tim hecker – hatred of music i & ii

r.i.p. grant hart

Musician Grant Hart, drummer/vocalist and co-songwriter with Bob Mould and Greg Norton in the band Hüsker Dü, died from cancer yesterday at age 56.

Hüsker Dü was one of the more important bands discovered in my youth and one that I have never stopped listening to through both good and bad times.

You will be missed, Grant.

 

If there’s one thing that I can’t explain
Is why the world has to have so much pain
With all the ways of communicating
We can’t get in touch with who we’re hating (Who we’re hating)
And now we can’t get in touch with who we’re hating

So turn on (turn on), turn on (turn on), turn on (turn on) the news
So turn on (turn on), turn on (turn on), turn on (turn on) the news

I hear it every day on the radio
Somebody shoots a guy he don’t even know
Airplanes falling out of the sky
A baby is born and another one dies
Highways fill with refugees now
Doctors finding out about disease
With all this uptight pushing & shoving
That keeps us away from who we’re loving (Who we’re loving)
That keeps us away from who we should be loving

So turn on (turn on), turn on (turn on), turn on (turn on) the news
So turn on (turn on), turn on (turn on), turn on (turn on) the news

(Words and music by Grant Hart)

field report: bridges

For once the speakers outside Hard Rock Cafe are playing a song I want to hear so I stand leaning against the bricks and listen to the lengthy bridge from ‘How Soon Is Now?’ It’s the part of the song I have always particularly loved. Just as Morrissey starts to sing for the last time ‘I am human and I need to be loved’ a generic man in fancy slacks and blazer walks by mouthing the words. The song fades out and I walk to the suspension bridge that always buckles in the wind. As I reach the bridge a man visibly down on his luck addresses me. He asks me if there is a mission where he and his wife can get a hot meal and I tell him there is one on the Fallsway. He replies that it’s closed. So I say there’s also one on Gay Street. He responds that it too is closed. I have no money with me so I tell him I can’t help him and wish him luck. He says nothing and turns away. I continue across the bridge and then I walk across the map of the Chesapeake Bay Watershed, sometimes cordoned off and sometimes not, that is etched into stone in front of the fish prison. I make a halfhearted attempt to look for birds in the habitat islands but I feel like I have experienced way too much in the past few minutes so I return to the office and read a few more pages of Konwicki.

monday dirge

new grouper groupie

Lately I’ve been listening to a lot of ambient drone and related genres and subgenres. It’s that time of year, I guess, what with the prolonged agony of summer’s slow death and an unusual amount of August rain saturating my consciousness. For example, I finally got around to listening to Grouper and, whoa, I could dissolve into Liz Harris’s music. Late to the game I am as usual, but at least she’s still very much around and making music unlike the old post-punk bands I discover in my restless musical wanderings through the digital wilds of YouTube. I was uncertain as to what Grouper song to post here, as she produces a wide range of sounds, all of which are different yet also strangely alike. So this is not so much representative of her work as a whole, falling more along the stripped-down formal songwriting end of her spectrum (as opposed to the looped-out drone end), but hopefully for those unfamiliar it offers a porthole from which to swim out into the depths of her catalog.

seefeel – ‘through you’

 

days of nothing to say, nothing to writeonly music to transpose feeling from within

gate – trees

remora as object lesson

At 3 PM each day a digest of quarantined spam arrives. Fred Pryor continues to implore me to register for one year of unlimited training. Only $199. Also I continue to spam myself, which is always vaguely unsettling to see.

Listening to trigger music when of course the pin strikes the primer and sets off the charge. On the back side of today what builds upwhere does it gothis effluvia of life. Not dissolving like powdered lemonade. Sitting herebeing hereand not going there. A simple concept in theory.

Eschew the habits of the remora and be free of suffering. Enjoy without attachment. Sit.

These moments continue to pass by regardless of our presence in them.

virginia woolf’s summer madness

The only thing in this world is music–music and books and one or two pictures. I am going to found a colony where there shall be no marrying–unless you happen to fall in love with a symphony of Beethoven–no human element at all, except what comes through Art–nothing but ideal peace and endless meditation. The whole of human beings grows too complicated, my only wonder is that we don’t fill more madhouses: the insane view of life has much to be said for it–perhaps its the sane one after all: and we, the sad sober respectable citizens really rave every moment of our lives and deserve to be shut up perpetually. My spring melancholy is developing these hot days into summer madness.

Source: The Letters of Virginia Woolf Volume 1: 1888-1912 (from a letter dated April 23, 1901 to Emma Vaughan)

(thanks: lost fun zone)

‘Ethiopia/Lower Ground’ – Bill Laswell & Gigi

 

From the ROIR Dub Sessions

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