Ben UFO on music and mixing.
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~ Thursday, May 17 ~
~ Monday, May 7 ~
“Someone took one of these [a record] and another one of these and decided to mix them together, and now that art is somewhat being forgotten because everybody forgot about the records themselves and was worried about the mixing, and that’s more about the ego. That’s fine, that people like to mix and mixing is great and, its important to learn how to do it, but you’re doing that only for the idea of a continuous movement of rhythm, that you want everyone to keep dancing, or to keep a continuous stream of sonics running in your area. You don’t do it for the ooh and ah, the show of it. In my opinion there’ a lot of different types of djs […] but for me and the way that I know it hit me was that it was the magic of playing music for people and it being nonstop and it being honest, and to me, the selection process starts here [the record store], you pick out as many different things that are natural to you that are organic to you that draw you in specifically and then later you refine that process through listening, and then you present it to other people, that’s djing and that’s selection to me.”
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~ Saturday, May 5 ~
~ Monday, April 23 ~
~ Tuesday, March 13 ~
#realKONY2012
(Source: innovateafrica)
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~ Monday, March 12 ~
Jacqueline Berger, “The Failure Of Language”
First day of class, I ask the students, by way
of introduction, what they believe:
Language is our best tool, or language fails
to express what we know and feel.
We go around the room.
Almost everyone sides with failure.
Is it because they’re young,
still find it hard to say what they mean?
Or are they romantics, holding music and art, the body,
anything wordless as the best way in?
I think about the poet helping his wife to die,
calling his heart helpless as crushed birds
and the soles of her feet the voices of children
calling in the lemon grove, because the tool
must sometimes be bent to work.
Sitting next to my friend in her hospital bed,
she tells me she’s not going to make it,
doesn’t think she wants to,
all year running from the deep she’s now drowning in.
I change the flowers in the vase,
rub cream into her hands and feet.
When I lean down to kiss her goodbye,
I whisper I love you, words that maybe
have lost their meaning, being asked to stand
for so many unspoken particulars.
The sky when I walk to the parking lot
this last weekend of summer
is an opal, the heat pinkening above the trees
which dusk turns the color of ash.
Everything we love fails, I didn’t tell my students,
if by fails we mean ends or changes,
if by love we mean what sustains us.
Language is what honors the vanishing.
Or is language what slows the leaving?
Or does it only deepen what we know of loss?
My students believe it’s important
to get the words right.
Once said, they can never be retrieved.
It takes years to learn to be awkward.
At their age, each word must be carefully chosen
to communicate the yes, but also leave room
for the not really, just kidding, a gateway car
with the engine running.
Inside us, constellations,
bit thread knotted into night’s black drape.
There are no right words,
if by right we mean perfect,
if by perfect we mean able to save us.
Four of us pack up our friend’s apartment.
Suddenly she can’t live unassisted.
I remember this glass, part of a set
I bought her years ago
when she became for a time a scotch drinker.
I bought it for its weight, something
solid to hold, and for the way an inch or two
of amber would look against its etched walls.
I wrap it in newspaper and add it to the box marked Kitchen.
It’s my friend herself who is fragile.
When I take her out to eat, each step is work.
The restaurant is loud and bright.
She wants to know if she looks normal.
I make my words soft. Fine,
which might be the most useless word in English,
everything is going to be fine.(via ahuntersheart)
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~ Friday, March 9 ~
People are taking the piss out of you everyday. They butt into your life, take a cheap shot at you and then disappear. They leer at you from tall buildings and make you feel small. They make flippant comments from buses that imply you’re not sexy enough and that all the fun is happening somewhere else. They are on TV making your girlfriend feel inadequate. They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen and they bully you with it. They are The Advertisers and they are laughing at you.
You, however, are forbidden to touch them. Trademarks, intellectual property rights and copyright law mean advertisers can say what they like wherever they like with total impunity.
Fuck that. Any advert in a public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It’s yours to take, re-arrange and re-use. You can do whatever you like with it. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head.
You owe the companies nothing. Less than nothing, you especially don’t owe them any courtesy. They owe you. They have re-arranged the world to put themselves in front of you. They never asked for your permission, don’t even start asking for theirs.
- Banksy
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International politics and horrible things and evil people living in the world are a lot more complex than meme-ing someone or something. There are enough people who care with power and money to fix things like this if the thing had an easy solution. Forcing an easy solution onto something like Kony and child armies and complex violent decade-long conflict can cause really terrible consequences. Please lets do something, but please can we do it intelligently?
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~ Thursday, March 8 ~
Rosebelle Kagumire’s response to KONY2012.
If you show me as voiceless, as hopeless, you have no space telling my story. You shouldn’t be telling my story if you don’t believe I also have the power to change what is going on.
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~ Monday, February 20 ~
Smalltalk is the sweetest Bayeux Tapestry I know.
Tags:
I love Jens Lekman
Inspiration
Writing
and as conversation Melbourne is committing high urban planning sins
Travel
Sweden
Australia
I almost feel I shouldn’t share it, as if it’s something you need to some across yourself. Something small and special. As if in the act of seeking you commit to engaging honestly and humanly. Something not thrown in your face, but in some small way desired.
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I have a fairly strong memory of, after extended flying over the outback, on the edge of north Western Australia, with this album on background repeat, those two guitar notes cutting through the airplane noise. This was the first time moving beyond my home country and this immersive yet half-drowned out listening was the first I’d listened to Bon Iver, Bon Iver. I think for me his music will always be situational. I can’t enjoy it without a present context - of travel, moments, memory - the music is still beautiful and strongly affecting - it brings to me feelings of sadness, movement, the new, moving from what you know into the open, crossing borders, fear, excitement, anticipation, achievement and knowing things are changing, no matter what there is no backwards, of majesty and contentment - and yet that only gets evoked in the right moments, the sound doesn’t bring its context with it. These emotions fit with what I’ve heard of the origin of the song and album, yet arrived coincidentally. Its funny how things come together. I get bored with him sometimes, but sometimes, in the times when the present and myself and the sound resonate together and outreach each other, it can make my heart expand and the world fall away.
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~ Friday, November 25 ~
Azealia Banks - 212
Haha, I totally want to be this girl.
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~ Wednesday, November 16 ~
‘Kak ya provel etim letom.’ How I Ended This Summer
Beautiful, beautiful, slow film. Unfolding something so human in a place and sensibility different to what I’ve so far experienced. Astonishing photography, showing connection to the cold vast arctic land, good music and sound, exploring youth and generations and silence. How do you deal with and process change.
Full movie available here. (But really, see it as big and as clear as you can access)
11 notes ()
~ Tuesday, November 15 ~
Bill Cunningham New York
The length of a life. Being an ‘artist’. Washing clean a lot of the fittings/aspersions put on being people.
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