Singles & Jingles: Boneless (Notwist Remix) -- Panda Bear (2008)

"well it looks like the existence of sunshine has been proven by this point..."

~~~

Time Capsule: Madvilliany (2004)

The combination of producer Madlib and rapper MF DOOM as Madvillian is the best thing to happen to hip-hop in the modern age. Iss in ya own best interest to click the swirls below

~~~

du framboise:

suspended by a hair, the clock as of today hangs round my neck: as of today, the stars, the sun, cockcrow and shadows are all done; whatever used to tell the time is mute and deaf and blind, and I find nature silent as a rock at the ticktock of law and clock.

once upon a time ago, a wise man leaned down to me to whisper in my ear: the sound of sound on his lips

--> A dragon was puling a bear into its terrible mouth. A courageous man went and rescued the bear. There are such helpers in the world, who rush to save anyone who cries out. Like Mercy itself, they run toward the screaming. And they can't be bought off. [. . .] Where lowland is, that's where water goes. All medicine wants is pain to cure. And don't just ask for one mercy. Let them flood in. Let the sky open under your feet. Take the cotton out of your ears, the cotton of consolations, so you can hear the sphere-music. Push the hair out of your eyes. Blow the phlegm from your nose, and from your brain. Let the wind breeze through. Leave no residue in yourself from that bilious fever. Take the cure for impotence, that your manhood may shoot forth, and a hundred new beings come of your coming. Tear the binding from around the foot of your soul, and let it race around the track in front of the crowd. Loosen the knot of greed so tight on your neck. Accept your new good luck. Give your weakness to one who helps. Crying out loud and weeping are great resources. A nursing mother, all she does is wait to hear her child. Just a little beginning-whimper, and she's there. God created the child, that is, your wanting, so that it might cry out, so that milk might come. Cry out! Don't be stolid and silent with your pain. Lament! And let the milk of loving flow into you.

transcend the notion of Identity

invisible committee: It's useless to wait--for a breakthrough, for the revolution, [for spiritual enlightenment], the nuclear apocalypse or a social movement. To go on waiting is madness. The catastrophe is not coming, it is here. We are already situated within the collapse of a civilization. It is w/in this reality that we must . . desire BE Desire - Go.

benedetti's overture:

Rec time @ the asylem:

We've got our Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

And Leonard Cohen
we are so lucky
our vaudavillian lioness
we have tantric nuns
& Cold-cut Killa$
gypsies, freaks
--amputees

Don't begrudge a man

Love is worth suffering for
Simon Joyner)

INDIGO

sprinting through the veins:

the musicians, the rippling
of kaleidoscopic mirrors

we are drugged, in love.

the flamboyant parading
of angelic demons

It is Now that we are,
uninvited. We are alive
we live in your city
[ . . . ]

كنت سأموت

mmm. nicotine . . and thoughts, so deep

كنت سأموت
~
What Is & what should Never be
I've got magic inside my bones . . somewhere "
Why wont you make up your mind?
cactus
Goth Star
U.R.A. Fever
Police
Beverly kills
Amylia's song
LIES
. .

there's sunshine in your eyes

♥ your Mother

Lions
I Walked
the Youth
Summertime Clothes
SUnlight
All You Ever Wanted

~

sunshine.zip

little girl, listen to me Please Listen to the sound

of your name on my lips. Listen: hold me close

feel our hearts beating together. take my hand

let us walk down to the shore. take a dip in the

SEE

Praise be to Śiva

a letter to a close friend:

I know you, or not at all. For something has blockaded all the fun we might have had: Ghostly Pressure.

Your head has become traumatized, your spirit, locked in a state of desolation. Buried w/in an aura of your own creation, you feel ashamed. But don't worry. Listen: This icelandic cavern is beginning to melt. Through splintered casing, there is the promise of light. You will EXPLODE.

We've tasted freedom, embraced it, mastered it, lost it. That is why these ruts of depressive anxiety hurt so Fucking bad. We have memories of joy, friendship, Love. Yet, by our farsightedness, we have become ignorant to that which is nearest.

Just remember: Friendship is not a cage. Moreover, life is not a cage. Whatever they say, Remember: there is nothing in this world that you Have to do. Absolutely nothing is required of you, not labor, not friendship, not peace of mind. There is no event that you must enter into, no connection that you are required to forge. The existentialists call it inherent meaninglessness, but it is a gift that I prefer. You ARE the Freedom to Create Meaning.

a mighty human being,
you are Love.

Ghostly arrows seem to come and go

We had a quiet thing on the soft ground
I hear a sad rain killed the calm sound

~~~

I will not give up on you

Cure that bug

Go walk with me

~~~

Requiem for a Friend:

I have my dead, and I would let them go
and be surprised to see them all so cheerful,
so soon at home in being-dead, so right,
so unlike their repute. You, you alone,
return, brush past me, move about, persist
in knocking something that vibratingly
betrays you. Oh, don't take from me what I
am slowly learning. I'm right; you're mistaken,
if you're disturbed into a home-sick longing
for something here. We transmute it all;
it's not here, we reflect it from ourselves,
from our own being, as soon as we perceive it.

I thought you'd got much further. It confounds me
that you should thus mistake and come, who passed
all other women so in transmutation.
That we were frightened when you died, or, rather,
that your strong death made a dark interruption,
tearing the till-then from the ever-since:
that is our business: to set that in order
will be the work that everything provides us.
But that you too were frightened, even now
are frightened, now, when fright has lost its meaning,
that you are losing some of your eternity,
even a little, to step in here, friend, here,
where nothing yet exists; that in the All,
for the first time distracted and half-hearted,
you did not grasp the infinite ascension
as once you grasped each single thing on earth,
that from the orbit that already held you
the gravitation of some mute unrest
should drag you down to measurable time:
this often wakes me like an entering thief.
If I could say you merely deign to come
from magnanimity, from superabundance,
because you are so sure; so self-possessed,
that you can wander like a child, not frightened
of places where ther're things that happen to one -
but no, you're asking. And that penetrates
right to the bone and rattles like a saw.
Reproach, such as you might bear as a spirit,
bear against me when I withdraw myself
at night into my lungs, into my bowels,
into the last poor chamber of my heart,
such a reproach would not be half so cruel
as this mute asking. What is it you ask?

Say, shall I travel? Have you left somewhere
a thing behind you, that torments itself
with trying to reach you? Travel to a country
you never saw, although it was as closely
akin to you as one half of your senses?
.........................................
Come to the candle-light. I'm not afraid
to look upon the dead. When they return
they have a right to hospitality
within our gaze, the same as other things.

Come; we'll remain a little while in silence.
Look at this rose, here on my writing-desk:
is not the light around it just as timid
as that round you? It too should not be here.
It ought to have remained or passed away
out in the garden there, unmixed with me -
it stays, unconscious of my consciousness.

Don't be afraid now if I comprehend:
it's rising in me - oh, I must, I must,
even if it kills me, I must comprehend.
Comprehend, that you're here. I comprehend.
Just as a blind man comprehends a thing,
I feel your fate although I cannot name it.
Let both of us lament that someone took you
out of your mirror. If you still can cry?
No, you can't cry. You long ago transformed
the force and thrust of tears to your ripe gazing,
and were in act of changing every kind
of sap within you to a strong existence
that mounts and circles in blind equipoise.
Then, for the last time, chance got hold of you,
and snatched you back out of your farthest progress,
back to a world where saps will have their way.
Did not snatch all, only a piece at first,
but when reality, from day to day,
so swelled around that piece that it grew heavy,
you needed your whole self; then off you went
and broke yourself in fragments from your aw,
laboriously, needing yourself. And then
you took yourself away and from your heart's
warm, night-warm, soil you dug the yet green seeds
your death was going to spring from: your own death,
the death appropriate to your own life.
And then you ate those grains of your own death
like any others, ate them one by one,
and had within yourself an after-taste
of unexpected sweetness, had sweet lips,
you: in your senses sweet within already.

Let us lament. Do you know how unwilling
and hesitatingly your blood returned,
recalled from an incomparable orbit?
With what confusion it took up again
the tiny circulation of the body?
With what mistrust it entered the placenta,
suddenly tired from the long homeward journey?
You drove it on again, you pushed it forward,
you dragged it to the hearth, as people drag
a herd of animals to sacrifice;
and spite of all desired it to be happy.
And finally you forced it: it was happy,
and ran up and surrendered. You supposed,
being so accustomed to the other measures,
that this was only for a little while;
but now you were in time, and time is long.
And time goes by, and time goes on, and time
is like relapsing after some long illness.

How very short your life, when you compare it
with hours you used to sit in silence, bending
the boundless forces of your boundless future
out of their course to the new germination,
that became fate once more. O painful labour.
Labour beyond all strength. And you performed it
day after day, you dragged yourself along to it
and pulled the lovely woof out of the loom
and wove your threads into another pattern.
And still had spirit for a festival.
..........................................
And so you died like women long ago,
died in the old warm house, old-fashionedly,
the death of those in child-bed, who are trying
to close themselves again but cannot do it,
because that darkness which they also bore
returns and grows importunate and enters.

Ought they not, though, to have gone and hunted up
some mourners for you? Women who will weep
for money, and, if paid sufficiently,
will howl through a whole night when all is still.
Observances! We haven't got enough
observances. All vanishes in talk.
That's why you have to come back, and with me
retrieve omitted mourning. Can you hear me?
I'd like to fling my voice out like a cloth
over the broken fragments of your death
and tug at it till it was all in tatters,
and everything I said was forced to go
clad in the rags of that torn voice and freeze -
if mourning were enough. But I accuse:
not him who thus withdrew you from yourself
(I can't distinguish him, he's like them all),
but in him I accuse all: accuse man.

If somewhere deep within me rises up
a having-once-been-child I don't yet know,
perhaps the purest childness of my childhood:
I will not know it. Without looking at it
or asking, I will make an angel of it,
and hurl that angel to the foremost rank
of crying angels that remembrance God.

For now too long this suffering has lasted,
and none can stand it; it's too hard for us,
this tortuous suffering caused by spurious love,
which, building on prescription like a habit,
calls itself just and battens on injustice.
Where is the man who justly may possess?
Who can possess what cannot hold itself
but only now and then blissfully catches
and flings itself on like a child a ball?
As little as the admiral can retain
the Nike poised upon his vessel's prow
when the mysterious lightness of her godhead
has caught her up into the limpid sea-wind,
can one of us call back to him the woman
who, seeing us no longer, takes her way
along some narrow strip of her existence,
as though a miracle, without mischance -
unless his calling and delight were guilt.

For this is guilt, if anything be guilt,
not to enlarge the freedom of a love
with all the freedom in one's own possession.
All we can offer where we love is this:
to loose each other; for to hold each other
comes easy to us and requires no learning.
.........................................
Are you still there? Still hiding in some corner? -
You knew so much of all that I've been saying,
and could so much too, for you passed through life
open to all things, like a breaking day.
Women suffer: loving means being lonely,
and artists feel at times within their work
the need, where most they love, for transmutation.
You began both; and both exist in that
which fame, detaching it from you, disfigures.
Oh, you were far beyond all fame. Were in-
conspicuous; had gently taken in
your beauty as a gala flag's intaken
on the grey morning of a working-day,
and wanted nothing but a lengthy work -
which is not done; in spite of all, not done.

If you're still there, if somewhere in this darkness
there's still a spot where your perceptive spirit's
vibrating on the shallow waves of sound
a lonely voice within a lonely night
starts in the air-stream of a lofty room:
hear me and help me. Look, without knowing when,
we keep on slipping backwards from our progress
into some unintended thing, and there
we get ourselves involved as in a dream,
and there at last we die without awakening.
No one's got further. Anyone who's lifted
the level of his blood to some long work
may find he's holding it aloft no longer
and that it's worthlessly obeying its weight.
For somewhere there's an old hostility
between our human life and greatest work.
May I see into it and it say: help me!

Do not return. If you can bear it, stay
dead with the dead. The dead are occupied.
But help me, as you may without distraction,
as the most distant sometimes helps: in me.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

a great one has said
that poets are midwives
to reality

yet these words
catch me
when i would have them
let me go

from
, Said the Shotgun to the Head

Winter Songs

(from fakeneverland)

Two red birds
high on a wire
One said love
One said fire

Two black birds
deep in a tree
one said you
one said me

But wind came up
and tossed them away
no one hears
what they say

("Ill Wind" - Michael Ryan)


Some bleak and beautiful songs for you kids.
The best of the holidays to you (and yours),
Hallz



Winter Songs.zip
"Put the Lights on the Tree" Sufjan Stevens
"Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" Chris Martin
"Lo, How a Rose E'er Blooming" Feist
"Silent Night" Lisa Hannigan
"O Come, O Come Emmanuel" Sufjan Stevens
"I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" Pedro the Lion
"White Christmas" Maria Taylor
"What Child is This Anyway?" Sufjan Stevens
"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" Bright Eyes
"The Christmas Song" The Raveonettes
"That Was the Worst Christmas Ever" Sufjan Stevens
"Sister Winter" Sufjan Stevens
"Happy Christmas (War is Over)" John and Yoko and the Plastic Ono Band

Dr. Cutright

Tripping over mountains of molecules and metronomes, Dr. Cutright climbs the winding staircase up and away forever toward the morning glory falling through the open window. The doorway reveals: a blinding field of oranges and lemons, an Arizonian kitchen in a daisy grove. a flip of the electric switch and Cutright is retreating into himself, stepping back into his hole, like the brain-warped automata of some ancient sci-fi flick. restless the machine pours whispers upon voices of Vapors that tussle and rise up toward the golden ceiling caressing human skin swirling in the nostrils like the winds that flow through seas of leaves and light. (damnit)

Ramma

-Bruno Dayan

I've been eatin' with a good friend, who said
"A genie made me out of the earth's skin."
But in spite of her, she is my birth kin.
She spits me out of her surly blood rivers.

- Animal Collective

Mixtape:
Ramma (Part 1)
Ramma (Part 2)

"Comfy in Nautica"
-Panda Bear

"something"
-The Microphones

"Egowar"/"Untitled (Piano)"
-Gang Gang Dance

"Cobwebs"
-Animal Collective

"Kid Klimax"
-Atlas Sound

"The Floodlight Collective"
-Lotus Plaza

"Fireworks"
-Animal Collective

"Italian Shoes Continuum"
-Stereolab

"There is a Number of Small Things"
-Múm

"window #14"
-The Microphones

"Trance Doll"
-Pictureplane

"Boatfriend"
-Black Moth Super Rainbow

"Seagull's Flight"
-Ducktails

"Backyards"
-Broken Social Scene

"Search for Delicious"
-Panda Bear

Samples from Kristin Oppenheim's sound poem, "Tickle"

- thanks for the pic, Zoé. I'm glad you're free.

This isn't any new album. It's a multiplayer video game, seemingly unrelated to the 'music blog' we have going on here. But on the contrary, Bit Trip is a series of games for the Nintendo Wii, drawing the player into audiovisual ecstasy--ok, maybe a little overspoken--by a continuous flow of lights and intuition. Bit Trip Beat looks and feels like some evolved descendant of pong, which may be why Descent, the title of the second of three levels, may be fitting. Or maybe, the name's justified by the self-generated, musical extravaganza that calms the clambering surface of the spontaneous mind. Actually, its not all that soothing. I don't know what it is. I guess you just have to check it out or something . .



Oh, this video feels kinda slow if you aren't really playing, so you might want to like fast forward, to see how it changes.

I want to taste the futility.

01 Flume - Bon Iver
02 Ethics is the Esthetics of the Few-Ture - Laurie Anderson
03 I Play It Off Legit - Ween
04 Mensforth Hill - The Clash
05 New Orthophony - Stereolab
06 Atlas - Battles
07 Bad Crumbs - Animal Collective
08 Satan is Boring - Sonic Youth
09 Dawn of the Age of Tomorrow - The Black Lips

Local Flavor

A little lo-fi from some developing artists, living and creating in central Arkansas.

Your Daughter is Filing Photographs of Planets - Ryan Gaston
Heavens - Payton Clark
Ever Again - Crazy Diamonds
Four Keys - Payton Clark
Theremine I - Ryan Gaston
When The Sun Shines - Crazy Diamonds

Ryan, without words: "Fuck the genre."


Payton, silently in accord.

Bryce, dude, Gang Gang Dance is sweet.

Sporting dancey, spacey, experimental music that has a tinge of tribal and eastern, Brooklyn quartet Gang Gang Dance's fourth full-length effort, St. Dymphna, is one of the most innovative things I've heard all year. It's albums like this that make me think that all those "Best of 2008" list makers should've done their research more.

-Bryce

Tell 'em how it is, man. For your subversive insight and their fucking spiritual jam, here's a tribute to the both of you . . .

01 EEEAAASSSEEE BAAACCCCKKKKKK - Black Octopus Lipstick Project
02 Neon Beanbag (Atlas Sound Southern Baptist Remix) - Stereolab
03 Fluffy (I Want You) - Polar Bear
04 Blue Nile - Gang Gang Dance
05 Vacuum - Gang Gang Dance
06 Cristobal - Devendra Banhart
07 #1 - Animal Collective
08 Lana Turner (Peel Session) - Magoo
09 Fight this Generation - Pavement
10 Joy! Joy! Joy! - Sufjan Stevens
11 Black Heroes - Ratatat
12 The F**ked Jam - Ween
13 Let's Go Away For a While - The Beach Boys
14 Circulation - Deerhunter
15 (The F**ked Retort) - Ween
16 Dust - Gang Gang Dance

Thanks for existing, guys!

I Love You and Buddha Too - Mason Jennings

Peace.

Medicine for your consumerist quandary . . .

First off, thanks to Eric for introducing me to the Black Lips. Basically, they're fucking sweet. Second off, if you haven't heard Pavement, it's time you did. The coolest American band of the last decade.

These Black Lips songs are from Let it Bloom (2005), their third studio album, but I can't wait to hear more. Apparently, they've been crankin' out the toons for a few years now. And Pavement is just one of those bands that is impossible to introduce with a hand full of songs, so enjoy this fairly early selection and then frolic to amazon or a cool album shop and listen to some more. Terror Twilight, their final album, is a gem, but, then, they all are. It's cool, though, to see where the band took their sound before starting from the beginning and experiencing it through to the conclusion. (If any former members of Pavement ever read this, I just want to say Thank You).

Perfect Depth - Pavement
Feeling Gay - Black Lips
Cataracts - Pavement
Dirty Hands - Black Lips
Fame Throwa - Pavement
Hippie, Hippie, Hoorah - Black Lips

Peace easy.