Eight-and-a-half minutes of sublime electroacoustic music from French composer Christian Zanési.
Prince has died. Another massive loss, another long round of phone calls of friends sharing why they saw him as a pivotal artist during the 1980s. May he rest in peace.
From The Sunday Experience:
there was a time in mid to late 90’s when it seemed like Montreal was the centre of the musical universe, beneath the safe haven of Constellation records the likes of godspeed and fly pam am where left to nurture their post rock atmospherique. Some two decades down the line, yes two decades, time really does fly, its seems as though Veleri Fabrikant and CLC have keenly been influenced, influenced enough in fact to embrace that same spirit by tailoring their collaborative epic in the shadows ‘say goodbye to the world as we know it’ in the same kind of quietly majestic intricacy. At nearly 14 minutes in length ‘sun worshippers / gold diggers’ provides for a masterclass in both refrain / sustain and poise / pause, like the Grails magnified at quarter speed, there’s a dark beauty evolving and dissolving here amid a panoramic canvas populated by the sparse drone detailing and squirrelling scrapes that suggests an affinity with Kranky acts LaBradford and Stars of the Lid while likewise serving upon something carved with such stilled grandeur one suspects closer inspection might well be rewarded several fold.
Read more at their blog here.
From our friends at Bibloklept:
October 3rd. — A strange occurrence has taken place today. I got up fairly late, and when Mawra brought me my clean boots, I asked her how late it was. When I heard it had long struck ten, I dressed as quickly as possible.
To tell the truth, I would rather not have gone to the office at all today, for I know beforehand that our department-chief will look as sour as vinegar. For some time past he has been in the habit of saying to me, “Look here, my friend; there is something wrong with your head. You often rush about as though you were possessed. Then you make such confused abstracts of the documents that the devil himself cannot make them out; you write the title without any capital letters, and add neither the date nor the docket-number.” The long-legged scoundrel! He is certainly envious of me, because I sit in the director’s work-room, and mend His Excellency’s pens. In a word, I should not have gone to the office if I had not hoped to meet the accountant, and perhaps squeeze a little advance out of this skinflint.
A terrible man, this accountant! As for his advancing one’s salary once in a way — you might sooner expect the skies to fall. You may beg and beseech him, and be on the very verge of ruin — this grey devil won’t budge an inch. At the same time, his own cook at home, as all the world knows, boxes his ears.
I really don’t see what good one gets by serving in our department. There are no plums there. In the fiscal and judicial offices it is quite different. There some ungainly fellow sits in a corner and writes and writes; he has such a shabby coat and such an ugly mug that one would like to spit on both of them. But you should see what a splendid country-house he has rented. He would not condescend to accept a gilt porcelain cup as a present. “You can give that to your family doctor,” he would say. Nothing less than a pair of chestnut horses, a fine carriage, or a beaver-fur coat worth three hundred roubles would be good enough for him. And yet he seems so mild and quiet, and asks so amiably, “Please lend me your penknife; I wish to mend my pen.” Nevertheless, he knows how to scarify a petitioner till he has hardly a whole stitch left on his body.
Read more on their blog here.