“… because memory is what we are”
the idea of the “polaroid” called literary snaphot is ages old. these things though have the highest value for myself in times like these, that’s why i decided to get back to this again a little more.
today i slept pretty much all day. there is a lot falling off of me right now. in the afternoon it started raining, i opened all windows and layed myself on a sleeping-roll in midst of the draft. since i felt the all natural background noise needed little synthetic enhancement i tuned in “24/7 Dark Ambient Music Livestream for Studying Lovecraftian Tomes“. when the rain stopped i opened my eyes again and searched the wallpapers for discolorations of black smoke as a result of the detoxication process of my soul.
prepared myself some non-hipster dinner (fried slices of maultaschen with homemade lecsó sauce) and started processing my watchlist. first stop:
i loved both, but… neither will i study lovecraftian tomes nor listen to nick cave’s music now. it’s just that these things make this moment last and memorable. alongside this small note.
p.s. i could have added a shot of the outside weather quite easily, but you don’t add pictures when the text was first – the text, that represents the inside weather.
so it happened that i am facing the longest stretch of days off since i left school: 5 weeks in a fricken row. on the eve of that promising void, i am sitting up straight, staring at the thunderstorm through the open window, sipping my noilly and, yeah, trying to realize things.
this gigantic reservoir of the maybe, this insane potential of what could happen, could be accomplished, created, explored (exploited) or experienced… or – since i turned 38 a few days ago – what could be re-accomplished, re-created, re-explored (re-exploited) or re-experienced. the different would be welcome, the new would be embraced. next up though, i need to sleep. that’s the first lake i wanna dive into.
what could be done already now is this blog post. it’s been a while for sure. by the way, the fatty bacon needs a name – so, what to call this state of mind in which every need is (or seems to be) satisfied? in which there is (or seems to be) no simple need to move, neither physically nor mentally? or on the other hand, the opposite pole: this state of total exhaustion, in which there is (or seems to be) no simple chance to move, neither physically nor mentally? they both take away the sense for what’s real, right or wrong, the both spoil creativity, they both simulate the progression of time and they both need names.
not now though, having my diving gear on already… 5 weeks of time.
(autumn evening. single-family house surrounded by nature. daddy and daughter on the corridor. loud music played in her room)
daddy: “i’m curious what music you’ll be listening to when you hit puberty!”
daughter: “i already did… girls usually do at the age of 11 and i am 12!”
daddy: “in your puberty, you’ll listen to music that clearly separates you from the oh so boring adults!”
daughter: “i don’t know any adults listening to sunrise avenue and ariana grande!”
daddy: “no, no. the music i am talking about won’t even be called ‘music’ by the adults!”
daughter: “if so, when does your puberty end?”
in a couple of weeks she’ll turn 13… the party just started i guess.
leaving the concert hall after an anna Þorvaldsdóttir concert and entering men’s restroom is a one of a kind experience. no chance you fully realized / digested what you just heard by then. and so you’re standing in front of the urinal, eyes closed, and the silence in the restroom appears as a dynamic and complex composition of nothingness. as a magically choreographed dance of its countless particles, more and more assuming form, color and shape before your inner eye = as part of the concert. struggling to find a proper description or name for this, you finally come up with “artistic silence”. still hypnotised by these dancing particles, it takes a certain while until you wake up again and discover that you are still standing in front of the urinal. so you hurry packing your business, washing your hands, getting out of the restroom and back into the concert hall, just to take a quick shot of the prepared piano in order to get an evidence that everything really happened. out of the corner of your eye you notice the composer, talking to those who obviously are more familiar with what happened, looking happy, grateful and nice, holding a bunch of flowers. for a second you look at her, wondering what might have taken her here…
you know, i have quite some experience with contemporary / neoclassical pieces of experimental and/or ambient fashion, intensifying gloomy undertone and i even own “aerial“. all in all i was rather sceptical towards the potential outcome of an acreage that was so heavily farmed and harvested by ligeti, pärt and cage – but i was disabused impressively.
now i am sitting here, enjoying the aftermath of all this, witnessing the artistic silence getting slowly replaced by regular silence… i still have some brennivín somewhere!
“you know” fatrick said, “every random group of people contains a certain percentage of morons – some higher, some lower, never zero. every random group. astronauts, whale watchers, immigrants, flamenco lovers, inuit, vegetarians, argentinians, christians, homosexuals, geography teachers, homosexual geography teachers, buick drivers…”. “i think i got it!”, i interrupted. he looked me in the eyes for a second, then he started grinning mechanically, nodded in satisfaction and continued.
“in return, every random group of people contains a certain percentage of cool guys – some higher, some lower, never zero. astronauts, whale watchers…”. while he continued his mantra he put his hand into the sore depth of his massive triple chin, covered it in a disgusting mix of sweat, aged sebum and burger sauce and splattered all on the back of a young mother pushing a bram. she didn’t notice, turned the corner and i faced fatrick again. “homosexuals” he muttered, “geography teachers, homosexual geography teachers, buick drivers”. “so, the racists are wrong”, i went.
“very wrong”, fatrick replied, looking at his balloon hand drying in the afternoon sun. he was right, i thought later. seyfried swears by this guy.
i never really listened to music from my year of birth – with the great exception of kraftwerk which happened because of kraftwerk of course and not because of 1981. “computerwelt” was kraftwerk’s 8th album and released may 10th, according to discogs. obligatory quote: “the machine featured on the cover is in fact a hazeltine 1500 terminal, not technically a computer”. thanks much, agent weisenheimer, haha!
the first time i asked myself the question “what happened in 1981 musicwise? what’s to be discovered here?” was like a week ago. so i started a little exploration tour, got a fair amount of releases relatively quick, filtered out all the big national (roedelius, schnitzler, göttsching etc.) as well as international names (numan, legendary pink dots, throbbing gristle etc.), gave it all a try and figured out the following top 5 of releases by artists i never heard of… that’s what an exploration tour is all about, right?
5. didier bocquet – sequences (discogs, youtube)
4. tyndall – traumland (discogs, youtube)
3. andreas grosser - venite visum (discogs, youtube)
2. rüdiger lorenz – silver steps (discogs, youtube)
1. jean hoyoux – planètes (discogs, youtube)
this selection is based on my current mood and therefore kind of kraftwerkonian / jarresque synthpoppy ambient. maybe i’ll start an experimental approach one day as well – and there is still this entire noise tape universe left to be explored… but for now i’ll continue floating on the analogue synth wave to what hasn’t changed since my childhood: the sweet imagination of this celestial electronic wonderland.