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30.1.04

is a woman 

"Por mim, quero que escrever uma canção faça parte da minha vida quotidiana, como lavar os dentes, tomar o pequeno-almoço, que não seja mais importante do que isso. É apenas parte de algo que faço todos os dias. E haverá dias em que é bom, haverá dias em que é péssimo. Mas tudo bem: amanhã é um outro dia, escreve-se outra canção, e talvez essa saia melhor."

Kurt Wagner

Gossip is Philosophy  



Esta entrevista já tem quase oito anos mas é muito boa e merece ser lida:

Kevin Kelly talks to the prototypical Renaissance 2.0 artist about why music has ceased to be the center of our cultural life, why art doesn't make any difference anymore, and why Brian Eno offers no resistance to seduction.

If anyone could be said to embody the spirit of the artist in the digital age, it's Brian Eno. The 47-year-old holds a degree in fine arts, is the father of a genre of pop music (ambient), produces albums for rock stars, and regularly exhibits multimedia artwork in tony museums. Underlying Eno's worldwide cultural prominence is a spectacularly unusual intelligence. The Brits call him Professor Eno: he was recently named Honorary Doctor of Technology at the University of Plymouth and appointed Visiting Professor at the Royal College of Art in London. Although he shuns the term, Eno is a Renaissance man, an artist gracefully hacking the new media of LPs, TVs, PCs, CDs, MIDI, photos, and e-mail. He is as comfortable (and brilliant) collaborating on albums with David Bowie, U2, or Laurie Anderson as he is giving a lecture on perfume (he's an expert), haircuts, or "The Studio as a Compositional Tool."
Eno exploits new technology without letting it ensnare him. He knows exactly where to hold a tool so that he can forget he has hold of it. This confluence (indifference to and intimacy with technology) enables Eno to pioneer so many cross-technology arts. As an observer of modern life, his gift is debunking the conventional. He applies his irreverence equally to himself and others, describing his own 1992 solo album, Nerve Net, as "paella: a self-contradictory mess; off-balance, postcool, postroot, uncentered where-am-I? music."

Wired executive editor Kevin Kelly interviewed Eno over a period of months via face-to-face conversations in California, the phone, and e-mail. Like many of Eno's projects, it was remixed, reassembled, and tweaked to make it a self-contradictory mess, off-balance, postcool, and very much where-we-are.



Continuação -->Wired


29.1.04

saudades de antero 

os blogues if (íntima fracção) no ar e o céu sobre lisboa são mesmo indispensáveis.

eles trazem a calma e a inteligência e a forma doce dos dias que correm.



1. se o fim das transmissões do programa íntima fracção na tsf, serviram para o que um grupo de pessoas pensarem e promoverem a permanente investigação sobre possíveis musicas enquadráveis no programa, quase me atreveria a dizer que valeu a pena a suspensão das emissões. ao que parece, francisco amaral – que também mantêm um blogue e um site – mantêm vivo o seu programa utilizando a internet para a sua continuidade. todos temos esperança que o if volte ao éter, mas se assim não for, não se perdeu tudo, ficou o projecto e ganharam-se novas ideias e energias para que o projecto possa crescer e aprender.


28.1.04

Hush, my darling, don't fear, my darling 


Lala kahle [Sleep well]

In the jungle, the mighty jungle
The lion sleeps tonight
In the jungle, the mighty jungle
The lion sleeps tonight

(Chorus)
Imbube

Ingonyama ifile [The lion's in peace]
Ingonyama ilele [The lion sleeps]
Thula [Hush]

Near the village, the peaceful village
The lion sleeps tonight
Near the village, the peaceful village
The lion sleeps tonight

(Chorus)

Ingonyama ilele [The lion sleeps]

Hush, my darling, don't fear, my darling
The lion sleeps tonight
Hush, my darling, don't fear, my darling
The lion sleeps tonight

He, ha helelemama [He, ha helelemama]
Ohi'mbube [lion]

(Chorus)

Ixesha lifikile [Time has come]
Lala [Sleep]
Lala kahle [Sleep well]

Near the village, the peaceful village
The lion sleeps tonight
Near the village, the peaceful village
The lion sleeps tonight

(Chorus)

My little darling
Don't fear, my little darling
My little darling
Don't fear, my little darling

Ingonyama ilele [The lion sleeps]

Música popular Africana. Letra retirada daqui. A versão que tenho na memória é a de Brian Eno, em Agosto de 1975.
Infelizmente não tenho a gravação...
Rui MCB

and I say it's all right 

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right
It's all right

Bob Marley, Here comes the sun

here comes the sun 



© Harvey Benge

27.1.04

It's that title that just fascinates me. It's fabulous 



“The title of the album comes from a Maoist opera entitled Taking Tiger Mountain By Strategy (A Modern Revolutionary Peking Opera). While in San Francisco, Eno came across a series of postcards depicting scenes from the opera: seven of these postcards are reproduced in More Dark Than Shark.”
Craig Clark

"I nearly always work from ideas rather than sounds. Titles. It's that title that just fascinates me. It's fabulous. I mean, I am interested in strategy, and the idea of it. I'm not Maoist or any of that; if anything, I'm anti-Maoist. Strategy interests me because it deals with the interaction of systems, which is what my interest in music is really, and not so much the interaction of sounds."
Brian Eno (More Dark Than Shark)

Taking Tiger Mountain 

We climbed and we climbed,
Oh, how we climbed
My, how we climbed
Over the stars to the top
of tiger mountain
Forcing the lines through the snow.

Brian Eno

Capital of Heaven, 1983 



Marc Riboud Capital of Heaven, 1983

'Capital of Heaven' is the name of one of the mountains in the Huang Shan range. These famous granite peaks - a traditional subject within Chinese art and poetry - are enshrouded in pastel-colored mists that change dramatically minute to minute. Marc Riboud has journeyed to China regularly, since his first visit there in the mid-50s, and originally had no intention of publishing these mountain images. But the timeless spirituality of these pictures struck a chord with Riboud's close friend Jackie Kennedy Onassis, who at the time was an editor at publishers Doubleday. At the former First Lady's insistence, many of the images were brought together to form the book Capital of Heaven in 1990.

© www.eyestorm.com,

26.1.04

Over the memory 

Sweet Memory

Watching the days go by isn’t half the fun it used to be
When I could reach out from inside the folds of your skin
Watching the sun rush by isn’t as half as good now it’s all silent ‘round here
Over the memory - the folds of your skin

And I never wanna spend another day, not a single moment from your side
No, I don’t even wanna spend another day, not a single moment from your side
Over the memory - the folds of your skin
Over sweet memory - and I can taste no other

Came running from nowhere fast, came stumbling at me through the dark
Breaking right through my skin - and I can taste no other
Came like lightning in my arms, came tearing through the night

Inside the memory - I can taste no other
And I never wanna spend another day, not a single moment from your side
No, I don’t even wanna spend another day, not a single moment from your side

Still running forwards and backwards I’m inside and outside your love
And over the memory - I can taste no other
Over sweet memory - I can see no other

Came like lightning through my heart - folds of your skin
Watching the sun go by - I can taste no other

Tindersticks


Sometimes it hurts 



...
been lying awake all night
trying to figure out
it's that old song
keeps running around in my head
...

Sometimes it Hurts (RealVideo)

© Beggars Banquet

From memory 

No meio da noite, na mais íntima fracção da noite, para lá das vozes cada vez mais confusas e indistintas, cria-se um nível a partir do qual a absurda traição do tempo deixa pura e simplesmente de existir, para tudo não ser mais que memória.
Uma memória sem princípio nem fim. Uma memória que nos faz andar, desde sempre, à procura de alguma coisa de raro e de indefinível.

Still trying to find a home  

Still trying to find a reason
Still trying to find a home
Just some place to spread my things in
A place from where I can run

Came from so far so silent
You saw the stars above
Your smiling faces cheer up
Take what we never had

The lowered sun
Brings another memory
I held in my head
So I can see
Every colour you were wearing
Every colour in your eyes

Came from far so silent
You saw the stars above
Your smiling faces cheer up
Take what we never had

And I hear you whisper
“Where are you?”
And I see my hand
Upon your skin
I can feel me searching for you
Still trying to find a home

And there’ll come a time
When everything’s so tough
Everything’s apart
Trying to find a home
We’re so near
We’re so apart

para ouvir:
Tindersticks, trying to find a home
© Beggars Banquet

25.1.04

From memory 

No meio da noite, apenas da música consigo recordar-me.
Apenas na música reconheço o meu rosto.

And so this had to be 

Painted From Memory

Such a picture of loveliness
Didn’t you notice the resemblance?
Doesn’t it look like she could speak?
Those eyes I tried to capture
They are lost to me now forever
They smile for someone else

Funny, how looks can be deceiving
But she’s not easily
Painted from memory

You’d think that I would know by now
Those eyes I tried to capture
They are lost to me now forever
They smile for someone else

And so this had to be
Painted from memory

She is gone, and I must accept it
She is lost to me now
But I can’t look away just yet though
She smiles for someone else

And so this had to be
Painted from memory

Funny, now I can see
How looks can be deceiving

And so this had to be
Painted from memory

Funny, now I can see
How looks can be deceiving


Elvis Costello & Burt Bacharach

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