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30.4.07 ||
It has been a slow day for good thoughts
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The shameful highlight is a Radio 4 maths-based comedy quiz show: "Quate Equate".
I'll balance that with one from erstwilderness. Have you ever synthesised your taste with your hearing? I suddenly started eating a dark chocolate truffle in perfect harmony to Faust, and what an experience. A food-music combinations night is in order. Liam doesn't want to know what band would correspond to oatcakes - any suggestions?
-krring
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27.4.07 ||
Longing for the pilau rice!!
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Rejection of words and musical discovery... it all leads to an inevitable follow-up. I present you the man of sweet unheard wordage. Cheesily-edited immortal Jap craze and legend:
 Damo dwarfed the silly German main act with a 30-minute wonder about pilau rice. Frenzied stamina and screeching saxophonists by his side, he moaned and growled the whole time. Later on, I shook his hand but failed to say anything of use. I didn't even ask whether his lyrical theme was actually grainy. Nonetheless, I don't want to harp on. In conclusion - best gig. An experience unjustly unshared.
-krring |
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I would call this "wordy association"
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As the blossom strikes the ground, it strikes a stroke into one particular populace; the stroke not of a note, though spring does dominate struck notes, but one induced by stress; the stress of the ticking away of school hours, ticking towards the stroke of some very ominous hours indeed. Exams! (and their deadline brethren)
My particular imprisonment these past weeks has been a wordy one. 4500-strong, those words have sputtered their way onto pages destined for stern eyes. Some of them have even been a bit clever - linking Kafka's lengthy paragraphs to his overriding theme of implicit guilt and other such manufactured truths. However, my nostalgia has been roaming elsewhere. Perhaps I have been pushed by all this verbosity. Perhaps it's just a logical annual connection. Whatever it is, I have found myself looking back more and more on the more visual side of past panics, and now in the middle of some people's unlucky brush (as it were) with artistic dogma, it seems appropriate to mention.
Art and its assessment has been the backdrop to much of note. Incidentally, many a note struck then if not now, struck harsh and hard. For musically, it conjures that milestone of thinking when Trout Mask Replica first revealed itself to be more than just noise. Creative boosts abounded in that happy time. Lost on the other side of opened doors. Scattered designs amongst shattered rhythms. Socially, a time of some hope and latterly one great shock to the system. (Harrison-based. What directions that could have gone in...) And in these times, such remembrances drive me to hurdle over the words still to come, and spend some proper time on things properly seen not read.
But clearly I just can't shake off words, can I? Just look at that lot up there.
-krring
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11.4.07 ||
A melodious 100th
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"Rigid is just an F away from frigid,
So don't F around with me no more.
Punchy is the best kind of groovy;
Why don't I just punch you in the face?"
This is a song. Perhaps Harrison could contribute the tabs for it one day. It is a song from the depths of an eye-stabbing smoke den under the minimous influence of Clueless buzzing out of the 'no buffy' television. And I'm a four-line man. Such are the conditions for this one too many of droppages.
In order to make this an indiscriminately audio-textu-visual centenial blast, I include selected shots.
Of our harshest critic:
And our softest comrade:
-krring
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7.4.07 ||
The glaring side of the visual side
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That place can really haunt a lens, but only at exposures of 6 seconds and up. Sometimes, a spot of tasteless glare is necessary.
-krring
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The shady side of the visual side
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3.4.07 ||
Not the past few months
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Many times the yellowed air has swung in and out of life, many changes have blown in from this breeze, and much neglect has collected in the recesses of this here place. Last night, a Myspace message outgrew itself and was left bloated and unsent. Now, in what feels like rather a new stage in my times, with new weathers afoot, it feels right to give the ripened concoction a proper home and let it dust away the cobwebs from these green surroundings.
Forget the past months of silence; have the past couple of days. An account! Harrison-centric. Sleep-questionable.
The empty home has been used to its prime, I would say. With that excellent buzz of ramblings captured so well by brainstorming surfaces, the two of us first went a-exploring and uncovered what has to be the best place in Glasgow. The hilltop husk of a building sandwiched between posh flats; miraculously accessible - diagonal beams in draughty windows rising unhindered to the roof, interplaying the moonlight to prodigious but unthreatening effect and leaving one with a sense that black and white really is the way to see the world.
Back at base, late night sophisticates gradually become early morning slobs: fireside liqueurs fuel theorising and reminiscence to the soothings of Coltrane melody dancing with freak log sparks, until slowly it all turns pot noodle and mindless soaking in shitcoms. Shut-eyed, I abstained somewhat, but the teletube sped on for one determined Harrison.
This is what all night was invented for.
-krring
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