tender age of 5 and the famous raga legend Ustad Ali Akhbar Khan is his longtime master for teaching him the lifetime improvisations and variations of the raga. Purbayan has even played alongside the famous musicians Partho Sarathy and Shashank, which tidely sums up his already jawdropping resume, wow. At the age of 30, he can still be considered a young talent as learning classical Indian music takes a lifetime to achieve, let alone play virtuously. The level that Purbayan finds himself standing on, is one that already touches the same ground of sitar raga legends Nikhil Banerjee and Ravi Shankhar. Entering the Tropenmuseum building, you find yourself in a huge marble hall, decorated into grandeur with nicely laid out patterns. People walked around in evening dress as if it was the reception to some ambassador, so I nearly thought having entered the wrong hall, yet it indeed was ment fora special ambassador -one of Indian music!- :) The performance took place in the big room, which was decorated by amazingly carved wooden pillars with each a wooden sculpture resting on top of it. Back to Darshan, my modest teacher. She herself is one of the most gifted Indian female sitar players around and has been living here in Holland for over 25 years now, teaching classical Indian improvisations to musicians and being their master. At this performance, she played small repetitive raga drone scales on the 4-snared tanpura to accompany the sound of Purbayan's sitar and the tabla of another young talent named Anubrata Chatterjee (son of tabla legend Anindo Chatterjee, not to confuse with Purbayan's family). Purbayan started the show by saying that he would play 2 long raga's of 50 minutes each. Now that is a real musician.. giving himself enough time to build, develop and unwind an improvisation....and for the seated guests to enjoy, yay. My experience in raga's to explain them as insightfully as such really does not go very deep..but I'll try.

The first raga was a northern Indian one and started softly using the 'alapa' raga variation which means it went without a rhythm, just the melody as a lead. It slowly turned into wild sitarpicking crescendo's, slightly waved to flamenco, with fast bouncy tabla rhythms to go with. Amazing stuff. The 2nd raga was a carnatic raga from the south of India and the rhythm turned down a notch. There was more space for snare twisting but at the same time, the were uneven intermissions between the sitar and tabla which made it an interesting piece. Halfway, Purbayan's fingers got into a gliding mood and in quick procession double scales were resonating against one another which was one of the many moments he exhibited his skills. The end of this raga was magnificiently hefty; while the sitar melody went faster and faster, the thumping of the tabla's became louder and louder, endig with a bang. The audience clapped, once, twice, thrice. Purbayan, Anubrata and Darshan folder their hands, bowed their hands. It indeed would have been too cheeky to demand an encore in westernised stylee, since it wouldn't have done justice to the flow of the raga. You can't open an Indian music box in just a few minutes. I recorded the 2nd (carnatic) raga on my minidisc so it will eventually finds its way here later this week -or at least a big part of it-.


Sunday.

The Dunya festival in Rotterdam, a free world music festival sponsored by the city government with an amazing lineup of various international acts spread over 4 music stages.
So many choices as always, had to pick sometimes, so I missed the Malinese chanteuse Salimata Diabaté while Watcha Clan was on. Such is the festival spirit, high and low. Watcha Clan were great, despite their early scheduling (grrr). They hail from the melting pot that is Marseille and brought a intermeshing array of mestiza, gypsy, dub and northern african styles in one go. What amazed me is that for just 3 people playing instruments and electronics they have a very full sound. Me and Pascal met the threesome clan afterwards and it's very likely we will pull them to Utrecht to play in early September if all goes ahead. A Rebel Up! nite with a live band? hmmm who knows. Moroccan foursome Tarwa N Cheikh Mohand was up next and they brought on acoustic Amazigh music from the north. The dancing and the singing of these elderly gents had a heavy trancedental feel like Berber music always has in some way and took the crowd with their swooning sound. Brazilian singer Beatriz Azevedo was pretty dull in a lazy sunday afternoon jazz way so we scurried off to Gypsy.cz at the other stage. They are 4 young gypsy men from the Czech Republic but not made out of an average composition. The singer is also a hiphop mc and mixed funky rap rhymes over gypsy guitar ballad, accompanied with digital laptop beats. It was good. His speech *Where I come from in Czechia, we gypsies are seen as black and discriminated against* was right on in a hiphop manner, though the black kids around us didn't really warm for his message it seemed. But then again, what defines one being marked as black? Skin colour or inner spirit, or culture? French punky reggae band Babylon Circus were expected to rock it and they did so in jump out fashion. They were good, got the crowd friendly moshing though their sound was bit too much on the side of punk this time instead of their earlier ska and reggae style. Plus their songs are now shapened into English instead of French or Spanish. It's good to see this band on the uprise. We also missed the Seckou Keita Quartet. shucks. Ramesh Shotham's Madras Special was a nice enough session of drumming and peddling on itself, but it was no match to the blissful Indian concert overdose of the previous night. Monkomarok came on afterwards and were pretty good. In some ways they really compared to Watcha Clan, yet more aimed at an older audience. Also hailing from the south of France (Toulouse), they as well mesh northern african, eastern european and the iberic sounds into a special worldly jazz concept. Where Watcha Clan takes a better aim at making people dance and have a more rebellious profile, Monkomarok is more delicate and has a deeper trancedental near-sufi sound that makes you sway.
Had we not hopped as much in the rain to the funky New Orleans gypsy fusion of Tony Kitanovski & Cherkezi Orchestra, we could have catched much more of Cherifa whom we had forgotten about(!). Alas and gutted, we just catched the tail of her *berberific* show. Cherifa Kersit is one of the most famous Berber chanteuses and she had 3 musicians with her who played the handdrum, lute and rattling percussion. I just always love the Berber music, its rhythms, the pulse of the Bendir, the resonating snare drone of the Ginbri lute, the clanging of the Qarqaba and the chanting and here it was no different. I could just record a piece of the last song, the loud feedback you hear at the end is the Ginbri lute player unplugging his instrument harshly. Rock on :)

Cherifa - Live tail excerpt Dunya (enjoy it Jace, pity it's way too short...)

The general theme throughout the festival was to ban out racism, by programming many acts that mesh world music styles together in unifying sound manner, which was a great idea. One thing that annoyed though me was that a big yet young part of the immigrant crowd did not embrace this sound message. There especially were vast numbers of biased Antillian and Moroccan teens there who only seemed to come for *their* thing, -as in music styles from their region of origin- and they were not being very positive and receptive to the other music styles being played live throughout the day since they didn't match their *own* local sound. Highly hypocritical? perhaps. -What I mean to point out, would I jeer more for a band just cos they're from Belgium...Holland....Europe? fuck that shit- Music does not need to match an identity, but playfully juggling with the idea of it, so should people. But alas, everyone has their perefered bias whether one wants to admit it or not. In times where immigrant youths are inbetween identities and can not find a balance between their ancestral identity and current identity, this is a given flaw in human adaptation. At least to those who care/crave too much for having a fixed identity instead of a freefloating identity, nervepicked by your own braincells. This slant is only ment on a cultural/musical note, not on integration or anything. The word 'immigrants' here could for instance just as well be replaced with 'squatters', seeing how their scene is more concentrated on punk and same old rallies with a good social message, yet this message is not often carried into a global unifying musical context either that *should* be better fit for it. (in a *oh wishfull thinking, thou robs me* stupor). And many more examples can be made if wanted, for any other scene, movement and so on. Ah, this endless introduction to a smoldering social culture debate better dies a slow death under a brusque wave of water. woosh.

Afterwards we went to our friend Jigo's place around the corner, who is a percussionist student from Slovenia. Imagine the amount of percussion tools lying about, with his room shaped as a small recording studio.


And after the Rotterdam daytrip, I ventured to the dubstep nite that Ingmar, Martin and the good men of the new Planet K organisation had put on in my city. Dubstep does exactly what it says. I just wobbled and staggered to the uneven beats and echoes. Here some nice photos of Derek Djons. I recorded an excerpt of Youngsta's set, though the quality of bass lack on my mic . People can even be heard talking on the background, so it probably wasn't loud enough, heh ;)

DJ Youngsta - Live at Helling excerpt


Monday.

The Gipsy festival in Tilburg. It was a gathering of many gypsy and tzigani families from allover Europe in the garden of a big insurance company, sponsored by the same company. You will probably find this factoid ironic in numerous ways considering the context. Imagination, such is life. The festival was programmed with traditional music only and (thankfully) not with hybrid styles that often miss the point entirely and degrade this music to a westernised caricature (acts such as Oi Va Voi, Miss Platinum etc. spring to mind). Many grey clouds circled our heads and rain was sure to arrive in sleeting showers, but to me it fitted the musical context perfectly.
The festival was kicked off by Čilágos, a big group of artists formed out of various eastern Slovakian Roma families, combining their skills to bring authentic folklore songs. They directly had an impact on the crowd as they paced slow blues rhythms into faster dances during every acoustic song. 4 female singers of various ages in folklore dress carried the vocal torch, while the men were on accordeons, guitars and drums. We were in front of the stage and suddenly you could smell the old air being squeezed out of the accordeons, releasing a smell of instrumental nostalgia. At one point one of the men sung a beautifully sad blues song in a smokey tzigani voice which prompted tears from the oldest female vocalist who wept with pride, not hiding it. If a festival already starts going so deep early on, you realise that you're part of a special event. Pascal, Jiga and me walked around for a bit and we came upon a stall selling handmade and truly antique gypsy swing guitars. The elderly owner was a member of the travelling Limberger family, cousin of Tcha Limberger and also closely connected with the famous Reinhardt and Schmitt manouche jazz families. After a bit of talking, he picked up one of the crafted guitars made us enjoy a sudden swing improvisation which was pretty amazing. He tried to lure Pascal into buying a bunch of old broken Belgian trumpets for 100 euro's, after Pascal had showed interest in a bashed and barely functioning trumpet. Some tricks don't die young. We saw some gypsy swing on the other stage but we yearned for blues to match the wet drizzle instead of sunny swing tunes. Gadjo Joe was a funny Belgian storyteller who had a corner to himself and his original made and painted gipsytrailer, to entertain the kids with all kinda gypsy legends about fairy's, ogres, princesses and granted wishes. He did it really well, so we joined the kids for a while under the protective wings of a pine tree and could only smile. Walking back to the stage we encountered a scene of unreal anger in the middle of the park, as several gypsy women started screaming to each other at an unnerving pitch. Something was eerily wrong and quickly a crowd of family members emerged, running from all angles to this spot. 2 Gypsy families, (which even consisted of several Čilágos affecionados) stood eye to eye with each other and tensions rose invisibly to the rest of the festival audience. From the back, a man in his 30's in a black suit angrily walked up and shouted abuse at one of the women and it soon made clear why. His neck showed a gaping big cut, with blood pouring from it onto his shoulders. The family elders of each family quickly stepped in, eyed each other and muttered a few words which prompted the family of the wounded man to run away, out of the festival grounds, young and old alike. Bizarre, as quickly as the scene had started, as quickly it was dismissed again without any aggression or retaliation. According to Pascal through his Romanian life experience, gypsies do not apply their laws around non-gypsies. Though that does not mean it's over by a far stretch, as blood feuds can run deep and long. As a non- gypsy (gadjo) you will never find out what exactly happened and why, since we are not part of their world other than that we're seen by them as gullible sheep placed outside of their society. To us westeners, this other society is a concept beyond our own law abiding imagination of authority and registered citizenship, but it's not to those who live freely on the fringes of society, in a society with its own rules and laws.

Back to music and happy yet sorrowfull spirits. We started bumping into more and more friends and aquintances who had also made their way to Tilburg and the atmosphere was brilliant all around. Tony Lakatos and his Gypsy Colours somewhat disappointed and every song was too much the same. They played a few Tchavalo Schmitt takes, which were really great but the rest sounded a bit samey. Romeny Jag on the other hand was really good. They're a Dutch gypsy family, spearheaded by a big blonde Frisian guy from up north and darkly skinned storyteller Bluma Schattevoet. With violin, accordeon, djarbouka and even a diggeridoo(!) they gave a vivid and jumping performance while a teenage boy and girl danced along in folklore outfits. They only played already famous eastern european songs and sometimes made some mistakes, but that was actually the charm of their on stage presence and energy and made us bounce. Yaa! Lincon Rumanian Gypsy Ensemble was much anticipated as they brought some excellent cimbalom tunes, making Rik smile from ear to ear. They had a terrific good female singer of good oaked age, which one of the musicians sweetly introduced as his talented mama. Crowds began dancing more and more since the alcohol intake of some started to have effects, from bubble and grape magic. After that the famous French stylemelangeur Thierry *titi* Robin took over and the pace slightly slowed down and took us on a Northern African trip meeting flamenco and gypsy swing along the way. Like a Tony Gatlif soundtrack brought live onto stage. Hungry times knocked into the belly and the sole veggie option among all the chicken spiced bits and onionsprinkled beef patties, was falafel. But they naturally had sold out since my festival eating pattern is always belated. Instead some cornbread sandwiches with lettuce and garlic sauce, but it was a luxuruous jail meal though ;)

Headliner and Romanian favorites Fanfare Ciocarlia would close off the festival and prepared themselves in relaxed manner next to the main stage. Upclose we watched and heard them practising their wide and shiny horn section. Tuba thumps, trumpet struts and so on; a sure party in the making. The volupteous Bulgarian Lilliana Buttler -rightly nicknamed the queen mother of the gypsy soul- prepared herself with a platter of fries and mayonaise, while already dressed up in her special red evening gown. Finally they went on stage, our wine came out of the bag and the fest was about to drag us by the feet into the air. One famous classic came after the other with trumpets, drums and tuba's in orchestrated grist and splendour, before Buttler delivered her baritone voiced songs and had the audience in her control. We were at the side of the stage, dancing our socks off together with many other likeminded folks with whom we created a gentle gypsy dance moshpit. The fanfare went on and on and we all wished it would not end. They did do an encore on stage and everyone thought it was over by then...but me and Pascal knew they would come back into the crowd to play acousticly as they do at nearly every show. So they did. Moneybills were stuck to their sweaty foreheads, the crowd cleared a path for them so that everyone could dance right next to them, rubbing the drum and shouldering the tuba....all shouting 'Mult'umesc!' What a great end. And that's that.


Here some songs of the Čilágos family group. I bought their cd off their roundbodied dancer who sold albums through the crowd during Lincon. Pascal reckoned she had seen us upfront dancing at the start, making us an easy target. yup.


Čilágos - Sar Me Mamo
Čilágos - Kána Phares
Čilágos - Duj Chavore
Čilágos - Dzelem


Soon I'll put up photo's here as Jet catched the atmosphere in some pretty good images.

Pfew. I'm done.
Close off bit with muzak overdose. So it goes (ey zjofie?).

Wooden Wand and the Vanishing Voice - Hey Pig He Stole My Sound
(from the appropriately titled album 'Gypsy Freedom')
This sounds like Konono No.1 fighting gamelan style with the No Neck Blues Band. Say wha'?
When putting this song on, my cat started freaking; scratching the carpet, the bed and psycho tailed high jumps. Yessa, freakfolk goes bestial, roaaaarr!

keep well.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Brosseau, the Dakota troubadour

Short post before trainsitting my way to the Ardennes for a few days, where a patch with a clean natural river running through will wait. bliss. Just need to get away from this concrete jungle, quickly.


Meet Tom Brosseau from the plains of North Dakota, a sweet gentleman fella I met last year when he was touring with folkies Vetiver. In a smooth high pitched voice he sings his alternative country and in the same soft manner he releases hushed words when speaking.




You can see and hear him doing his styled thing, walking around on the streets on New York and in a N.Y. barber shop. He remains composed, smiling to people as if it's his natural place to be there. It's a recorded and video'd here. Take a peek.

Plus, some free tracks were to be found elsewhere. Find them uploaded below.

Tom Brosseau - Amory
Tom Brosseau - Corina, Corina
Tom Brosseau & Angela Correa - The World is Waiting For the Sunrise



That's all for now. Gotta run.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Battled the block

hummmm. block; writer and crash alike.

Battles just released Mirrored, which takes their music a step further beyond the thick patches of krautrock and into a labyrinth of eclecticity. Wow. Rock is exciting again. Review time. Life literaly gives you a bruised context that fits, rough and toughed up. This one also goes out to Henk and Yann, our clumsy minds in unison.

Begin nightly bike race; fresh, lean and swiftly. You speed past traffic lights, deserted crossings and a mild sunday wind brushes the skin. Freedom at 30 kms per hour.
Battles - Race In

Sounds wooze past and the speed goes up a notch, pedal the iron horse into the moonrise!
Without braking you face an unexpected roadblock. Too little too late. Screech and stop and the iron horse throws you off. Airborn as it goes.
Battles - Atlas

There's a loafy tumbling and in a sedated daze, your bodily conscience is consumed for a marginal moment in time, untill sound switches itself back on and you feel your head and limbs thumping. Louder, harder and heartbeat-like, it aches. Yeah, that's definately the feeling of ugliness coming on. The iron horse; well, it's front legs are broken...the poor sweet thing.
Battles - Race Out

rattle....rattle.....rattle......*clang*

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Vonnegutted & droney clouds in canyons

Hi bookworm club,

Sad news; another visionair master bites the dust, at the oaked age of 84 though. Vonnegut's legacy will hopefully continue to inspire future generations long after us, as to not make people step into the same reality pothole that he made himself escape from. Slaughterhouse-Five was the first eyeopener for me through a socio-political writing style that breathed sarcastic splendour. In the same sharp vein as Céline, Vonnegut portrayed and analysed humans in certain social environments and say, their reaction to war and doom-like situations, for the best and for the worst. All done in a sci-fi anorak made out of unfiltered black comedy.

Some Vonnegutian quotes, as impromptu cited by an irish friend:

"everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt"
"How nice to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive"

a sway back to reality, away from the printed paper and its poetical truth.

Last Tuesday evening, those 2 seperate livingroom concerts were a world apart. One room, filled with cosy matrasses and pillows, provided folk and songwriter jibes. The other, wooden benches and a wall of meditative noise to crush yourself on. Both settings confined of beautiful tones nonetheless, at least in my ears:

Dutch outfit This Leo Sunrise did their folk set before a home crowd. Hailing from Utrecht, they somewhat linger inbetween the folk-tastic Dirty Three and frickle songwriter folk in the footsteps of name-one. It's just an estimation. I do find their live sound better than on record, guess it had to do with the comfy livingroom.

This Leo Sunrise - This Is Our Glorious Time

Switch.
A marriage in noise; German-American duo Cloudland Canyon. They are a Hamburg-Memphis connection, which is indeed a non average team-up locationwisely seen. Praise the internet for data back-and-forth tuggles, which kept this project alive through the static hemispheres.
Their live set was one steady drone of heavy thumping and subsonic tremblings. As I said earlier; it was pretty meditative and eye-closing. Near the end, fuzzy organ sounds overwhelmed the atmosphere to give it a psychedelic shine. Great stuff, please come again to play guys...anywhere...anytime!

A bunch of empee's from their "Requiems der Natur 2002-2004" album, which actually isn't so noisy, but spiked with freakfolked drones instead. Lovely all the same.

Cloudland Canyon - Opening/ Ice of Rift
Cloudland Canyon - Clearlight Intry (for full enjoyment; play it queued straight after Ice of Rift as they belong together)
Cloudland Canyon - Field Ghosts
Cloudland Canyon - Holy Canyon (Vanquish)

beep n scratch. astronaut out.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Enter Easter coma modus. *On*

A 5 day Easter weekend would normally give people some deserved rest, precious laziness or other timewasting nonesuch activities. It kinda should. Yet when one is tightly bound to the own addiction of gighopping and social outings, there's nothing left than to sully surrender to the swirl of self imposed demise.

One goes to a concert of a friend, enjoys beautifully sculptured minimalism, voice and guitar alike in this tonal shape;
Soccer Committee - Stripping The Nude
Later on, one sees and hears more minimilised forms; an imaginary soundtrack to snowpaved roads by Austrian duo Lokai. Mwoah, Easter starts easy. So one thinks. The night that blends into a late late session at the local squat bar disco tells another story alltogether.

Next day, you just need to go to that gypsy extravanza. You have gotten urged to, promised to expell the laziness that the body is craving. There are trumpets waiting, accordions with shiny teethed smiles and grins above them welcome you and the fest continues from that first nervy step on. Can one be blamed? You go deep and bow down, get your hat robbed by some urban cheeky eyed nightingale and you bow again. Some gent puts down a tray of shot glasses in front of oyu while he's juggling with records, pops the vodka open, you bow and grasp, taking it all in.
The haze leads you into a blissfull stupor, you bounce. Up, sideways, down. Drinks are spilled on you from all angles and the sharp fragrance of eau d'alcool washes over you to complete your effort in drowned Tom Waits impressions. Mumble, stumble and grunt, hardstomping and blunt...it ends.

With limp legs, one slides into bed, knowing that a few hours of snooze will not be a trustworthy preparation to the Rhaaa Lovely festival, down in Belgolandia onto the green wavy Wallonian patches just above Namur. It means picking up hitchhikers along the way and getting lost in side road belgium, as always. You do reach your destination among the indie people; bespecled, beardy, pale, darkly clothed, glum. You fit in, somehow, or try to. You notice that the band Bracken sounds like Hood, in fact IS Hood in a certain percentage way of speaking. Narky singer moans at crowd, making them more glum, apologises for doing so. It's an indie story of shoegazing, you see. Yndi Halda is late and last seen near Spa, informs one clever eagle. Another victim of the Belgian side roads, the curse of pitoresque lostness strikes again. They are postrock anno 2007, looking to the telltale past of other outfits, takes what it likes and repaints it with the same colors. The token duplicate is not of bad quality on this greyish afternoon. It actually fits sincerely. But sincerety does not equal originality. Rothko. One of those versatile bands with a sound that touches many styles at once. Call it your European degree of Tortoise and the nail has nearly been hit into the wood, barely missing your finger. They beam of enthousiasm and pride, since they hardly ever play for more than just a small room, let alone a few hundred people in a bigger hall like today. Great set. Onto Audrey, a 4pack of Swedish lo-fi rock girls that makes the male indie contingent go upfront to drool. Their solemn focus is put to noir songwriting while the cello is one of the better parts of their total sound. Weirdly enough, every one of them sounds like Björk on a weary comedown. Decide yourself whether that's good or bad. Please something heavy to wake up with. The tiredness of the day before is fighting you from within. Arnaud Michniak is formerly of the amazing french improv punk/postrock band Diabologum, now disbanded. -ooow a long time favorite, this one confesses- He drops a dirtbomb on cue. With ferocious poetry he lunges for the crowd. Smudgy guitar sounds and harsh background noises accompany the scene, while from time to time a movie plays on screen in which a manifest is being presented through action and reaction. The adaptation of him putting an announcer on the roof of his mini peugeot car and driving while ranting away over a handheld speechbox, makes me think of that rowdy character in Richard Linklater's Slackers and Waking Life movies. It ends in minutes of improvised punk noise that trickle into a steady noise drone. Yessa. You wander around the festival grounds, look at the drawings that children made in these schoolbuildings, visit the standard unlit portaloo's and there are some sounds from the mini camping. You wander over and find 3 germans dancing around an iPod connected to a ghettoblaster; hi & low-tech celebrate their sudden unity. Air's "Sexy Boy" plays on the improv soundsystem and you find yourself dancing too, because this sweetness makes you smile and shiver, chickenskinny in the cold breezy Wallonian evening air. You stay for more and electroclashmashes of Le Tigre and whatnot pass by in playfull tones, untill the soundsystem goes silent. Batteries empty. Long live the iPod indeed.
Part Chimp continues the loudness, but in a punkrockish manner. It's fun for the moshpitgoers, but nothing more than that. A Whisper In The Noise means, ''you can sit down and relax". People are even sleeping, so your eyes make you believe. One friend keeps reminding you that his voice sounds like Bono, which is a nasty trick to pull on one's enjoyment. You manage to detour it with a ''Tom Barman with a clear voice'' tactic, breaking the curse. Hmmm, the biological syrup juice was yumyum, making you relive childlike memories of hot summer days. But better to snap out of these nostalgic delusions and flashbacks, in order to get back to the festival mindset. The next band does live up to the name; Crippled Black Phoenix. You want to see this noir phoenix rise but it's crippled, which at the same time is its beauty. See, some bands do want to BE freakfolk, or act it. Or steal it. It's hard to place the finger on what they aim for. The tiredfaced leadsinger is stuffed up with a heavy flu, yet he is up there as a pristine folklore schoolboy performing his final play. Alongside him, the band is an usual mix of long beardy rockers, a freaky bespecled keyplayer and other folks who make a funny mix. You get the feeling that they are some mishmash of social outcasts thrown together. They are. In short, their live sound is like Arcade Fire with heavy bouts of stonerrock thrown in, making it more rock than folk, with a hint of post. Like a Bob Dylan who listened to 65 Days of Static, but that's crippled. Though on record, they sound well-behaved and overly polished. Go and figure, but the most entertaining band of the day; especially to end a set with an endless loop of annoying high-pitched noises for a few minutes, causing the crowd to flee, is brave and bold. Just untill the soundengineer screamed "guys, stop!" in pure anger. Clap clap.
The crafty roughness of Pelican closed off the festival giving some instrumental sludgecore that intervened with postrock, therefore; postsludge...or pedalsludge, as counting the pedals exceeded 2 hands. Good stuff, soon to be Gonzonised.
Past midnight, Matt Elliott was about to do a dj set, no songwriter set, arse. No reason to stay. But but but, the festival was worth it, even while carrying a hapless spirit in lucid coma modus.
With a friend of our posse needing to catch a flight to Naples at 9 am some hours away, it was better to go and roll back straight. A 3 hour drive surely feels nice when you deservedly spend it in dreamyland.

You could go on...explaining how Sunday was a day with gypsy and corporate food producing filmviewing...how Monday was a late nite working in the voluntary cafe, doing an piano improv and how Tuesday, after a tiresome working day, ended at 2 different livingroom concerts...one of freakfolk and one of noise drones. More about the noise drones later this week. Make a promise to keep, finder's keeper's the rule.

Coming Sunday at the Desmet Studio, the 5th Dwars festival will be held. As always, good acts and it is free in. If you had not reserved your own bodily attendance for this yet, please do so, quickly at dwarsfestival_at_vpro.nl. See a lot more about it here.
Not so ideal situation: you have your magazine to care for, to fester and pack, to talk and to write so it feels right. So you can't make it to this excellent fest. Darn pity it is, really it just is. It's pretty useless to talk belligerently when it's only addressed to yourself. Idiot moi.

The 2 acts for a wide-eyed discovery will surely be Nalle and James Blackshaw. The trio Nalle seems to consist of 2 singing Finnish pixies and a Scotsman. Yeah, these pixie voices surely sound like a certain American freakfolk singer...let's not drift into vagueness and just listen below and solve the proposed puzzle.
Nalle - Sunne Song
Nalle - Iron's Oath

James Blackshaw is a young fingerpicker and is one of those talented nailpolishers who has suddenly joined the ranks of Jack Rose, Glenn Jones and Steffen Basho-Junghans. Below a long composition of raga streams flowing off a sunglinstering cascade. Blinding and vivid.
James Blackshaw - The Elk With Jade Eyes

Greetings from somewhere, darkroomed and chained to my own 8ball.

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Rhaaa Lovely Countdown

......lovely :)

I especially like the explanation about the booze, only belgians can give such focus to it.
Good food and drink for charity...I'm so in :)

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Sun prowess, baroque no less

Since this weekend the sun is out in full glory, affecting every living organism positively. Especially humans over here in Hollandia. And today again, sun!

Where I work on the academy grounds, there is an elementary school courtyard right behind my office. I'm one of those sicko's who doesn't really mind the vivid and screeching screams of playing children 'cos at least it means life which one doesn't hear often during work. If you have ever worked in sterile business parks, where concrete strangles an silences any natural form of life, you will know that youthfull sounds are eerily absent. I once again embrace something as a given.

On hearing reptitive sounds from outside, I curiously gaze out and see 4 little girls in a playhut, taunting 2 boys below them by singing at them in a nagging she-devilish chior of squeeky nah-nah's. One boy tries to get into the playhut by climbing up the smooth metal slide, but one girl kicks him readily in the face and he warily slides down to ground level. 1-0 to girls. The boy, euphoric from the adrenaline that the kick gave him, tries again with a cheeky smile yet fails over and over as he slips and trips. He hasn't found out yet that the metal slide has secretely teamed up with the girls. Iron-y.

After a lousy day at work yesterday and a seriously narky mood (plus it wasn't sunny), I found Colleen's new album 'Les Ondes Silencieuses' on my doormat. I felt joy rising upwards instantly, endorphins flowing back to life. wah, vraiment merci b'coup pour cette joie Cecile!!

Quick words on first impression; The sound of this album is immensly and intensely baroque and the sleevenotes reveal the sincere sources; various ancient instruments have been used such as the Viola da gamba and the Spinet harpsichord. Colleen still makes it loop with perfect splendour, but does not let the loops take over control as much as they did on her previous albums. She has created new patterns of repetition which are maze-like intricate, swooning and reveal themselves in the shape of subtle sounds, like the distant buzzing of dragonflies and bumblebees that comes closer. Oh yes insect talk, isn't that something precious, alike any figural elaboration that I'm likely to follow. Sometimes a cat comes around, tipoeing in the high grass in search of little animals to chase untill a rain of melancholic confetti sprinkles down. And that's when I feel it softly creeping into my nerves, soothing them to inner peace. Instant meditation prepackaged for audioplay, one press away from bliss. This is in fact a certain vague vow to take this with me everywhere I go, relieving me from my moving unrest. Joana; this is a perfect soundtrack to nightly walks of no end, for clearing up thoughts and rearranging others.

As release date is only halfway May, here a few gems for her fans out there to enjoy...7 days only tho'...

Colleen - Blue Sands
Colleen - Le Bateau
Colleen - Echoes and Coral (crystal glasses used as minimal sounds, such beauty)

Aside; the gorgeous black&white comic artwork is again made by Ikers Pozio, in the same vein as his artwork for the 'The Golden Morning Breaks' album. It kinda reminds me of Charles Burns' and Cire's art, but with a sweeter fantasy outline inserted. Testified below. Wow.

and another, used for a gig;


be well.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Bugbearing hugs on zithered tones

Busy bee weekend.
....One of those that started on Friday by lurking on a few hefty bouts of tripel before heading out for some Russian disko and Balkanized folk dances till 5ish. This all in the knowledge that only 3 hours of sleep were left to snooze, before a workday of say, 14 hours, would unleash its fricky sting on me. Not that I bothered. I had the initial victorious feeling of tripel in me. It came without solid warranty though.

Saturday the Day of the individual happened in Utrecht, initiated by some friends and I took part from early on. It does sound scary ey? Our idea was just to focus positive attention on the social status of *the individual* as a way of life. This is mostly seen as a taboo in society nowadays yet this lifestyle is very much on the rise, especially in western societies and governments to not react to it with solutions, but treat it like a stowaway subject. Yeah, hide and seek in world of tight ass bureaucracy, with no free-place in sight.

Plus by having this day, we were kinda giving the newly elected *christian* minded dutch government (with conservative CDA topping it) the up-yours finger...though in a positive manner, hah :) They have outlined in their 4 year rule message that they will promote family values as the sole cornerstone of Dutch society, instead of accepting and adapting to changes in society. Conservatives surely are forward thinkers, n'est pas?
Though to stress; this idea is/was not ment to support sob themes such as ''oh how sad is it to be alone'' or give attention to *egocentric* souls, but rather to positively stress the fact that individualism simply IS becoming a way of life within current society as any other, instead of casting it off as some ill social effect.

our blog... all in dutch though.. http://clubvan1.web-log.nl/

There was quite some national media attention for this through national TV, Radio and a few newspapers all morning on. I kinda had to arrange all things musical/poetry in a central cafe that we had at our total disposal (super!). Rigged up the equipment together with Michiel (thanx bro) as my brain hadn't woken up yet and it was a hectic mess. Things evened out during the day and the many poets and songwriters did a great job, even more so since they all played for free in light of our day to support us. I especially enjoyed the globehopping Lake from Texas with her serene blues and her trembling soulful voice. The occasional John Henry reference did it for me. See the splendid video rendition of a JH song on her myspace page, it soothes and sways. (yup, I promise we'll do those old timey swaps and blues cuts in A'dam soon! done deal).
Another American expat living in Amsterdam who gave a special set was Jerry Spurlock, playing only an ole' zither and singing folk songs. By that and given his older age, he was not the token songwriter among all the youngsters, which earned him the freakfolk king title . His raspy fingerpick style (with 10 malty brown grown nails) and his folky words of fantasy yonder made me cuddle name him Grandpa Newsom, hah ;) I would have liked to put up a few songs of him here, but it seems impossible to track anything down from him...images and sound alike. grumble.
Great day all in all...afterwards we had a big party for all volunteers and anyone who wanted to join us. The bands Mono, Titmachine and songwriter Eva-Louise Williamson. Afterwards some idiots played dance muzak with a route of rockabilly, eastern european folk, post punk and breakcore ;)

Oh, during the day I unexpectedly found myself running around for a while in a special hugsuit, with which you errr, could hug people. Giving out free hugs to people passing by alone on the street..but what was the catch? That seemed to be on most people's minds who objected the offer while other more freely folks accepted my gesture. It was a bizarre situation but I can be optimistic now, as it did work to make people feel joyous and smiling, plus myself too. Lord, the idea that such bodily contact can create sudden happiness so easily, is kinda freaky, but I'll embrace that thought from now on ;)
Check out here for more info. The *spirituele fitness* section is even better, with self-fabricated gadgets to connect yourself to nature...from the treehugger to pre-birth bag to the atmosphere amplifier (woah!),...great stuff for the urban hippie surely.

Now, resting time mood. For as long as it gets.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Ghosthorse tales; Raphael you know just how to take me in the swimming pool like a child (!@#$%^&*?)

ey there,

While the press always hypes things up on the presumption that unhinged artistic images need to be pushed onwards -like Joanna Newsom last year-, Coco Rosie is likely to get this year's cuddle trophy from the associated alternatives, hence the new album is being overdosed with praise. Adorable indeed for the folks who have yet to discover their crafty child's play, but a tedious repetition for those with the initial attention span.
In short, the new Coco Rosie album 'The Adventures of Ghosthorse and Stillborn' has kind of lost the sincere innocence as portrayed in earlier lullabyes, my inner demon/angel tells me. I guess this youthfull and intimate innocence quality turned me onto their music from the first moment, made me share it and experience it with others at special times. Sweet loving thoughts eventually turned into sour feelings, lost in the ugly bliss. You kinda get that with musical memories attached to emotions, making you leap into highs and lows....

While the album disappoints in full play, there are a few amazing gems on it that can still capture their playfull essence at its best. Karen Dalton, Nina Simone and Maria Callas remain in artistic unison here:

Coco Rosie - Black Poppies
Coco Rosie - Animals
Coco Rosie - Raphael

no pics no pics no pics. let the press machine run their own operation ;)

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Crooked links n 'fings.

quickie; noticed that most of the friendly blog links and other links where all crooked, wrongly formatted by me. Oops. Fixed now! Stop hitting me.

*It's got spam in it, I don't like spam!* classic Monty Python

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Rarararareviews

Some reviews which will go into print around next month. They're neurotic sleepdeprived fodder, but I'll share them anyway.

Ok, I won't make the effort to translate them, sorry for that. In Dutch they remain. But you could however follow the exciting Rory way and use the untrustworthy yet hilarious Babelfish to do the trick for ya in your preferred language, though I rather call it crippled Babyfish brabble. Perhaps all reviews should be made that way from now on....would make it more exciting, hah!


Jack Rose
s/t
(ARCHIVE)
Greg Malcolm & Tetuzi Akiyama
Brombron 12: Six Strings
(KORM PLASTICS)

Men neme een gitaar, leert erop spelen, echter zonder onnozele Bob Marley of Nirvana covers, maar als een meerkoppige band. Hoe? Fingerpicking is het antwoord op de religie die dit mysterie verhult. Jack Rose is een lid van de band Pelt maar in de vrije tijd brengt hij ook solo platen uit die zijn adoratie van John Fahey in geheel eigen stijl neerlegt. Dit album is een speciale tour editie die niet snel in een winkel te vinden zal zijn, maar daardoor extra speciaal de moeite waard is na te jagen via het internet. In 'St. Louis Blues' zorgt een slide meldoie voor mooie blues melancholie die puur door het hart stroomt. Je kunt er van op aan dat zulke vngervlugge tonen de gitaarfanaat intens doen genieten terwijl de electrofantast vies de andere kant opkijkt. Keuzes vervangen het wikken en wegen. De meeste composities volgen de lijn van ouderwetse blues en slide blues, behalve in 'Spirits in the House' waar in 12 minuten een hypnotiserende raga compositie wordt neergezet in Indiase drone traditie. Echter zonder sitar maar met een speciaal afgestemde western gitaar. De fata morgana van dit geluid had u bijna beetgenomen en de illusie ploft weg maar de droom blijft, zwevend en zwervend. Deze fraai ontworpen hoes in kaartvorm, met een quasi authentieke sepia foto uit omstreeks 1930, is al een waar kunstwerk op zich. Om over de extra waarde van deze schone muziek maar te zwijgen voordat de extase omslaat in geestdriftige kronkels. Greg Malcolm en Tetuzi Akiyama kunnen gezien worden als fingerpickers, maar dan van een zeer improvisatorische discipline die niet strookt met blues. Het geluid is steriel en breekbaar, doch meevoerend. Met 2 gitaren spelen de Kiwi en de Jap driftig door elkaar heen om ook tokkelpauzes in te lassen indien nodig. De composities klinken vooral vals, echter daarin ligt precies de schoonheid die niet 1-2-3 te vertalen is naar een simpele context. Een impressie; grootmoeders klok bij het slaan van het uur, de koekoek heeft opwinding nodig want zijn noten zingt hij niet zo scherp meer, tegelijkertijd piept de deur en klappert de deurknop. Het is de verbuiging van het moment, juist dat ene moment met die ene speciale toon. Of men het nu wilt of niet, deze kabbelende rust brengt de gedachten intuïtief op een ander niveau, ver van de normale wereld en de dagelijkse beslommeringen. Een meditatief gitaarhoorspel waarbij geen verwachting nodig is, is wellicht de beste omschrijving voor deze akoestieke ervaring. Niet te missen voor de drone liefhebber. Tja, en laten we er nog bij zeggen dat Machinefabriek de cover heeft ontworpen op basis van gitaarsnaarverpakkingen. (www.archivecd.com , www.kormplastics.nl)

Greg Malcolm & Tetuzi Akiyama - So We Go
Greg Malcolm & Tetuzi Akiyama - Life On Its Way


Machinefabriek
Zink mcd-r
(CUT HANDS)
Aaron Martin & Machinefabriek
Cello Recycling mcd-r
(MACHINEFABRIEK)

Het is niet te stoppen. Nieuwe 3" cd-r releases rollen namelijk maandelijks van de machinale productieband zonder enige afbraak van de kwaliteit. Rutger Zuydervelt kan met recht geclassificeerd worden als een muzikale ADHD’er, een diagnose om trots op te zijn. Ditmaal presenteert hij een release op het Nederlandse label Cut Hands, een vers label dat andermaal door een Gonzoïst is gestart. ‘Zink’ is de naam van het 15 minuten durende kindje en doet de vormgeving recht aan door middel van een grof zinken plaatje als hoes, chapeau. Het geluid is een bewerking van een live improvisatie in een ondergrondse parkeergarage te Utrecht, een zeer passende context. Beholpen met een opwellende echo, ijzige tonen en uitrek van de aangeslagen gitaar bouwt een minimaal stuk zich op als een constructie in niemandsland. Het is een omgeving met vele wendingen die wij volledig willen begrijpen, om het mysterie te kunnen doorgronden dat ons slapeloze nachten bezorgt daar op die eenzame plek. Het is een spannende zoektocht waarbij de beloning de ervaring zelve is. Op ‘Cello Recycling’wordt het over een andere boeg gegooid. Zuydervelt staat niet alleen en de Amerikaan Aaron Martin is de helper op de cello. De cello wordt in de eerste en langste compositie gebruikt als een dreigend wapenfeit in minimale geluidskunst, waarbij het instrument zwoegt en kreunt onder druk van de drones van Zuydervelt. De volgende 3 tracks zijn solo composities van Martin die een sfeer van tragiek en melancholie uit de doeken doen. Het doet denken aan Rachel’s, echter worden de composities gevormd door pedaalloops en een reeks uitgestrekte tonen die de term "klassieke drones" waardig zijn. Wij wenen mee, de tranen rollen van de wangen in deze momenten van verstilde sereniteit. Wat is het zalig om zo geraakt te worden, midden in de roos van het gevoel. ''Please listen to this record with eyes closed. Thank you''. Deze oprechte boodschap verklapt de meeslepende pracht van dit kleine schijfje. (www.machinefabriek.nu , www.freewebs.com/cuthands , http://www.myspace.com/prisonwine)


Lackluster
Repulsine EP
(SLSK RECORDS)

De stille Fin Esa Ruoho alias Lackluster, blijft ongestoord zijn uiteenlopende electronica stappen in de aangekoekte sneeuw zetten. Soulseek is niet enkel een gletsjer van gratis downloads, maar heeft ook een eigen label en als "Slsk" oudgediende mag Esa daarom zijn digitale bytes laten weerklinken. Onder zijn voeten kraakt en kreunt de vrieskou, knispererende stukjes ijs breken en glijden uit elkaar. De synthesizer tonen herbergen een mooi winterlandsschap dat aan de rand van de lente staat, klaar om van natuurlijke plunje te wisselen. Sneeuwklokjes tingelen mee op de maat van de muziek, want de lente is nu eenmaal een lief en aandoenlijk jaargetijde en het Lackluster geluid gaat daar heel goed in mee. In 'LL060205' wordt dit gevoel tot in de puntjes uitgevoerd, goed voor een kop warme choco, knus met een sprookjesboek op schoot. Denk aan de electronica uit IJsland en Schotland, beiden zijn het plekken waar de tijd stilstaat en de tonen zachtaardig en melancholisch zijn. Als extra noot is te vertellen dat deze collectie deuntjes zijn gemaakt in volks Dublin, het trendy Shoreditch in Londen en de afgelegen prairiestreek Saskatchewan in Canada. Dat Esa op zulke uiteenlopende plekken toch een sterk samenhangende sfeer heeft kunnen grijpen, getuigt van een geest vol verwondering en speelse magie. Dit is betoverend leuke laptopmuziek die de warmte terug in huis heeft gehaald. (www.slskrecords.com)

Lackluster - LL060205


Sickboy
Musical Therapy EP
Cardopusher
I Need Someone I Can Imitate EP
(WOOD RECORDINGS)

De sprinkplank op, hup! En het Wood Recordings label duikt dieper in het wildwaterbad van de Lage Landse electronica. Het label uit Gent en Antwerp van de Vlaamse breakcore trotsen Droon en Sickboy weet wat het wilt; u vastpakken en bijten opdat het virus zich goed mag verspreiden en uw ziel zal innemen. De muzikale ziekte heeft geen onverwachte symptonen want breakcore heeft inmiddels al de plaats tussen de stijlen gewonnen door de geen-stijl attitude. Sickboy, voor zijn kleuterklasjuffrouw nog altijd Jurgen DeSmet, maakt op zijn eerste Vlaamse ep allerlei knutselwerkjes. Ja, muzikale therapie met een dosis humor en een deugnietblik toe en de juffrouw laat hem als beloning buiten spelen. Daar in de zandbak zitten Evi Hanssen, en warempel, Mauro Pawlowski op hem te wachten en zingen ze over ontmoetingen op de maan. Zo simpel is het leven, zittend tussen het verloren speeldgoed en de halfbegraven kattendrollen. Het geluid van deze plaat is meer richting de rave getrokken dan oorverdovende breakcore die we normaal gewend zijn en deze afwisseling toont een nieuwe richting aan die Sickboy hier bewandeld heeft. 'The Riddler' brengt ons even bij een oude mooie boom en tevreden lopen we door. Cardopusher is een nieuw aanstormend talent uit het verre Caracas, Venezuela, waar El Chavez koning, keizer en admiraal is. Breakcore uit Zuid-Amerika, waar moet men daarbij aan denken? verknipte baile funk, verzopen reggaeton? Niets is gelukkig minder waar, want Cardopusher stookt zijn brouwsel met vele ingrediënten die buiten de populaire latino omgeving liggen, echter ligt er wel een sterke nadruk op het geluid van de Caribische eilanden. Tel daarbij de hardrock gitaren en enkele synthesizer deuntjes op en de ketel krijgt een hevige walm van karakter die men ter plekke vloert, want het tempo is moordend. Als de roes is verdwenen, de kater uitgeslapen, dan vragen wij ons verbaasd af wat er schuilgaat achter dit producerende fenomeen. Van goed hout zaagt men hier dubbeldikke planken! (http://wood.widerstand.org/)

Sickboy - The Drifter


Various Artists
Polyphonal
(DELIRIOUS RIOT)

Wie denkt er nog aan de cassettes? Het vertrouwde geluid van gruizige mono, de herinerring aan oude krakkemikkige opnames van de radio, van jezelf schreeuwend met poging tot zingen en kopie op kopie collecties van al je vrienden. Juist, het fenomeen zou ooit terugkomen en wel door de opgegroeide generatie van twintigers en dertigers die hun jeugd nu op volwassen wijze willen onderdompelen. Zo is dat ook bij Delirious Riot. Het obscure cassettelabel uit Utrecht wordt gerund door een zeer opgewekte en geïnspireerde Duitse biologie studente die graag toffe concepten bedenkt en daar zoveel mogelijk vrienden in meesleurt. Het gegoten concept is Polyphonal in de zin van telefoons en hun communicatie eigenschappen waarbij vriendelijke bijdragen van allerlei artiesten de minimale lijn vormen. En dat zijn niet de minsten; onder meer Machinefabriek, Nilo (Wixel), Wouter van Veldhoven, Haruki, Sinebag, Vollmar, Pequeña Fieral , Manipulator Alligator en anderen uit Europese windhoeken. Een speeltuin van geruis, gerinkel en geroezemoes opent zich en de kinderen laten zich meeslepen. Mooie drones, ambient, flarden noise en improvisatorische stukjes wisselen elkaar af in uitgestrekte composities die elk een eigen sfeer bewaren en tegelijk overdragen. Het is een telefoonketting die niet doorbroken wordt en goed in elkaar overloopt. De Twee kanten; A en B, tellen tot 22 minuten, wie niet weg is, is gezien. Want deze cassette moet vooral in eenzame rust gehoord worden. Voor de mensen met cassettevrees; vrees niet, er wordt ook een klein ceedeeke meegegeven. En een button toe, hoera! (www.deliriousriot.com)

Monday, March 19, 2007

Caged around the ghett0))), ID please!

Pre-scriptum:

University, 9 am. It's Monday and it feels a few hours too early. Downstairs in the marble hallway a student is waiting for an appointment with his music teacher and practises his classically trained baritone voice to kill time, as they say. A perfect swooning echo of angelic proportions bounces off the walls up into my confined space, with background noises of office rumble giving it a surreal context. Everything freezes and I listen, it kills my time.

It has just snowed for an hour, thick white shards of fuzzy frost out of nowhere. Now, all clouds are gone, the snow dissapeared and full-on spring sunshine. One weird Monday I tell ya.

Now playing on the compressed office soundsystem: Musique du Nordeste, Brasil, 1928 - 1946 (Buda Musique). Grammophone cracks and dusty recordings in mono give this musical antiquity a touching personal quality. It softly makes this Monday morning swing.

How come this feels like an ancient Tom Zé song?
Luis Gonzaga & Humberto Texeira - Briao

and here Tom.
Tom Zé - Medo de Mulher

Luis Gonzaga was one of the main predecessors of Bossa Nova and it's also his voice that nearly resembles Tom Zé's smooth dark voice, shaped from the Brazilian local patois perhaps, since Tom Zé is also from up north. Carolina, if you read this; is this a typical quality of the singers of the Nordeste or am I shooting at mosquito's?

Here another classic pearl.
Joao Pernambuco - Meu Noivado

To come back on Wednesday, when I visited my friend in the Ondiep area. Ondiep literally means shallow, though emotions that rose up during early last last week were far from that. The main streets towards the riot hotspot were casted off with fences put up by police, which at the time of my entry were still open. I came up to the school building where my friends live and saw a bed of flowers lying in front of one of their doors. 54 year old Rinie Muller was in fact shot dead right on their doorstep and this spot had become the pinnacle of the eruption. I came in the building and my friends were still shaken from the past nights of rioting, not knowing what to expect tonight. I naievely hadn't realised the curfew was still on and would come up at 18.00 sharp. With a friend I had to pick up some equipment elsewhere and we were told we could come back in if we just carried our ID with us. I'm not receptive to ID verifications, stubborn as I normally am while supporting the cause of these people (sorry, no english option). Buuut, hypocrisy is a standard given rule and I surrendered for a night. When we came back, all the entries were closed off, with fences locked and riot police in full helment and stick garment guarding these gates. We weren't allowed in, 'residents only' and could see the building only hundred metres away. Talking with your friends through a fence is well weird, with them ghettonized into a human zoo as police looks on. The situation does create a lot of impulsive jokes to lighten up the spirits, though it seemed that only we were able to create an effort for a happy mood on this border control, unlike the rest of the people on the street. The police did lose their suspicion for us so we could get our stuff back from the building. All in all, no riots happened anymore. The atmosphere was a tad grimm and people -many of them teenagers to twenty somethings- were just gathering in circles as if to expect a theatre spectacle from the stickmen in blue n black. In other words, this free show was a no show, thankfully. Since Friday the curfew has been lifted, gates erased and disappeared. It will take much longer to bring the social mood back in balance. Perhaps the city council should focus to organise festivities in the area, as a perfect way to counter an otherwise downward spiral.

Ok, on a positive weekend note... Saturday there was a night in Amsterdam of mashed up world music, rusty with sharp edges, intwined with a fundraising motivation; the Rebel Up! Soundclash. See it blogged here. I am extremely biased ofcourse, since I started this idea with the help of a few friends so we could throw this gig in the OCCII squat bar. We kinda expected 30-50 people at most,-like friends and company-, but in the end over 100 people came, creating a superb atmosphere on the crammed dancefloor. Plus even better, we raised a few hundred euro's for the grassroots project in Chiapas. Truckload of Gracias indeed! To be continued in future months, for sure! I'll restrain from spamming my own blog too much and will put all info bits on the Rebel Up! blog instead.

Pity that because of these preparations, I missed DJ/Rupture and Andy Moor (The Ex) playing at the OT301 the night before, impov guitar meeting rough cuts from vinyl. Were any of you Amsterdam readers there? Please fill me in at the rabbit hole. Instead I went to the Bonte Koe Records night, just around the corner of my Utrecht den, which was a mixed night of indie, big band jazz, songwriter moods and electropop...though I didn't catch all. Good to see some friends and new faces (hi there!). Another time pity I had to leave early, pity for various reasons... vaguely I reside.

About that upcoming Avey Tare & Kria Brekkan record that was blogged about here, Joana freshly informed me in our pseudo journo manner that the distributor isn't too happy with the backward play of this album. Backward? Yup, it can only be heard backwards apparently. Music turned into a crafty concept, though what is the sharing use for it in fairness? The backlash surely will soon happen in various alternative media, offset by encouraging and opposing crusaders. I wonder who will win the flame war.

ta-doo-do-do-doo-ta-do-doo-do-do-do-doo!

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Utrecht goes deep in Ondiep, even after a 'Prince' sings softly

Notes from last night disturbances and woeful wailing......

The last few nights there have been a series of evening clashes in the northern Utrecht area Ondiep, right on the Thorbeckelaan street where friends of mine are living in a defunct school building. The scenario is of a grimm nature that sees groups of local dutch residents oppossing kickabout youths of Northern African immigrant descent, who accordingly are said to cause troubles in the area. In a nutshell, the Ondiep area is predominantly white and working class, whereas the youths come from the neighbouring stretch of the mulitculturalised Amsterdamsestraatweg, which bustles with foreign food markets and phonebooth shops.

It started Sunday night when the Dutch residents took a collective stand against the youths by crowding the square they normally meet up. As everyone can imagine, neither group backed down and gained in size as people joined either group. A Dutch resident named Rinie Mulder, angered beyond extent, took his vigilante act too far and treathened a policeman with a butcher's knife. It is unclear in which manner this happened, but it prompted this policeman to shoot Mulder who died on the spot near his doorstep. In impromptu graffitti, the place of his death has been marked with the words "Rinie, rest peacefully", flowers and (uncanningly) beercans as a solemn ode to his unnecessary death. As expected, the fire was readily put in the hole to create 3 straight nights of riots.

Supposedly, rioteering youths did not come from the nearby area, but from allover Utrecht and surround..mobile phones used as tools of gathering for destruction indeed. The media mentions these rioteers without defining them. In this case, it simply means it are white youths since any allochtoon rioteer would have been defined as such. For instance you will hardly ever read if *white local folks* kick up a riot, whereas the tag dropping of Moroccan, Turkish or any other ethnical minority in Holland will always be given on a silver plate to the feeble reader. Disinformation does not matter when it concerns the marking of nationals, one could nearly think.

135 people were arrested yesterday, and it's even said that some were football hooligans coming in for a piece of the mayhem from allover the country, probably part of their riot tourism travel scheme chartered by oh so friendly agitators. On my way home near to the area, all the roads were blocked off by police and riot police alike, with vans driving along, squad cars parked to obstruct and cut off the 3 mile Amsterdamsestraatweg from the centre. Along came a towtruck on the road beside me, pulling a burnt out car behind him, crispy fresh I reckon. Paris is still very far though.


With sporadic tensions erupting in Holland now and then, it is autochtoon (ie, someone with dutch nationality) against allochtoon (someone holding a foreign identity). Perhaps white against non-white, thought that might prove a notion too strong since this stand off is in fact not racial but rather cultural. Images of suburbian France burning can not be compared here.


On a brighter note, I went to see Bonnie "Prince" Billy (otherwise known as Will Oldham) last night in the grand Vredenburg concert hall. Just a little man with a guitar on a too big stage and far away audience, same for the support act. Odd experience for such intimate music. Sir Richard Bishop played fingerpicking support to Oldham in a fitting warm up show on a solo guitar, tuned up to high pitched levels. Sir Richard is actually the older brother of Alan Bishop, whom I posted about recently, see here. Coincidence does not deal in time shares. Richard has a full mop of curly long hair, Alan is bald as ever. Both Sun City Girls. I like this bloodline contradiction.

Bishop plays a mix of various fingerpicking styles such as classical, flamenco and indian raga and he indeed did so during his +30 minute set. Especially his last composition was a 15 minute long raga trip to the max with self-shaped drones from his lower snares, looped in regurging patterns. Amazing stuff, though most people did not think so and were either busy chatting (say, blabbing) loudly to each other or quietly snoozing off (eh Carlos!) ;) The chatter was very annoying to say the least, with fans of Oldham not giving Sir Richard any creative credit, perhaps not acknowledging or understanding the righteous awe that Oldham himself has for Bishop, which I can dig but my fingerpick nerdist opinion wasn't to be shared as joyously, shucks. -later a Sir Richard track here, yours to decide on-

Oldham came on and did the tricks with a variety of his famous songs from over the years with trademark lyrics on how he can not have kids to grow, the topic he touches upon a lot. He's a quirky beardy-cultivated man though, who likes to make funny moves and gestures, either facial or with his rubbery legs. Hard to explain all his moves, though he seemed to have a preferance for put his leg up behind the other and standing on one leg whenever he pleased. 'Crane bird Oldham', that's how I'll always see him from now on, hah :) His performance was kinda unbalanced though, as in some songs he sung every word as perfectly lisped in tune, sweetened with sorrow, while in other songs his voice could not reach the same great heights as on his albums. Someone said; 'that's perhaps the brilliance of his singing; it's so human and incomplete.' Oldham also played 2 songs in which he used fingerpick patterns of Sir Richard, which the fans didn't spoil, rather not realizing the underlying truth I'm sure. Irony does not strike twice depending on the context that it is given in and by who it's given.


Here something that was given on a 4 track sampler last nite; a project of Will Oldham and Mark Lanegan under the name Soulsavers:

Soulsavers - Kingdom of Rain
Soulsavers - Through My Sails

Tonight, I actually have to be in the Ondiep area to eat at a friend's place...which is in the exact street where that man was shot dead. Strange feelings will be felt. The police is again gonna seal off the area so I wonder if we'll be able to leave...or to enter.