6.1.18

disparate . trajectory . intersect

in my recent sound explorations (an utter whirlwind of a process usually involving hours of hunting which results in a state of breathless, excited, overwhelmed invigoration) i have come across several artists from indonesia, morocco, and niger which have earned a well-deserved spot on this blog.

[ also worth mentioning are some of the blogs and labels which have been indispensable to me in the finding of such incredible musics: the hum, stray landings and sahel sounds. all are filled with the musings and products of passionate and interesting music-lovers  ~ ~ moving on. ]

while searching i am rarely struck and brought to my knees, metaphorically, by a sound. with each of the following releases, however, i could do nothing else but just that.

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tarawangsawelas - wanci
morphine records (2017)




this was released on morphine records, an interesting label which releases/d pauline oliveros as well as rare indonesian gamelan musics, just at the end of last year. i was struck particularly by sounds i had never before heard. this genre, tarawangsa, is played with just two instruments: "the tarawangsa, a two-stringed fiddle played upright like a rebab or small cello, and the jentreng, a seven-stringed zither" (aa).

"tarawangsawelas is a musical duo from bandung, performing mainly a modern and contemporary version of tarawangsa, the sacred music from sundanese west java ... wanci is a minimalist, cosmic album composed with a careful contemporary interpretation of one of the most mystical and spiritual genres in indonesia" (bc). the compositions "unfold as a captivating ten-to-twenty minute crescendo, beginning slow and melodic, the simple plucked strings of the jentreng providing a rhythmic and harmonic base for the soaring melodies, built on the typical sundanese pentatonic scales of pelog, salendro, and madenda" (aa).

the music is intentionally trance-inducing, and is traditionally the accompaniment to an elaborate ritual, or ceremony, focusing on agriculture and fertility. knowing me, i was drawn first and foremost to the repetitive nature, which is nearly always indicative of the ultimate transcendental state. it was interesting to find that this tradition isn't related to any specific god or deity. i think i listened to the album on repeat several times, unintentionally, because i didn't want the state of mind and spirit it gave me to end. with the absence of a voice or explicitly human element (i know there are humans behind the instruments, but still) the singing line of the tarawangsa takes on a character of otherworldly knowing, eliciting sounds which exist in no mouth but are of the universe's soul. this album is especially well-produced, too, as exemplified by the gentle reverberations and echoes that can sometimes be heard.

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i have tears welling in my eyes pressing play and even explaining the sheer and immense spiritual power of this next collection of incredible recordings, for which we are most certainly blessed to have, and which contain in them the aural remnants of many generations' worth of history and tradition and, not being a speaker of the language, i know not what else. as a human, though, i recognize and am fucking enraptured by that mystical element of music which needs no translation.

needless to say i've had more than one incredible listening and existing experience due to this album.


maalem mahmoud gania - colours of the night
hive mind (2017)




this is the debut release of hive mind records, a promising uk-based label of "international sound."

maalem mahmoud gania was a successful and popular moroccan musician and prominent member of the gnawa people. this ethnic group, which inhabit parts of morocco and algeria, has a rich musical tradition - one heavily steeped in both sufi islam and pre-islamic/shamanistic origin. these traditional gnawan songs are used to evoke spirits and ancestors in ceremonies of healing and spiritual renewal, rituals which are made trance-like and hypnotic by this deeply rhythmic and repetitive music. the sounds of gnawa music are made with the sintir, a wooden goat-gut-stringed guitar-like instrument that issues low tones. these plucked rhythms are accompanied by incessantly clapping hand-cymbals (krakeb) and often echo the sung melodies which are presented in a call-and-response style.

deep and dark and low and joyful, this album is like a belly full of warm honey and hearty laughter. it is healing music, after all.

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les filles de illighadad - les filles de illighadad
sahel sounds (2016, recorded in '14)



there is nothing quite like these girls - fatou seidi ghali (guitar and vocals) and alamnou akrouni (vocals), both from rural niger. the first half of this album is purely acoustic; gentle and free of excess noise, recorded outside under a tree. the girls' voices sing out of the guitar, along with it, and there is an undeniable organic quality to the way these melodies weave an whirl around each other and the from the strings. the second half of the album includes sounds of villagers brought toward the sounds of the tende, a type of drum, which one girl plays as the others join in polyphonic harmonies and clapping. it is said that the solo guitar music is inspired by the communal tende musics.

fatou, the guitarist, is self-taught and one of only a small few female guitarists in the region of what is usually a male-dominated musical scene.

here is a great video of what les filles de illighadad (in this incarnation - several more members have since been added) look like performing live:


though i do not understand what they are saying, it touches me in that abstract way music does. i hear recognizable sounds and scales and shapes, but somehow just knowing that these compositions were brought about purely by feeling (as though in the dark) rather than some sort of formal education means and says a lot.
music of the soul, not of a book. expression of the prime impulse.
it's what we're all looking for, isn't it?

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to sense the energy which moves silently in between

4.1.18

sky - fuck / shapeshift

love on the mind, love on the brain.

if i, only i, could understand and maintain
this foolish predilection for a devilheart's strains,

then all of humanity's knowing wouldn't
seem
so
plain.

i love all you are, all you've been.
all you will be too,
fiend
or
friend.

you once said you know not how to trust,
for on a face two functions cause shifts, thus -
subconscious emotion and conscious possession(
an inner hell wrestling with an outer love);
disconnect the connection, and with such obsession,
we read and deign to understand and believe
the book of all that's unknowable.

with all our might we believe what we will -
that which causes our hearts outwardly not to spill.

do you realize the heart with which you're bequeathed?
the joyous pain with which time is set  free?

("and have i?", i wonder, when hearts entrusted to me
are snatched by a Fate so cruel as to be
the routine of a dysfunctional, pained ennui.)

all love is dysfunctional until willed to be true. to be real.

to be the One.




the One is always what it is, always both outside of our experience and inside of / behind every neuron's firing.

the One cannot ever be escaped, for we all are the constituents of its essence -
as the membrane of its outer layer, living also in the deepest recesses of its interior.

the One shows no sign of existence until we question our own outer layers;
until we unify ourselves and see that great cosmos yet padding OUR earth.




so, the point:

unity.

separating the wheat from the chaff (to use a pianist/musician's term) -
discovering our individual voice, hidden amidst blustery fields and in waves of oceanic rage;
discovering our own voices among the monotonous sea of faces in which we are born. 

it is only i who determine my ultimate identity. it is only i who assert this Self, this expression of my existence - it will not, must not be done by another. not in this lifetime. not unless i sign my being away to the will of another.

.

to will Love is to will Truth, to will Reality, to Be Fully and not look back. until it becomes subconscious, i will not stop - that is the essence of learning, and of teaching.

teach that which would become a subconscious function; it is the only way to build upon the layers of knowledge gained prior.



i want to start my own label. electro-acoustic music. compose Rachel's-like works for viola, cello, and piano. i want to memorize about an hour's worth of piano music and play around town, for free, just because i think i am great. i want to read poetry out loud. i want to sing in my own language. i want to play percussion and play steve reich's mallet quartet. i want to take lessons with lamonte young and marian zazeela. i want to go to norberg festival in sweden this summer. i want to compose drone music and perform long, meditative sets. i want to be able to teach my art, for money, to those willing to learn. i want to write more about music and write more in general - the idea of pretention left behind.

there, i said it -

I WANT TO BE MORE THAN I AM.

 
 
^ what a constellation sounds like ^

11.12.17

THE impulse

-brevity for aesthetics' sake-

the stars are so close and looming, it's like i'm underneath a blanket with holes in it... and my bed an enormous field. a tipped-over cow,  asleep, serves as tonight's pillow.

the snow ravages a town. with low, dense clouds and growling winds that shake bones, only ice and powder are left behind. sleepy humans rise and face another dawn, still half-dreaming

and

hyde park, uk

poetry can be so abstract as to become almost meaningless - a line of words can be a curtain concealing entire worlds of meaning. if these worlds are not easily accessible through the experience of reading or hearing the words which have been chosen then it is only mediocre poetry. good poetry takes effect immediately upon being read or heard, though true understanding is of course another matter. maybe true understanding (whatever that means) is not as important as true experiencing.

i've been reading bukowski and cummings and hughes a lot lately. i think these are some incredibly good poets - i only feel, and see, when i read their words. the poem itself is a door into sensation, image, life. i love the simple look and feel of their poems, too - it's like looking through a window into an anti-extraneous world. FINALLY. simplicity!

is it all pretention, any rendering of the Real Life Experience through hypersensualized art forms? transforming the Glorious It into something easy-to-swallow, or pleasurable, or labyrinthine, or beautiful?

(we humans are quite obsessed with beauty. as individuals we know when we sense it, we know when we do not. we lust after beauty for it lends meaning to the mundane, though only with the use of perception).

i only ask because i wonder why it is that we create, why we simply must add to the chaos, add to the pool of the collective subconscious. maybe it's all we can do.


. . .

this is the perfect driving-and-howling-in-the-desert-at-night record.

so many good songs. each one a world unto its own. "cuts like drugs" an instant classic of the 90s. unwound sounds all over and inside this.

hoover - the lurid traversal of route 7 (1994)


.

BECAUSE YOU AREN'T AFRAID TO KISS THE DIRT
(AND CONSEQUENTLY DARE TO CLIMB THE SKY)