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*
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
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.
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 :)
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.
be well.
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.
....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.
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