Thursday 28 November 2013

Pear-Shaped People...and Me

We are shaped 
                      and fashioned 
                                        by what we love
                                                                 - Goethe 
What does that make me?
                                      laurel & hardy
                                      anna karina
                                      sun ra
                                      william burroughs
                                      horace silver
                                      jean-luc godard
                                      raymond chandler
                                      max ernst
                                      daphne oram...

By what we love...
                             music
                             film
                             art
                             literature
                             country walks
                             the sea
                             mountains

No-no...not specific enough...

They say you can't judge a book by it's cover. But you can...
                                                                                                   
                                                   

Can you judge a person by the books they own? 

Did the books shape the person or the person shape the contents of the shelf?

They're not complete idiots because they read best-selling trash. They're incomplete idiots. As we all are. Because no matter how idiotic we may be in some areas, others make up for them. In theory. Although there are complete idiots in the world. You just hope you never meet them. 

Some people who read trash may be kind, generous, open-hearted and good-humoured. You may not wish to be stuck in a lift with them, though. Unless they're professional psychiatrists, in which case they may save you from breaking down in panic. Unless they're mind doctors who are also claustrophobic...

A man saves you from drowning and takes you back to his house where you see just two bookshelves filled with Dan Brown and J. K. Rowling. Then you notice JLS and Rihanna CDs by the player. What do you do? You pray he doesn't play either of them because you won't be able to deal with your conflicting feelings towards him...

When Goethe spoke he no doubt had poetry and nature in mind, not Keeping Up with the Kardashians and Kanye West. Should his spirit return today, he would no doubt still say the same thing whilst observing the behaviour and aspirations of some people. 

You are what you eat? People 'eat' shitty books, films and music. There are government health warnings on cigarette packets. Why are there none on the mind-poisoning culture people consume? Because it's 'only' Music, TV, Literature, Film and magazines. It does no harm. It probably benefits governments.

Were some people stupid, vacuous children who turned into bling-worshipping, celebrity-sucking, cloth-eared idiots when they started to love what they do? Yes. What they love simply shapes them more into what they were destined to be. By 21 they're fully-formed. 

By the time I got to the 3rd year of Secondary School I was a bright kid disguised as an idiot. It was all I knew how to be in the face of authority. I may still be an idiot. But my books, records and DVDs disguise the fact...
                            

Tuesday 26 November 2013

Photos From A Trip To Crouch End


Inspired by two recent posts over at Sun Dried Sparrows I took the camera out with me this morning on a trip to Crouch End. It's known as 'London's Creative Village' because according to census data, 40% of the working population work in the creative industries - whoooo! I tried not to feel like an imposter, a lowly prole who (whisper it) makes Art, and writes, but earns nothing from it, unlike the industry tarts round 'ere, who've no doubt sold their 'creative' arseholes to The Man. It's not called Crouch End for nothing, you know. I go there a lot, actually, mainly to chat up Yummy Mummies in Costa with lines like 'fancy a bit of rough?' and ''Ow about a shag, luv?'

Beautiful morning. I first looked for chavs, pit bulls, junkies and muggers for authentic shots of real London life but found none so took a snap of the sunlight on the side of this house at the top of our road.



The nearby clock tower, which begs to be photographed every time I pass it. So this time I did. 



This in the road beside the pavement. They missed you...



Back of the bus stop, decollage by the local answer to Mimmo Rotella, no doubt. And we're not even in Crouch End yet. I live in such a creative area...



Hornsey Road Baths, a classic neon sign which, being on a bus, I managed not to capture very well...



London's filled with ghostly signs of old establishments and I particularly like this one. 




When travelling by train to visit a girlfriend I'd often think of Jimmy Van Heusen and Johnny Mercer's lyric: 'I peeked through the crack, looked at the track / The one going back to you / And what did I do? / I thought about you.' (I Thought About You'). I didn't think about her as the bus passed over this track.



Naturally...



Gates to Hornsey Town Hall, shamefully no longer in use, although being open it fooled me into thinking I'd be able to go in and snap what would undoubtedly be a fascinating interior. Inside there was a wooden reception desk behind which sat nobody. Exterior shots coming up...




Sculpture by Thomas Bayliss Huxley-Jones at one end of Hornsey Library.





Nice lights inside. It felt odd being in a library after many years. I was reminded of the classic Hancock sketch, The Missing Page and tempted to ask if they had a copy of Lady Don't Fall Backwards...




The Town Hall. Shouldn't it be an Art gallery by now?



Barclays bank, formerly a gas showroom...





On the way home. I've often looked at this sign and wondered what it signified....


Monday 25 November 2013

Dial-A-Copy

Dial a copy of a piece of Art that you love. 
Call it your own. 
This will work if the artist is obscure enough. 
Copy a copy and create an original copy.
Then copy that to create an original copy of the original copy.

People may copy your style but never your skill.
To be copied is a compliment, they say.
This is true.
But imagine being copied by someone who then makes more money from it than you do.
You'd have to laugh.
Then carry on copying certain aspects of all those who have influenced you.



Friday 22 November 2013

1960s German Woodcuts

From the library of Jack Yates, a local artist, by which I don't mean I stole it from his house, but that it appeared in one of the charity shops that I visit regularly...
...as have quite a few Art books of his...
...and as sad as it seems to realise they were once treasured by him, the same could be said of many books I find whose original owners are no longer here...
...but I'm sure he'd be pleased to know that these images are being shared with the world...
...or you, at least.
Before I Go, what will I do with my books?
What will you do with yours?
A sobering thought...
Meanwhile, enjoy these amazing colour woodcuts...

The book: Der deutsche Holzschnitt im 20. Jahrhundert



Rot - Rot - Grau, Heinz Kreutz, 1962

Schwarz mit blauem Punkt, Heinz Kreutz, 1962

Tod und Blinder, HAP Grieshaber, 1966

Tod und Schultheiß, HAP Grieshaber, 1966

Thursday 21 November 2013

Dolly Dolly - Antimacassar (Exotic Pylon)


An antimacassar is a small cloth placed over the backs or arms of chairs, or the head or cushions of a sofa, to prevent soiling of the permanent fabric.

Crystal clear pronunciation ensures that Dolly Dolly's prose comes across crystal clear & that's a good thing because it's worth hearing.  
Diverse backing tracks add to the appeal, from Free Jazz to solo piano and Replekz radiophonics the music enhances the poetry superbly.
'And the sea develops a scab of interlocking child's fingers...'
Surrealism lurks behind the twitching curtains of suburbia. 
'Antimacassar and the death of Hauntology...'
T.S.Eliot meets Hans Arp?
Dark, profound, playful and damned good...


Wednesday 20 November 2013

Reaching Infinite Compilation


'Ello, mate. 
Look, I've made you a tape. Library stuff, mostly, with a few modern acts on it...you know, the usual suspects, but they fit.
Remember that girl I used to see down in on the coast in Hove? That was back when everyone still had tapes. That's all she had, tapes, strewn all over the floor of her flat where we sat smoking, wondering whether to shag or not, well I was anyway. Turns out we didn't. All I remember her playing was Rickie Lee Jones...that was all right with me. Chuck E's In Love...I wasn't, but I liked her well enough. 
I met her at a fanzine convention. She bought something I made and we got chatting, you know. Next thing I'm living in Brighton with a mate in a run down B&B for bums on the dole. That was us. I wouldn't say it was bad but the milk they supplied for breakfast was off one morning...yeah...
I got a job, finally, in the restaurant on the end of the pier...serving tea to old folk whilst some bloke played the organ...christ, makes me feel ancient... 
The bomb had just gone off at the Tory conference, so that makes it...'84. I'll never forget a couple of Yanks coming up to me whilst I was clearing the tables and asking where the bombing happened. I pointed across the see to a bloody great big black hole in the buildings and said 'There'. 
Live Aid was on...posters in all the windows and the sound of it coming out of them as I walked the streets wondering what the hell I was doing with my life and how much longer I could stand that job & Bob Geldof & Queen & Status fucking Quo... 
Anyway, I made you a tape. Things have changed. No need for cassette-players...just download it...hope you like it...
Oh, the photo on the cover is by LJ.




Tuesday 19 November 2013

That's Not Art!




In the Oxfam shop I have the old debate about Modern Art with the guy behind the counter
- who had opened the Rauschenberg book I was thinking of buying, pointed at a sculpture (I'll call it)
and said: 'See, this kind of thing...'
then went off about it not meaning anything and what was the point? 'If I go into a gallery and see a pile of straw' etc.
so
I rose to the defence of Modern Art. I couldn't resist.
though it wasn't clear whether he meant Modern Art in the classic sense or Contemporary Art.
Anyway, I looked at the Rauschenberg saying, for starters, that if he actually saw the piece and could therefore walk around it, he might think differently. I knew he wouldn't think differently.
he then told me about how he's been to Art shows where nobody was interested in the Art, only the free wine, just like him.
And I laughed and said 'Yes, I know.'
I countered with the old line about meeting the (conceptual) artist and finding out more about their work.
Then I said that the trouble with his attitude was that it was the start of opening the gates to allow the barbarians in - and they rule the world anyway. they're the ignorant ones
the closed minds
the philistines
the tabloid-reading, shite music-loving idiots who shape mainstream culture.
then I pointed to a building over the road and asked him if he didn't think that someone educated a little in architectural history would get a lot more out of looking at it than an ignoramus.
got him!
He said nothing. thinking.
I laughed. 'I'm right, aren't I?'
But he was too competitive to agreed. Too male, though not a complete ape because I'd heard him talking in the shop before about culture, philosophy and religion.
he pulled out a piece of paper from under the counter. on it was a cartoon face that I knew he'd drawn because I'd heard him talking about his drawing before in another discussion about 'Bad Art'.
'If someone said that was by Picasso,' he said. 'Everyone would say it was great.'
'That would be OK, ' I replied. 'If they think it's great. But anyone who knows about Art would also know that it isn't a Picasso.'
he had no answer to that.
Then he started on about how he was a poet.
christ.
And how words were more meaningful and could convey things properly.
he said something about symbolism but my eyes were starting to glaze over as they always do when poets breath words in my face.
I told him the mystery of some Art is what's magical about it. Imagination is required.
let something be unknown.
let the viewer interpret it how they like.
not words telling listeners & readers what's what.
I got the impression that telling me he was a poet was supposed to make me respect him - recognise that he was 'cultured' & 'intelligent'. because poets all think they're a bit special.
I was the guardian of Contemporary Art. all of a sudden. without knowing the first thing about it. really.
I told him that there had to be pioneers, rule-breakers, free souls,
knowing all too well that I've looked at many contemporary pieces and shrugged indifferently. but that's Art, that's making things and that's the nature of looking. greatness is in the eye of the beholder.

anyway. he knocked seven quid off the book, so he wasn't a bad chap.


Sunday 17 November 2013

Charles Cohen - The Middle Distance (Morphine Records)



'Sequencer, pulser, preamplifier, envelope detector and balanced modulator; oscillators, gates, envelope generators and filters; facilities for mixing, monitoring and reverberating'...what am I talking about? The Buchla Music Easel, of course, a rare instrument owned by Charles Cohen. He also 'owns' it in the modern sense of the word, as this album proves. The language of synth technology is pure gobbledygook to me and I suspect I'm not alone in that. As with amazing magic tricks, though, I'd rather not know how it's done. That and the fact that I'm lazy when it come to studying anything.

In 1982 the Affinity label released a Cecil Taylor album called Student Studies. One track's called Amplitude, a piece of music that has never ceased to amaze me since I bought it back then. Amplitude is a word that crops up in the language of the synthesizer. Cecil Taylor is a name that crops up in the Wikipedia entry for Charles Cohen. Apparently he's influenced Cohen, which makes sense when you know that Charles has spent many years improvising 'live' on the Buchla.

But don't let Cohen's Improv background fool you into thinking that The Middle Distance consists of 'difficult', tortuous knob-twiddling (OK,you may not be adverse to that). Personally, I enjoy hearing a machine being driven to it's limits and have travelled to Atlantis with Sun Ra on more than one occasion. I suspect Charles Cohen has too. Here, his excursions on a wobbly rail, to use a Cecil Taylor title, are frequently tempered by a Pop sensibility. That's Pop as in micro melodies stripped to the bone and driven by the bubbling energy of a Buchla in good hands.

Camera Dance, for instance, played for a 1983 Performance Art piece by Jeff Cain, is so catchy it could have been a Pop hit in a parallel universe back when synths crashed the charts. Cohen reshapes and rebuilds whilst dicing and slicing, dropping to the bare bones of a beat before fleshing the whole thing out again. Like the old Rave formula of tease and release - feel the rush! - but in a far more refined manner, designed for sophisticated cosmopolitan clubbers, on Saturn.

UTEP 1 and 2 are both studio pieces from 1980. They sound more pared down that most things here, but that's no criticism. Less, in this instance, allows the purity and warmth of the Buchla sound to shine through. They remind me of an earlier age, when synths were all the rage as joyful toys for remaking Pop hits or a conjuring up a Classical gas.

'Multiple correlations between a performer’s actions and the Music Easel’s responses are readily implemented, enabling a degree of expressive articulation heretofore impossible with electronic instrumentation.' (My italics). So says the Buchla site. The cold mechanics act of Krafwerk's man machine act are one thing, but Cohen's music is expressive and articulate, just as the Buchla allows it to be. OK, if you don't like synths and feel that true musical expression can only exist on, say, a sax, guitar or piano, you'll find that difficult to believe (and I don't know what you're doing reading this blog). A closer listen (headphones are a must) to this music, however, reveals that articulation.

The opener, Club Revival Performance, is a fine example of Cohen's feel for the machine. Like mechanical Gamelan (?) via Ganymede, the piece unfolds, its rhythmic layers luring us in with patterns that prance and dance delightfully. In contrast, the earliest piece, Dance of the Spirit Catchers (1979), sounds more raw, almost post-Punk by comparison. The insistent hook worms it's way into your brain, whipped on by tinny percussive whacks and wrapped in warped bubbles and squeaks. By the end it sounds as if the machine said 'I'll take it from here' before running on of it's own accord.

As you'll hear on the next release in the planned trilogy, Group Motion, Cohen is capable of taking sound deeper than most of what's on offer here. Not that this material isn't satisfying; it's brought nothing but pure pleasure to these ears over the last week. However, we get a hint of things to come on two tracks. Sonomama's Koto-style passages are brilliantly arranged on a piece that shifts gears in an East-meets-West fusion somewhere in space, with an occasional dramatic undertones. It won 2nd place when entered for the Roland Synthesizer Competition in 1981, which makes me wonder what the winner sounds like because it must be one hell of a masterpiece to beat this.

The Middle Distance track stands out for being far darker than anything else. Exploiting space as the best acousmatic exponents do, it leaves everything to the imagination and is enhanced by Jeff Cain's piano-playing. It may have been conceived for one of his performance pieces but stands alone superbly and creates a similar mood to those made by modern exponents of dark spatial soundscapes such as Raime.

Coincidentally, Don Buchla's first instrument was created 50 years ago, so it's fitting that Morphine boss Rabih Beaini should be releasing this music now. If Charles Cohen's time has come with regards to greater exposure it's certainly better late than never. An essential purchase.

Morphine Records




Thursday 14 November 2013

Cut-Up: Word Mechanics x 3

Something I made today, inspired by my inclusion in a forthcoming cut-up anthology, which I'll be announcing here when the publication date is fixed. The texts in that book are just that, texts, whereas I sometimes I like to cut and paste in this way, as some of you will know. A version of the primary piece at the top is included, as well as what remained of that version. Thanks for visiting Include Me Out.






Wednesday 13 November 2013

The Astronauts Book (Panther Books Ltd, 1966)


Special 2D Gravity cash-in! Here's a book I've been sitting on for a while since it emerged from the piles resulting from the recent cave maintenance and now seems as good a time as any to share the delights of a book 'written and illustrated by the Space pioneers themselves'. I like the transcript of a conversation between Ed White (the first man to 'become a human earth satellite') and ground control. 










Tuesday 12 November 2013

Canonbury - The Knock of the Shoe (Exotic Pylon)


Here's an album that works despite, or because of, Joseph Stannard's uncomplicated arrangement of sound. He shoots heat rays straight into your skull, some tracks sounding like amplified updates of Radiophonic Workshop cues, thereby allowing us to imagine it as a soundtrack to cybermen-induced mayhem, should we wish, and I do. Bodmin Fence, in name at least, evokes the many myths and legends of the moor, whilst sounding like it's where an evil alien race decided to land. Remixed versions by Hacker Farm and Kemper Norton give the album more clout, as does the Old Apparatus take of Lamb Crunch.




Monday 11 November 2013

Edgard Varèse At Dada Exhibition, 1953

From Life magazine.
Varèse wrote 'Dada music'? I think he would have contested that idea, even though Louis Aragon described him as the "only composer of the Dada era." 
Life sums up the movement: 'Loony'.
Ha-ha!




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