A song by Robert Burns, translated by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941). Arranged and performed by the trio Swagatam (Prakriti Dutta, Barnaby Brown & Hardeep Singh) live at the University of Glasgow, 27 January 2011.
A song by Robert Burns, translated by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941). Arranged and performed by the trio Swagatam (Prakriti Dutta, Barnaby Brown & Hardeep Singh) live at the University of Glasgow, 27 January 2011.
music: Nate Maingard, Zim Ngqawana
vocals: Nate Maingard, Aryan Kaganof
appropriation: Aryan Kaganof
https://www.instagram.com/p/BoSF6XcHLFv
π₯π₯π₯
We are proud to present the official music video for Nyanda Yeni, the first single of Thabang Tabane’s upcoming debut solo album, Matjale.
The music video, directed and edited by StraitJacket Tailor, is composed primarily of archival footage taken from apartheid-era cinema from South Africa. The images are borrowed from 1950s films and variety shows with some footage for 1970s propaganda films endorsing the notion of βseparate developmentβ. By taking apart old apartheid-era films and their fallacies of coonish fantasy, it slices and splices them in order to re-order their meanings. In other words, it subverts. Taking us for a loop. Also included in the film are short video clips of the legendary, late Dr. Philip Tabane performing, creating an arch that links father and son in life, love and malombo.
The archival clips are choreographed in a loop emulating the spinning of a record on a turntable, but also the vertiginous sΓ©ance-like spin of a dance or chant for rain.
StraitJacket Tailor is a record collector, archivist, and award winning documentary film director/producer.
Nyanda Yeni is now available on most digital platforms.
The album, Matjale, drops digitally, on CD and on vinyl on Friday, the 14th of September, 2018.
Credits for Music Video:
Produced by Sifiso Khanyile and Boxcutter Studio
Directed and edited by #StraitJacket Tailor
Credits for Track:
Nyanda Yeni by Thabang Tabane
Music composed and arranged by Thabang Tabane
Lyrics from Traditional Song
Performed by Thabang Tabane (malombo drums, hlwahlwadi, toys & vocals), Dennis Moanganei Magagula (djembe, hlwahlwadi & toys), Sibusile Xaba (guitar & sounds) and Thulani Ntuli (electric bass guitar)
Produced by Thabang Tabane, Andrew Curnow & Dion Monti
Recorded by Andrew Curnow & Nhlanhla Mngadi
Mixed by Dion Monti & JoΓ£o Orecchia
Mastered by Norman Nitzsche at Calyx Mastering
Recorded live at the Tabane household, Mamelodi on 28 August 2016.
Executive Producers and A&R – Lindokuhle Nkosi, Chumisa Ndakisa & Andrew Curnow
Lovingly presented to you by Mushroom Hour Half Hour
http://www.mushroomhour.com
Rhea Dally and Freya Edmondes. π€
Details of performances and workshops at www.edgeofwrong.com.
A film by Bill Morrison / Music by Michael Gordon / Blu-Ray Trailer / An Icarus Films Release
Often compared to Stan Brakhage, Bill Morrison created DECASIA entirely with decaying, old found footage, melded to the music of Bang on a Can’s Michael Gordon, performed by the 55 pieceΒ basel sinfonietta. The result is a delirium of deteriorated film stock, a moving avant-garde masterpiece that leaves its meaning open to interpretation and, most importantly, your imagination.
“Bill Morrison’s DECASIA is that rare thing: a movie with avant-garde and universal appeal…. Morrison is not the first artist to take decomposing film stock as his raw material, but he plunges into this dark nitrate of the soul with contagious abandon. Few movies are so much fun to describe. Heralded by a spinning dervish, DECASIA’s first movement seems culled from century-old actualitΓ©s: Kimono-clad women emerge from a veil of spotty mold, a caravan of camels is silhouetted against the warped desert horizon, a Greek dancer disintegrates into a blotch barrage, the cars for an ancient Luna Park ride repeatedly materialize out of seething chaos.
“DECASIA is founded on the tension between the hard fact of film’s stained, eroded, unstable surface and the fragile nature of that which was once photographically represented. Michael Snow contrived something similar in the chemical conflagration of his 1991 To Lavoisier, Who Died in the Reign of Terror-in which he purposefully distressed new footage. But Morrison is far more expressionistic. A second opposition arises between the lushly deteriorated images and composer Michael Gordon’s no less textured, increasingly ominous drone. (Unlike Philip Glass’s scores, Gordon’s never overpowers the visual accompaniment-even when it escalates to wall of sound.) A third opposition might be termed ideological.
“On one hand, DECASIA…can be taken as a cautionary advertisement for film preservation. [like] Morrison’s 1996 short THE FILM OF HER, an imaginary romance about the preservation of paper prints in the Library of Congress, celebrating what the archivist Paolo Cherchi Usai calls the “monumental necropolis of precious documents.” On the other hand, DECASIA is founded on a deep aesthetic appreciation for decay. (“Cinema is the art of destroying moving images,” per the gnomic Cherchi Uchai.) The solarization, the morphing, the lysergic strobe effects on which the movie thrives, are as natural as the photographic image itself.
“As DECASIA continues, the calligraphy of decay grows increasingly hallucinatory and catastrophic. The sea buckles. Flesh melts. A boxer struggles against the disintegration of the image. Wall Street is half consumed in flames. A dozen little parachutes dot the cracked sky. A group of nuns traverse a courtyard that frames an Italian landscape in severe perspective, evoking a Renaissance vision of the Last Judgment. DECASIA [seems] Hindu in its awesome spectacle of violent flux. The film is a fierce dance of destruction. Its flame-like, roiling black-and-white inspires trembling and gratitude.” βJ. Hoberman, The Village Voice
“I popped Morrison’s video into my VCR and within a few further minutes I found myself completely absorbed, transfixed, a pillow of air lodged in my stilled, open mouth. Now, I’m no particular authority on film, but I do know one-Errol Morris. A short time later, when I happened to be visiting him, I popped the video into his VCR and proceeded to observe as Morrison’s film once again began casting its spell. Errol sat drop-jawed: at one point, about halfway through, he stammered, ”This may be the greatest movie ever made.” βLawrence Weschler, The New York Times Magazine
“Compelling and disturbing! Swimming symphonies of baroque beauty emerge from corrosive nitrate disintegration as rockets of annihilation demolish cathedrals of reality.” βKenneth Anger, filmmaker
“A stirring, haunting modern masterpiece…Bill Morrison has created a unique artifact, as enigmatically authoritative as Max Ernst’s collage novel “Une Semaine de BontΓ©.” It makes you think of Joseph Cornell’s memory boxes, Robert Rauschenberg’s time-stuffed assemblages, Anger, Hitchcock. It makes you feel that the art, as opposed to the business, of cinema does have a future – even if it has to be found deep in the past.” βJonathan Jones, The Guardian
Clips fromΒ 2001: A Space Odyssey (directorΒ Stanley Kubrick, 1968).
Just because it goes so beautifully next to the Sharon van Etten song that I just posted. And the footage has been edited together fromΒ Picnic at Hanging Rock,Β directed by Peter Weir (1975).
Francoise Hardy sampled to lovely effect.
DΓ©tournement par excellence.
Sammy Slabbinck (Β°1977) renders dynamicΒ collage prints & original paper collages,Β combining Β found imagery with contemporary compositional styles. The images are cut up into pieces and redistributed,Β playing with exaggeration and proportions .Other times, the images are placed in a reverse context,Β juxtaposing modern ideals with traditional states of mind.
More collage work HERE.
“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” – Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
“The entire album is an exorcism of an dead universe. Nothing can stay together here. Itβs hauntology as a pasture of incidental tones and half-ripped photographs. The video footage is unable to focus. The lensβs view is eternally obstructed. The wild blurs of compounded biographies come off like a fever dream of a memory play.” Β – Timothy Gabriele (12 November 2009). Broadcast and the Focus Group: Investigate Witch Cults of the Radio Age – PopMatters.
Fan-made video using an excerpt from Tarkovsky’s Stalker.
With footage from Jean Cocteau’s OrphΓ©e (1950).
Someone took footage of Vladimir Putin singing Fats Dominoβs βBlueberry Hillβand edited it to look like Putin is instead singing Radioheadβs βCreep.β
h/t Dangerous Minds.
Wonderful, as always.
once there was a path and a girl with chestnut hair β β β we met when we were almost young β β deep in the green lilac park β β you held on to me like i was a crucifix β β as we went kneeling through the dark β β β i loved you in the morning β our kisses deep and warm β β your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm β β yes β many loved before us β i know that we are not new β β in city and in forest they smiled like me and you β β β let me see you moving like they do in babylon β β show me slowly what i only know the limits of β β dance me very tenderly and dance me very long β β dance me to the wedding now β dance me on and on β β β thereβs a concert hall in vienna β β where your mouth had a thousand reviews β β i remember you well in the chelsea hotel β β you were famous β your heart was a legend β β i thought you were the crown prince β β of all the wheels in ivory town β and everywhere that you wandered β β love seemed to go along with you β β β lost among the subway crowds β β i tried to catch your eye β β i saw you there with the rose in your teeth β β iβd been waiting β i was sure β β β but youβd been to the station to meet every train β β β i knew i was in danger of losing what i used to think was mine β β just dance me to the dark side of the gym β β chances are iβll let you do most anything β β so weβre dancing close β the band is playing stardust β β balloons and paper streamers floating down on us β β β i know youβre hungry β i can hear it in your voice β β and there are many parts of me to touch β you have your choice β β β the women in your scrapbook β β β (i was in that army β yes i stayed a little while β β though i wore a uniform i was not born to fight) β β β now your love is a secret all over the block β β β iβm just a station on your way β β β where are you golden boy β β where is your famous golden touch? β β the sun pours down like honey β β and yes itβs come to this β itβs come to this β β hey prince you need a shave β β β i forget to pray for the angels β β and then the angels forget to pray for us β β β your letters they all say that youβre beside me now β β then why do i feel alone? β β iβm standing on a ledge and your fine spider web β β is fastening my ankle to a stone β β β everybody knows that you love me baby β β everybody knows that you really do β β everybody knows that youβve been faithful β β ah β give or take a night or two β β everybody knows youβve been discreet β β but there were so many people you just had to meet β β without your clothes β and everybody knows β β β and i canβt wait to tell you to your face β β and i canβt wait for you to take my place β β β i cannot follow you β my love β β you cannot follow me β β i am the distance you put between β β all of the moments that we will be β β β i choose the rooms that i live in with care β β the windows are small and the walls almost bare β β thereβs only one bed and thereβs only one prayer β β i listen all night for your step on the stair β β β i donβt like your fashion business mister β β and i donβt like those drugs that keep you thin β β β some women wait for jesus β and some women wait for cain β β i was waiting for a miracle β i waited half my life away β β β lately youβve started to stutter β as though you had nothing to say β β β you donβt love me quite so fiercely now β β youβre weak and youβre harmless β β youβre sleeping in your harness β β β you thought that it could never happen β β to all the people you became β β the rain falls down on last yearβs man β β thatβs a crayon in his hand β β β like any dealer he was watching for the card β β that is so high and wild β β heβll never need to deal another β β β (o youβve seen that man before) β β his golden arm dispatching cards β β (but now itβs rusted from the elbow to the finger β β and he wants to trade the game he plays for shelter) β β β everybody knows that the dice are loaded β β everybody rolls with their fingers crossed β β everybody knows that the war is over β β everybody knows the good guys lost β β everybody knows the fight was fixed β β the poor stay poor β the rich get rich β β thatβs how it goes β everybody knows β β β well β i found a silver needle β i put it into my arm β β it did some good β did some harm β β but the nights were cold β and it almost kept me warm β β β in a dream of hungarian lanterns β β in the mist of some sweet afternoon β β some girls wander by mistake β β into the mess that scalpels make β β β morning came and then came noon β β dinner time a scalpel blade β β lay beside my silver spoon β β those who earnestly are lost β β are lost and lost again β β β i journey down the hundred steps β β the street is still the very same β β was i β was i only limping β was i really lame? β β β i canβt run no more with this lawless crowd β β β you say youβve been humbled in love β β cut down in your love β β β you say youβve gone away from me β β (i see youβve gone and changed your name again) β β but i can feel you when you breathe β β β you stumble into this movie-house β then climb in to the frame β β β your pain is no credential here β β of course youβll say you canβt complain β β you who wish to conquer pain β β love calls you by your name β β β why do you stand by the window β β abandoned to beauty and pride β β the thorn of the night in your chest β β the spear of the age in your side β β lost in the rages of fragrance β β lost in the rags of remorse β β lost in the waves of a sickness β β that loosens the high silver nerves β β β yes you who must leave everything that you cannot control β β it begins with your family β but soon it comes around to your soul β β β well iβve been where youβre hanging β i think i can see how youβre pinned β β when youβre not feeling holy β your loneliness says that youβve sinned β β β itβs four in the morning β the end of december β β itβs dark now and itβs snowing β β the cadillacs go creeping now through the night and the poison gas β β the cities they are broke in half and the middle men are gone β β β all the rocket-ships are climbing through the sky β β the holy books are open wide β β β the blizzard β the blizzard of the world β β has crossed the threshold β β β do you remember all of those pledges β β that we pledged in the passionate night β β ah theyβre soiled now β theyβre torn at the edges β β like moths on a still yellow light β β no penance serves to renew them β β no massive transfusions of trust β β why not even revenge can undo them β β so twisted these vows and so crushed β β β iβm cold as a new razor blade β β your shirt is all undone β β β will you kneel beside this bed β β that we polished so long ago β β your eyes are wild and your knuckles are red β β and youβre speaking far too low β β β you donβt know me from the wind β β you never will β you never did β β β the crumbs of love that you offer me β β theyβre the crumbs iβve left behind β β β and is this what you wanted β β to live in a house that is haunted β β by the ghost of you and me? β β β iβve lain by this window long enough β β to get used to an empty room β β and your love is some dust in an old manβs cough β β who is tapping his foot to a tune β β β and why are you so quiet now β β standing there in the doorway? β β you chose your journey long before β β you came upon this highway β β remember when the scenery started fading β β i held you till you learned to walk on air β β so donβt look down the ground is gone β β thereβs no one waiting anyway β β the smokey life is practised β -everywhere β β β looks like freedom but it feels like death β β β i balance on a wishing well that all men call the world β β we are so small between the stars β so large against the sky β β β and where do all these highways go β now that we are free? β β the age of lust is giving birth β and both the parents ask β β the nurse to tell them fairytales on both sides of the glass β β β there is a war between the rich and poor β β a war between the man and the woman β β there is a war between the ones who say there is a war β β and the ones who say there isnβt β β β there is a war between the left and right β β a war between the black and white β β a war between the odd and even β β β i canβt pretend i still feel very much like singing β β as they carry the bodies away β β β thereβs blood on every bracelet β β you can see it β you can taste it β β β (every heart β every heart β β to love will come but like a refugee) β β β too early for the rainbow β too early for the dove β β these are the final days β this is the darkness β this is the flood β β and there is no man or woman who canβt be touched β β but you who come between them will be judged β β β so the great affair is over but whoever would have guessed β β it would leave us all so vacant and so deeply unimpressed β β β itβs like our visit to the moon or to that other star β β i guess you go for nothing if you really want to go that far β β β itβs over β it ainβt going any further β β iβm sick of pretending β iβm broken from bending β β iβve lived too long on my knees β β β the river is swollen up with rusty cans β β and the trees are burning in your promised land β β β along with several thousand dreams β β β thereβs nothing left to do β β when you know that youβve been taken β β β itβs closing time.
(cento: a composition made up of quotations from other authors; latin: patchwork garment)
lyrics taken from:
songs of leonard cohen: suzanne; master song; winter lady; stranger song; sisters of mercy; so long marianne; hey, thatβs no way to say goodbye; stories of the street; teachers
iβm your man: first we take manhattan; ainβt no cure for love; everybody knows; take this waltz
songs of love and hate: avalanche; last yearβs man; dress rehearsal rag; diamonds in the mine; love calls you by your name; famous blue raincoat
the future: the future; waiting for the miracle; closing time; anthem; light as the breeze; death of a ladiesβ man: iodine; paper thin hotel; memories; death of a ladiesβ man
songs from a room: the old revolution; the butcher; you know whoΒ i am; tonight will be fine
new skin for the old ceremony: is this what you wanted; chelsea hotel #2; there is a war
various positions: dance me to the end of love
recent songs: the guests; humbled in love; the window; the gypsyβs wife; the smokey life
Great fan-made video from a scrap of studio footage. <3 From the new albumΒ Amnesty (I)Β out on Fiction Records. Samples from several songs on this album.
More ridiculous amazingness atΒ bargainbinblasphemy.tumblr.com.
From Heligoland, released inΒ 2010, with vocals by Hope Sandoval.
Also check out the epic 2011 remix by Burial:
And this one from Gui Boratto: