First-time listening for March 2016

23588. (George Clin­ton) [Par­lia­ment] Up for the Down Stroke
23589. (Ari­ana Grande) Yours Truly
23590. (Gin­ger Bak­er) Stratavarious
23591. (Paul Hin­demith) Ludus Tonalis, Kon­tra­punk­tis­che, tonal, und Klaviertechnische
. . . . . Übungen
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READING — MARCH 2016

23083. (Jules Verne) Paris au xxe siè­cle [read in Eng­lish trans­la­tion at 18241]
23084. (Thi­js Van Kolf­schoten, et al) Low­er Pale­olith­ic Bone Tools from the “Spear Horizon” 
. . . . . at Schönin­gen [arti­cle]
23085. (Marie-Anne Julien, et al) Char­ac­ter­iz­ing the Low­er Pale­olith­ic Bone Indus­try from 
. . . . . Schönin­gen 12 II: A Mul­ti-proxy Study [arti­cle]
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Friday, March 25, 2016 [part 1] — Game of Caves

My appoint­ment at Gar­gas was for ear­ly in the after­noon, so I was able to have a pleas­ant and leisure­ly break­fast. In place of the stan­dard French baguette, there was a much more chewy local loaf known as qua­tre-banes, which I thought superb, per­fect with the fresh coun­try but­ter and jam. The cui­sine of Hautes-Pyrénees, like many oth­er aspects of its cul­ture, is more close­ly in tune with that of the Basque Coun­try and Cat­alo­nia than with north­ern France (and indeed, the slang expres­sion nordiste  is used by the locals with obvi­ous dis­dain). Beans and spicy sausages, coun­try soups, hard rather than soft cheeses, bread that you can get your teeth into. After break­fast, I still had plen­ty of time to reach the caves on foot. From Lom­brès, I walked down the road to the vil­lage of Aventig­nan (about three times larg­er than Lom­brès), then along a minor road to the cave’s recep­tion cen­ter, lit­tle more than 4km.

The road to the caves starting at Aventignan.

The road to the caves start­ing at Aventignan.

Only two cars passed me, and there was noth­ing much along the way but emp­ty fields until the hills and for­est start­ed. The weath­er was cool and over­cast. Often, when I’m walk­ing, music pops into my head in sur­pris­ing­ly com­plete form, and this time it was the Shepherd’s Song from Canteloube’s Chants d’Auvergne, sung in Old Occ­i­tan, the lan­guage of South­ern France before it was con­quered, re-edu­cat­ed, and reg­i­ment­ed by the nordistes. The dialect of the Auvergne was con­sid­er­ably dif­fer­ent from the Gas­con spo­ken in this region, but it nev­erlthe­less puts across the South­ern mood:

As gaïré dè buon tèms?
Dio lou baïlèro lèrô,
Lèrô lèrô lèrô lèrô baïlèro lô.

Pas­tré lou prat faï flour,
Li cal gor­da toun troupel.
Dio lou baïlèro lèrô,
Lèrô lèrô lèrô lèrô baïlèro lô.

Pas­tré couci foraï,
En obal io lou bel riou!
Dio lou baïlèro lèrô,
Lèrô lèrô lèrô lèrô baïlèro lô.

(“Shep­herd across the riv­er, your work there is hard. Look, the mead­ows here are in bloom. You should watch your flock on this side…. Shep­herd, the water divides us, and I can’t cross it”). Noth­ing at all like French. Incom­pre­hen­si­ble to all but a few sur­viv­ing speak­ers of the Old Tongue, but the melody con­veys such a won­der­ful sad­ness and yearn­ing that it would be under­stood emo­tion­al­ly in Tokyo. In fact, it resem­bles many Japan­ese folk melodies. Read more »

Thursday, March 24, 2016 — A Voyage to Blefuscu

The first part of my trip was a bit of a chal­lenge: thir­ty hours of con­tin­u­ous trav­el, and no sleep for forty hours. Every leg of the jour­ney had to match the next in a short time span, and I was to be met at the Mon­tré­jeau rail­way sta­tion at a spe­cif­ic time. One missed con­nec­tion would put my finances at risk. There were two flights by Ice­landair (always more com­fort­able than most air­lines because the hefty Ice­landers require leg room) but, sad­ly, my stopover in Reik­javik was less than hour. No chance to stroll in one of my favourite towns. I could do noth­ing more than look out the win­dow at the black lava fields around Keflavik. Read more »

Of Monsters and Men, and Of Men and Monsters

Ice­land, con­sid­er­ing its small pop­u­la­tion (329,100 at last count), has pro­duced a phe­nom­e­nal amount of rock music that has reached a glob­al audi­ence. It’s as if Oshawa, Ontario or Eugene, Ore­gon each had a half-dozen world-lev­el bands. Absurd­ly improb­a­ble, when you think of it. Reyk­javík is a live­ly lit­tle city, but its frisky music scene, what Ice­landers call jam­mið, is con­fined to a hand­ful of clubs in the “101” dis­trict: Café Rosen­berg, Kaf­fibarinn, Bar 11, Dil­lon, Den Danske Kro, The Celtic Cross, The Eng­lish Pub. After mak­ing the rounds, peo­ple stag­ger out­side to find a hot dog or a crushed sheep’s head as a post-gig snack. The hard-drink­ing Ice­landers take their jam­mið seri­ous­ly. Bands and audi­ences mix freely in this pro­found­ly infor­mal and egal­i­tar­i­an coun­try. This small, but intense scene has pro­duced phe­nom­e­na like the Sug­ar­cubes and Björk, Mínus, Sig­ur Rós, Quarashi, Sálin, Botnleð­ja, Maus, Agent Fres­co, Samaris, Mam­mút, and Jakobínarína.

Ingólfr Arnarson founds the first settlement at Reykjavík in 874 A.D., laying the groundwork for jammið and the Icelandic music scene. An 1850 painting of dubious historical accuracy by Johan Peter Raadsig.

Ingól­fr Arnar­son founds the first set­tle­ment at Reyk­javík in 874 A.D., lay­ing the ground­work for jam­mið and the Ice­landic music scene. He appears to be stand­ing pre­cise­ly at the spot where Kaf­fibarinn stands today. An 1850 paint­ing of dubi­ous his­tor­i­cal accu­ra­cy by Johan Peter Raadsig.

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Sunday, March 13, 2016 — Where I Stand

I will make my posi­tion plain. I am a Cana­di­an, not an Amer­i­can, but like all Cana­di­ans I must pay close atten­tion to the pol­i­tics of the coun­try that bor­ders mine for 8,891 kilo­me­tres (5,525 miles), has ten times our pop­u­la­tion, with which we have (by far) the largest-scale trad­ing rela­tion­ship in the world, and with which we share a con­sid­er­able degree of our cul­ture. Our economies are so inter­twined that every polit­i­cal deci­sion that occurs in the U.S. imme­di­ate­ly and some­times pro­found­ly influ­ences our life. I have at times lived in the U.S., and have many friends there, as do most Cana­di­ans. But we are not Amer­i­cans, and some­times all has not been well between us. When the Unit­ed States entered its dis­as­trous war in Viet­nam, and we were pres­sured to join in with that deba­cle, a major­i­ty of Cana­di­ans were opposed to it, and we stayed out of it. When, sub­se­quent­ly, many young Amer­i­cans resist­ed the slav­ery of con­scrip­tion, and the cor­rup­tion of the war, we wel­comed them as hon­ourable refugees, just as we had wel­comed refugees from slav­ery in the 19th cen­tu­ry. They were the true Amer­i­can patri­ots, and we respect­ed them.

One of those great moral divi­sions is upon us. The Unit­ed States has accom­plished many great and noble things, but in recent times, it has reached its low­est moral ebb in a hun­dred years. The upcom­ing elec­tion in the Unit­ed States is cru­cial to both our coun­tries. If the Repub­li­can Par­ty wins, then the U.S. is washed up as a coun­try, every decent prin­ci­ple it has fought for will be defeat­ed, degrad­ed and destroyed. This is a pro­found threat to my coun­try, which I love. Read more »

Some Concert Chestnuts

Ivan Bil­bin’s illus­tra­tion to Pushk­in’s Tale of the Gold­en Coquerel

Some­times one’s own uncon­scious snob­bery can deprive one of delight­ful expe­ri­ences. When I first start­ed to lis­ten to clas­si­cal music, as a teenag­er, I scrimped and saved to pur­chase record­ings from the “bar­gain bins” in record stores. These were most­ly cheap re-issue labels that had per­for­mances from a gen­er­a­tion before — often bril­liant ones, but with audio qual­i­ty that was no longer accept­able to audio­philes. The pieces were the stan­dard con­cert reper­toire, includ­ing many pieces that were extreme­ly pop­u­lar with con­cert-goers, but not con­sid­ered par­tic­u­lar­ly “deep.” When you lis­ten to a lot of music, you even­tu­al­ly tire of these con­cert work-hors­es, heard so many time, and stop play­ing them. As oth­er, more arcane musi­cal inter­ests engage you, you for­get about them. You “know” them, of course, but they sit in your record col­lec­tion unplayed for years. Read more »

Wednesday, March 2, 2016 — Looking back at Alvar Aalto

What used to be called the “Inter­na­tion­al Style of Mod­ernism” in archi­tec­ture may have filled the plan­et with iden­ti­cal glass box­es, but there were always some archi­tects who nev­er quite fit into its straight­jack­et. Among them, the one that appealed to me most when I first start­ed being inter­est­ed in archi­tec­ture (as a teenag­er) was the Finnish archi­tect and indus­tri­al design­er Alvar Aal­to (1898–1976). The Inter­na­tion­al Style worked with the cre­do of “form fol­lows func­tion,” but it was, I could see, a hol­low slo­gan. The rigid orthoxy of that kind of “mod­ernism” had noth­ing to do with “func­tion,” since all build­ings, no mat­ter what their pur­pose, loca­tion, or con­text, were the same. Build­ings in rain-soaked places that need­ed eaves could­n’t have eaves. The “func­tion” of cheap­ness, of course, deter­mined build­ing lay­outs, not the func­tion of what you were going to do in them. At first, Aal­to paid lip-ser­vice to the mod­ernist ortho­doxy, but soon his build­ings start­ed to devi­ate from it. Even­tu­al­ly he evolved a flu­id style, often work­ing close­ly with his wife Aino, in which every aspect of a build­ing was con­sid­ered, includ­ing inter­nal sur­faces, light­ing, and fur­ni­ture, as an inte­gral whole. His scale was human, out­er forms were play­ful and visu­al­ly inter­est­ing. He loved curv­ing, flu­id lines, so that even today much of his work feels “sci­ence fic­tion-ish.” White­ness dom­i­nat­ed the aes­thet­ic, but it was nev­er a bor­ing blankness. 
16-03-02 BLOG Aalto sanatorium16-03-02 BLOG Aalto room
These three images illus­trate what I mean. The one on the left is a tuber­cu­lo­sis sana­to­ri­um designed for the small Finnish town of Paimio in 1928, and com­plet­ed in 1932. At this time, Aal­to was still in the orbit of offi­cial Mod­ernism, fol­low­ing Le Cor­busier’s basic rules, but he was already lay­ing the foun­da­tions of his more holis­tic approach. Note the date of the design —- it still looks mod­ern. The sec­ond and third images show the kind of inte­ri­or space that Alvar and Aino con­ceived when the silent film had bare­ly been dis­placed by the talkie. Notice that the forms are sim­ple, but not ster­ile. Human­i­ty and com­fort are the “func­tions” being served, not ide­o­log­i­cal con­for­mi­ty, cheap­ness, or man­u­fac­tur­ing con­ve­nience. It still looks good.16-03-02 BLOG Alto Room 2

Image of the month: Objectif Lune

2016 MAR

FILMS — FEBRUARY 2016

(Tors 1954) Gog
(Pol­ci­no 2015) Rick and Morty: Ep.17 ― The Ricks Must Be Crazy
(New­ton 2015) Rick and Morty: Ep.18 ― Big Trou­ble In Lit­tle Sanchez
(Bar­ton 1949) Abbott and Costel­lo Meet the Killer, Boris Karloff
(Kirk­land 1996) The Simp­sons: Ep.147 ― A Fish Called Selma
(Don­ner 1965) Per­ry Mason: Ep.237 ― The Case of the Gam­bling Lady
(Tay­lor 1934) The Return of Chan­du [ser­i­al]: Chapter1 ― The Cho­sen Victim
(Tay­lor 1934) The Return of Chan­du [ser­i­al]: Chap­ter 2 ― The House in the Hills
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