Apologies in advance for any potential ear-worms generated by this post.
Over the past few days I've been plagued by a particularly nasty ear-worm: the Game of Thrones opening theme. This might be a bit surprising considering I don't actually watch the show.
I know it's a high quality production and the original author, George R. R. Martin, is involved in its making. I read the books long ago so I should be really excited about watching it. Part of me is excited and longs to see Westeros and its people, not just in the way I imagined it to be.
But the greater part of me remembers the pain, anguish and cruelty associated with reading the books and their various intricate plots. I remember the deaths, disappointments, lack of vision and the overall sense of mindless futility of it all. And I don't want to experience the Red Wedding ever again.
Am I a milksop pacifist* who only accepts "happy endings" to be consumed? No. I know there are no "happy endings" in real life, particularly where I happen to live. Books and TV shows allow us to imagine outside of our immediate reality (under some built in constraints). But, sometimes, it just seems a little too extreme; a little too far.
Why, then, am I plagued with this incessant ear-worm, calling me to join Daenerys in her rightful quest to take back her throne? Or see how Jon Snow is doing beyond the wall? Is it a sign of anxiety? Just a matter of catchy, inspiring music? Or am I trying to tell myself something else?
Game of Thrones Main Theme by Ramin Djawadi {iTunes}
*I'm not implying pacifist are milksops. To be a pacifist, on many cases, requires more courage, principles and determination than to be a non-pacifist.
My feelings towards cats are ambivalent, at best. Sure, you have the unavoidable internet cat, lurking behind every other web page or occasional tweet, being cute and irresistible, the unique predatory cat way. But then you have the real life cats, the ones who fight at 4 AM outside your window or return the favor of your kind pet and piece of cheese with a nasty scratch (that may or may not scar you in more ways then one).
And then there are those cats that stare at you seemingly blankly, smiling inwardly, as you wake up frantically from a nightmare that you could not quite recall, though you swear it was so vivid in your mind it could have left a mark on your skin. Or a scar.
So, cats. Evidently they can also make some pretty good music, a disturbing dark blend of electronics, rock and funk, with uniquely energetic and physically suffused elements. Almost predatory. Almost... like a cat.
Live (photo from the Facebook page)
These particular cats are a group of four good friends from Tel Aviv, working in the best of indie traditions of hard labor, the joy of creation and keeping to their own truth. They dedicate their new single "Disconnect" to their attempt to remove their own misconceptions and prejudices. 'Cause sometimes "the only thing to do is disconnect".
I don't remember a lot from my childhood. Perhaps not a lot has happened then or maybe I choose not to remember. Many of us don't have full recollections, only memories of memories; it is how the mind forms and matures. One of the few memories in sight and sound I do retain is of Carl Sagan on his "Ship of the Imagination" exploring a starry space to the sounds of the opening theme of Cosmos. I did not understand much, perhaps nothing at all, but I do remember a sense of wonder, sincerity and a subtle urgent importance.
Years later, I have re-watched, or perhaps watched for the first time, the entire series, this time as an adult. Watching it has touched me deeply, perhaps especially with the half buried memories of it and with understanding and a framing of many contexts I could not do earlier (it is, after all, dubbed "A Personal Voyage"). Each time I play the opening theme in my mind I can still sense that feeling of wonder that was there, a special kind of innocence I strove to preserve, not always successfully.
I have been in the US these past few weeks as part of an assignment from work and so was fortunate enough to watch live the newly made Cosmos, hosted by Neil deGrasse Tyson. It will take decades to see how the present series affects the children and teenagers growing with it today. The times and the generations have changed, and I cannot say if the medium and the way the message was chosen to be delivered are the best for the current audience (I'll need to ask my nephews). But as part of the 'older' generation, who can't really avoid the comparison (the first episode in particular, it seemed, carries with in it more than a subtle homage for Sagan and the original series) I think it was very well done and look forward for the next episodes. Tyson is perfect for the job and I think Sagan would have been proud.
Funny enough though, as eagerly as I was waiting for Cosmos to air throughout the trip, my day started in church. I am not a christian or any sort of theist for that matter, though, again, my childhood had some affect on me in this matter. Still, I have a strange fascination with churches. Whenever I'm abroad I dedicate a few minutes to sit quietly in a church or a cathedral (New York's St. Patrick's is a favorite of mine), watch the people around and try to absorb the atmosphere. Today (Sunday) I decided to attend an actual service so I put on my least travel weary clothes (one dresses up for Sunday, or so I heard) and went to a church in Brooklyn. I wanted a taste of an actual gospel immersed service, passionate choir, heated sermon and a devout congregation as I imagined it.
And this is also what I had received: friendly, open and welcoming people, thundering music (yes, a joyous noise), a not too long a sermon that was not illogical (for the most part) and a unique experience to take with me and reflect upon. Oh, and also a two hour long panic attack; being in a large hall surrounded by hundreds of people is not easy for an agoraphobic. Yes, I have anxiety (and related depression) issues.
What brought that up, though, is the Scott Stossel article from The Atlantic, that I only fully read today. It is indeed long, but it is also something I could have almost as easily have written myself, with the exception of a few points:
1. I have not been formally diagnosed or treated.
2. I have not taken any medications to deal with it.
3. I don't drink, so that can't numb me.
4. I never met the Kennedys.
How does it all come together? Stossel concludes his story and say that maybe anxiety also has its positive sides, that without it he would have been a different person with a different life. Personally, I think the 'tortured artist' image is far more romanticized than it ought to be, and that there are moments I would do quite a lot to be just a normal, anxiety free (or reduced) kind of a guy. Would I be different? Yes, but isn't that also kind of the point? To try to make yourself better? More free?
As I'm writing this I can still hear the echoes of that opening theme of the original Cosmos. I am tired, tomorrow is my last day in New York, and I already feel the sleep deprivation caused headache. But I am also reassured that I am still on that personal voyage, that I know what I am not (a theist, among other things) though I can appreciate what comes with it and its costs; and that I am still anxious for the road ahead.
I highly recommend the original Cosmos (available on DVDs and probably unofficialy on YouTube)
And the new series (It is Past time to get going again)
And some good old gospel/soul music: Mahalia Jackson - Trouble of the World
Have you ever pondered what it would feel like to fall into a black hole? Or wondered, as you observe a black cat turn the same corner twice, whether reality is really all it's cracked up to be? If consciousness involves such high innate latency (around 100ms), how do musicians play so perfectly, without a seeming conscious effort? How much can we really know about the world and ourselves and how much do we have to assume in order to begin to contemplate answering these questions?
An observable Cat {Wikipedia}
These and other questions were discussed at this year's FQXi (The Foundational Questions Institute) conference on the physic of information, held at the impossibly distracting Vieques Island (Puerto Rico). As a layman who's been exposed to a few snippets of it, I can regrettably say I understand very little of what was discussed. Quantum Physics, a known buzzword, now commonly weaved into the vocabulary of charlatans and quacks, is a mystery. As the great Richard Feynman put it, "If you think you understand quantum mechanics, you don't". And yet, it seems to be governing our existence in scales and ways we can barely imagine and produce ridiculously accurate test results.
The title of this post references an issue within physics about the possible emergence, through quantum fluctuations (in which particles seemingly spontaneously come in and out of existence), of something so complex as a brain, with its own unique thought patterns (see Wikipedia here and more advanced stuff here). This is similar, to some extant, to the idea of a room full of monkeys that randomly type the entirety of Hamlet. While extremely unlikely, it's not impossible that over a great length of time (longer than the average queue at the local post office, some say), such an endeavor can be completed. In this year's conference, however, it's been suggested that the underlying physics may not be so supportive of the emanation of floating disembodied brains in the vastness of space after all.
Whether we are brains-in-a-vat, souls trapped inside a frail body, a part of the greater consciousness of the universe or simply our bodies, we need to make sure to include in our basic assumptions, other than that that we can make sense of the world, that we want to. As we live and die we affect one another in more than the observable way. But sometimes, it seems, it would be easier to understand quantum physics than to understand your next door neighbor.
On the music front, and not completely unrelated, I've been listening to quite a bit of Johnny Flynn, whom I mentioned before. Flynn is about to start a big tour encompassing the US, Canada and Europe in support of his latest album, Country Mile (recommended).
Johnny Flynn - Einstein's Idea {from Country Mile}
This was a hell of a year for me. As in hellish, really bad. As the years progress you are expected to be wiser and more experienced. What is the nature of this mystic wisdom that is supposed to accumulate as time passes you by? I'm not sure.
They say that the basis of wisdom is "I do not know" or at least the recognition of that fact. If that is true, then I am wise indeed. I have re-learnt several important lessons this year (that I will probably revisit next year as well thanks to my amazing memory). One of them is the importance of context, how lack of information or the reliance on false and misleading presumptions can lead to cognitive and emotional errors and mishaps. The view of the world and its people is always partial and to judge according to this partial knowledge is to inevitably err. And yet, additional data will never be quite enough for a full and comprehensive picture. It is always limited to and based on your own flawed perspective.
What do I do then? If gathering additional data alone can't help, what will?
Patience. Empathy. Imagination. Compassion. Constant learning and developing. Interaction. Challenge. Being aware of the tendency to judge and jump into conclusions and instead trying to be open minded and perceptive.
The coming year will bring many changes and challenges: a new flat, possibly a new job, a possible trip abroad with its own opportunities, maybe even a new iOS (yeah, haven't upgraded yet). Looking back, I think I've acquired some important tools of thinking and skepticism this year, and I hope to put them to good use.
I can't say I'm optimistic. I know where I live and what some of my limitations are. But in the end, my life is my own (another important lesson I've failed to internalize). It is for me to choose how to use it.
I was going to write something a little different about music in this post, before I got carried away with the pseudo resolutions. I was listening to a recording of a concert by Nils Frahm on Youtube the other day. I got to it by the seeming randomness of life - one of Youtube's suggestions based on my previous listens.
The concert is made of several pieces and it was only in the second or so pieces that I got hooked or turned on. Frahm, it seemed to me, plays the piano with a sort of a strike, almost a hammering (though it's quite possibly the poor audio I had). It was an interesting technique, but somehow by that particular piece it had changed. I felt oddly connected, like I knew what he was trying to say and how. The technique seemed to flow and it wasn't hammering at all; it was a mode of music and feeling.
Today I listened to the same concert again and I wasn't able to pinpoint exactly where and when I got hooked. I still felt the music and enjoyed it, but the experience was different.
So what is it that gets us hooked on some of the times and not the others? The way we listen, open ourselves to it? The environment and technical parameters? Our state of mind? Is this the upside of jumping to conclusions that might have ended quite differently had I gave my first listen today instead of that other day? Will I now on future listens always look for that point in the track when I thought and felt "yes, this is it" (and thus ignore, to some degree, the present)?
What are we shutting our eyes to when we're looking for that one thing?
Take a listen. See if you can find that spot that works for you.
My chest hurts. It's probably nothing. Stress. Anxiety. There is much to be anxious about these days.
I try my usual tricks to help me relax, to calm down just a little.
I venture into the imaginary world that I pay a monthly upkeep to access, but I can't find myself there anymore. There are echoes, traces of who I once was, but I'm not there anymore.
I try to write, to create a world of my own. There is so much to tell and paint, so few words. I write a paragraph, then stop. Try another, then pause and stare at the waiting cursor. I know the story but I don't know how to reach it. I am lost to it. Without me it cannot be told, and I am silent.
I turn to look for friends, companions, acquaintances, but I cannot reach them. I am lost.
I try to look inside myself, but there is nothing. Only emptiness, a riddled past, an ever stretching present and a cloudy future. I try to break away from the selfish pain and the gnawing anxiety but it's as though I am trying to leave this body behind. They are too much a part of me by now.
Finally, I turn to music. It has always been there for me. I can still hear it, still listen, though my attention span is declining in favor of the pain and dread in my rib cage. And I am so tired.
But it still works, it's still a lifeline out of this place and, for a short time, out of this existence.
I listen and remember I am still alive, I still hunger, I still dream.
I know it's not going to be alright, but for a few minutes I can believe.
It's true I am out of touch. In part, I wish to escape the dreary reality I was born into and be elsewhere, anywhere, but in the here and now. Music used to allow me such a method of traveling without moving (too much - even this poor body can attempt his own version of a dance on occasion). But I seemed to have hardened my skin in the past few years, raising new barriers to keep the world out and looking deeper within. So it now takes a more conscious effort to open up and listen, and consequently, to feel. But I can't hide anymore. And though the pain is ever present, it may have some positive uses to it yet.
But I will take things in measure. Life, and the people we meet, need to be appreciated. Every person has a story to tell, a unique voice, a point of view. The world is full of wonder and terror and we know nothing except this very moment. We may be wrong, we may be right, but that in itself doesn't matter as much as the respect and love we give our fellow travelers. And if that sounds like a load of new age BS, well, maybe it is. Meaning, as pretty much everything, is in the eye of the beholder.
Marika Hackman (taken from a Bristol Couch session)
Marika Hackman is a beautiful British artist I was fortunate enough to be introduced to a few days ago. As always, the music speaks for itself, and it carries that slightly haunting-mysterious air about it that I find so intriguing and appealing. It evokes that feeling of distant memories and dreams long gone, of scenes and experiences you're not sure were ever real, but are true just the same. Recording these clips in a dark tunnel adds its share as well.
Marika Hackman - Bath is Black {from the upcoming That Iron Tastemini album}
Marika Hackman - Mountain Spines {from the upcoming That Iron Tastemini album}
The last time I wrote about The Rest I got fired. Of course, I wasn't fired Because I wrote about them and I was re-hired just 2 days later, but still... it's a correlation to give anyone a reason to pause and consider. And I don't mean is it worth the risk of getting fired again. No, once you get into the music there's hardly going back. A part of me, perhaps a growing part, would not mind getting fired if it's to the sounds of good music.
The Rest
And it is. If you listen carefully to their new album, SEESAW, you may notice some other worldly innuendos, familiar and original waves, coursing towards some unknown destination, thrilled to be free. Part of it is the music celebrating itself, after being nearly destroyed in a hard-drive incident. The other part? Well, that's you, enjoying yourself along.
Have you ever experienced the moments where you truly feel the music, when you're truly immersed in the song, seeming to understand not exactly what the authors may intended, but rather a more general context not confined to any particular time, region or notion? A rare occurrence, usually interrupted by a passerby who just can't seem to understand the peace you've suddenly embraced? An incident you can't reproduce nor hope to, merely chance upon? A singular, intolerated piece of serenity? That after it, still struggling in vain to comprehend, you can look into the artist's eyes and say, "yes, I understand you now". And then forget. You always forget.
But sometimes there's a residue, lingering, half made up and part rooted in near sighted myths, that either sits dormant at the back of your mind till the next time or, on occasion, begs to realize itself somehow. But, it seems the realization may be just as tricky as the inevitable failed attempt at reconstruction, and all that comes up are regurgitated words bearing the aftertaste of memory. So, I'll try to keep it simple. Two songs. Death. Life. Love. One wonders if there really is anything else.
Pause.
It has been a few days since I started writing this. I stopped here for several reasons, a few personal, others prosaic. But I cannot ignore the deep silence that follows these songs, the silence that makes me listen, if only too briefly, once more. It somehow shows me things that truly matters, illuminating my inner dark. For, while consciously I do not want to die, sub-consciously I'm not sure I want to live. These "songs", for lack of a better word, sharpen the dull pain and make me feel again. And though the ache is near physical in magnitude, I'd prefer to feel it than to be walking around dead and unfeeling.
Sometimes things connect in life. Sometimes things have meaning, even if you can't put it into words, or maybe especially when it alludes you. But you know, somehow. At least for a little while.
The Tallest Man on Earth has released, unbeknownst to me (and I have been waiting), a second LP earlier this year titled Wild Hunt. "Like the Wheel", a bonus track on the iTunes version, has touched me the deepest on this excellent record. Björk's "All Is Full of Love" (found on her Greatest Hits) haunts me on parallel lines, as if the two songs were completing each other (or me) somehow. I am grateful for them both.
To say that Her Name is Calla, a Leeds / Leicester / York group is special is a profound understatement, almost as profound as their music and what may stand behind it. Indeed, every artist is, I'd like to hope, is unique in their own way. I believe that aside from the inescapable outside influence, the artist has to have something original, in content, form, point of view or any other mark of distinction, to contribute.
I find that the best of these contributions defy any categorization, that it is simply to be felt and experienced. Her Name is Calla possesses such an emotional core that would offer glimpses into not only the members' hearts but also the listeners'. It gives the impression of loneliness and isolation, living together but apart, a distant promise of something more, of an endless spacious road going on to the horizon. And the band doesn't take any shortcuts. The road has no end.
Go out to the open, away from buses and cities, and listen. Her Name is Calla latest single, "Long Grass", may sweep you off your feet, and once you're on the road, there's no telling where you may end up. The full length album, "The Quiet Lamb", is expected to be released by spring, followed by a tour for those lucky in Europe.
I spend a great deal of my life looking for answers, seeking meaning in what I see and experience. Things must have a purpose, some utility, some significance, however idiosyncratic. All serve that underlying premise, more than half forgotten, that an answer must exist.
But an answer to what? What if I no longer remember the questions? What if I'm seeking out of mere inertia and boredom? Does it actually matter or merely founded on the same secret premise (that there is an object to be sought), leading into a never ending circle around myself, never reaching a conclusion?
I may not be able to feel confident in my own search, but I'm still able to identify the need and sincerity of other people's quests and questions. Many of the artists that move me and were covered here are seekers, some more readily identifiable than others. Some, like Providence, Rhode Island's Moga, may deserve a category of their own.
I've been struggling with myself these past few weeks to try and "tag" them, to call their true name and posses them. Instead, I now confess my inability to do so; it is I who is being possessed by the unknown and marvel at their own questing and seeking. The sound is unique, no doubt. But I think it is their own secret premise that hooked me, something wild and free, moving from joy to tears and back again, something primal. Something good.
In their MySpace Moga lists "Shamanistic Cultures" under 'Influences'. It is no lie.
Check out Moga on MySpace for more tracks and videos. Their album is set to be released later this month.
I was immersed in a funny, almost tranquil feeling last night as I was pacing the company's grounds. The place seemed deserted, familiarly worn and torn; a place I spent most of my waking hours in, but now felt strangely foreign.
I'm trying to leave, the cords are all but completely severed. The only thing remaining is a destination.
But maybe the destination doesn't matter as much as the will to go and breath some life into this existence, to dig up my wanderlust and venture on. A beautiful new Leonard Cohen song, the first in 5 years, apparently, seems to support this. After all: "It's like they tore away my blindfold, and they said 'we're gonna let this man go free'."
Freedom.
Leonard Cohen - New Song {Video), from a live concert in Chicago, October 29th 2009 (thanks for the heads up Guy)
It seems I'm about to lose my job, again. There will be no semi-divine intervention putting me back this time. In fact, it's likely that I will be joined by most of the rest of the company soon after. Mind numbing as it was in the recent years, this job did provide a shelter through the ongoing recession, almost surviving it. But not quite.
The mood here has an eerily cheerful facade, fueled by a mix of denial, a sense of fatality and the budding realization that C'est la vie, the time to change has come. I will certainly miss my friends and some of my co-workers, but in a way I've been both waiting and dreading it for quite some time. Will this be the push I need to finally get a grip? Or is (my) life merely a series of such moments of realization after which I sink into the usual comfortable routine of the ordinary and boring?
I don't know what tomorrow will bring; I just need to find the exciting part of it, not just the scary one.
To all job seekers, future and present, I dedicate this beautiful and immensely moving song by Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush; don't give up.
Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush - Don't Give Up {Video}, from So
The pain of losing someone, at least for me, is deeply personal; not only in its obvious meaning but in some odd and not completely out of place egotistical way. It is losing, not gaining; it is the end of a potential, not the beginning. Regrets, sometimes overlooked, surface with a violent vengeance and guilt strikes to the core.
It is the end of the world, the inner world, as we know it. But endings and beginnings come and go every day; death is final.
And what do we really know of our loved ones, our feelings towards them and even ourselves? More and more I agree with Joni Mitchell that it is "life's illusions I recall; I really don't know life at all". It is the shattering of those illusions, our conceptions, misguided hopes, that hurts the most.
I sit by an enormous network switch with a huge fan that constantly streams torrents of chilled air straight into my right ear. Besides the occasional blue ear, this situation allows me the experience the arctic freeze on a daily basis, possibly in balance to the actual arctic rapidly melting away.
It also enables me to connect to some types of music in a pseudo-physical sense, feeling the chill and images they project on my own body. The story of northerner Arran Arctic, as you can read and listen to on his MySpace, is one such example. Through it I see bleak and forlorn coasts, green-grey forests and a fire blazing in welcoming hearths. It looks like a hard life, but one worth living.
Venture on to his MySpace and Facebook for your own experience; just don't forget the ear muffs (on top of your headphones). His latest LP, The Boy in Brown, is available here.
Arran Arctic - Lonely Accordion {Video} (from The Boy in Brown)
I don't know any good songs about unicorns (or hippogryphs, for that matter). I do know a lot of great songs of religious and spiritual meaning, of personal and what sometimes seems like collective significance. Why am I writing about that now? Where have I been all this time? These questions are somewhat related.
These past few days I've been reading Richard Dawkin's "The God Delusion", a rather blunt and forceful attack on religion. Already agnostic before I began, I admit the book has carried me over a bit towards atheism. Yet shaking the shackles of the past can take time and I find that even my very way of thought is fraught with the irrational. And a significant part of me doesn't want to abandon it.
But when I say irrational I mean feelings and emotions, not superstitions (which should be left far behind). Religion, like any human creation, has its ups and downs, and while I don't share the belief that the supposed focus of most religions (i.e. god) actually exists as usually described, I can appreciate some of the feelings of wonder, hope and admiration some people of faith seem to share. To believe means to trust completely without question or doubt in something that isn't proven to be so (or perhaps can never be proven), and it's something, though I tried very hard as a child, I could never really accomplish. But to share the ecstasy in Aretha Franklin's rendition of "Amazing Grace", even as a non-Christian, that I can do. Listening to it and similar songs brings me to a point where I feel compelled to get on my knees and start praying (score one for mass media and televangelists), but then I remember there isn't really much of a point (knock out in favor of science and rational thought).
I need my irrational self. I know it's immature, a Peter Pan flying around Outland (Northrend coming soon), living in fancies and dreams. But without his imagination and vision I would be reduced to an empty shell of an automaton. And though there's no outright contradiction between science and the sense of wonder the universe seems to generate, without irrationality, without the presumption, without the fancy of a lost child, there would be no science or wonder as well.
I've found out I'm on a journey; I don't know where I'm going or where I started. The present surrounds and tempts me, the past is foggy almost as the future is murky; the sense of movement itself could be an illusion. And yet, I'm finally beginning to be thrilled about it, to discover between the bouts of storms and thunders, that I am still alive.
I'm sure this song can be interpreted in many ways; mine is taken with a sense of love towards the human race with all its faults, hoping it is on its continuous, never-ending journey in life.
Cherbourg, one of my currently most listened to bands, has unveiled its official clip for the first single out of their new EP, Into the Dark. Well produced and laden with symbolism of all sorts, it is up for the viewers to get whatever meaning they can out of it. That is, except for the obvious risk in being in a rock band...
I'm seriously considering turning this week to an all Canadian experience. The sheer wealth and variety of artists and styles of music I encounter coming from that country would seem to demand it. I don't want to compare it to its neighbor from the south, but there's definitely something special and very much alive going on there.
Take Vancouver's indie folk-pop Said the Whale for example. Exuberance may be a hard word to define precisely, but putting a clip of the band in the dictionary might provide a good start. Just as important, the group appears to enjoy the whole experience and gives off a certain impression of genuineness.
If you're lucky and in Canada, you can check them out for yourselves in their grand summer tour: June 11th - Penticton, BC - Barking Parrot @ Lakeside Resort June 12th - Lethbridge, AB - The Slice June 13th - Calgary, AB - The #1 Legion June 18th - London, ON - Call The Office June 20th - Toronto, ON - Reverb (NXNE) June 23th - Windsor, ON - Phog Lounge June 24th - Peterborough, ON - Red Dog June 25th - Hamilton, ON- The Casbah June 26th - Sarnia, ON - Patty Flaherty's June 28th - St Catherines, ON - SCENE FEST July 8th - Winnipeg, MB - Lo Pub July 9th - Saskatoon, SK - Amigo's July 10th - Edmonton, AB - The Pawn Shop July 11th - Kelowna, BC - The Habitat
You can also find Said the Whale on their website and MySpace for more updates and tracks. Their LP, Islands Disappear, is expected to be released this October.
The mail in my inbox said that Blood Guts Bruises Cuts may not be for the faint of hearts. And it's quite correct, too. But as a title for the Alberta, Canada indie rock band The Dudes' new LP, especially when it is joined with the rather creepy promo video on the band's MySpace, it serves well enough.
That's not to say that gore and violence is what this LP is about; the general feel of it is energetic fun rock, fun to create, perform and dance to. Simple, direct and good.
So, is violence so intertwined with our lives that we can't do without it? A spotlight here and there, offered by the Dudes, may have some interesting revelations and insights.
Check The Dudes on their website, MySpace, Facebook, last.fm and Virb. Their new LP, Blood Guts Bruises Cuts, is out tomorrow, June 2nd.
Attention music lovers: Cherbourg's second EP, Into the Dark, is about to be released on June 1st and is available for pre-order here. Listening to it, I can just say that this London, UK indie folk-rock band is destined for greatness. The band's first EP, Last Chapter of Dreaming, (covered here) was simply amazing and still totally blows me away. The second one continues the first in some ways but also turns into new directions, with a similar end result: a great EP that moves you and evokes feelings and thoughts best shared.
Obviously, I had to try and grab an interview: Q. Cherbourg is composed of 4 unique members. Can you tell us a little about the group and its inner workings?
A. Well, I guess, we just try to be as open as possible to everyone in the band's suggestions and when it comes to making music it really is a full band process. We all come from pretty different musical backgrounds and that really helps to keeps the songs interesting but really we just try to compliment the songs in the best way possible.
Q. What inspires you to create and make music?
A. Everything really. I don't think any of us could put it down to a single band or an author or a person. I think that our inspiration lies all over the place and is very individual to each member of the band. I was watching the Sound Of Music yesterday and felt really inspired the whole way through. That film is amazing! Q. Both Last Chapter of Dreaming and Into The Dark feature a kind of a dark and gloomy spirit about them. Is that your "niche" in the music world or are you trying to deliver a specific message?
A. I guess they both are dark in many ways. I also think that there is a lot of optimism in the songs as well. I just think that our songs are very honest and I don't think were afraid of confronting dark topics or bleak feelings but i believe our music is also very uplifting, if you want it to be.
Q. Starting out as an indie band in a world filled with bands can be very hard (but also a lot fun, if you're with the right people). What's your approach? Do you consider yourself a part of the British folk revival movement, if such a thing exists?
A. I don't really consider Cherbourg as part of a "folk revival movement". I think a movement kind of implies that that all the bands have a message and share the same message which i don't think is true. Our approach is just to enjoy it! We're just happy to play music and enjoy and respect the bands that play and write music for the right reasons.
To support the new EP, Cherbourg is doing a very extensive tour of England and Scotland. Here are some of the tour dates (must see): May, 23 2009 10:00 PM - Mothers Ruin , Bristol May, 24 2009 10:00 PM - Unit, Southampton May, 25 2009 10:00 PM - The Cellar, Portsmouth May, 27 2009 10:00 PM - Oakford Social, Reading May, 29 2009 10:00 PM - John Kennedy Introducing @ Watershed, Wimbledon May, 30 2009 10:00 PM - Escobar, Wakefield June, 1 2009 10:00 PM - The Lamp, Hull June, 2 2009 10:00 PM - The Basement, York June, 3 2009 10:00 PM - Royal Park Cellers, Leeds June, 4 2009 10:00 PM - The Royal, Derby June, 5 2009 10:00 PM - Museum Courture Cafe, Manchester June, 6 2009 10:00 PM - The End Bar, Newcastle June, 7 2009 10:00 PM - Captains Rest, Glasgow June, 8 2009 10:00 PM - Sneaky Petes, Edinburgh June, 10 2009 10:00 PM - Korova, Aberdeen June, 11 2009 10:00 PM - Roxy, Ulverston June, 12 2009 10:00 PM - Mad Ferret, Preston June, 13 2009 09:00 PM - Goldney Ball, Bristol June, 14 2009 09:00 PM - Jericho Tavern, Oxford July, 4 2009 08:00 PM - Blissfields Festival, Hampshire July, 10 2009 05:00 PM - Lounge On The Farm Festival (10th - 12th ), Canterbury
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