Now you can hear - and I can feel you. You haven’t identified yourself yet clearly. Anyway it doesn’t matter, or that is what I’d like to think.
As I listen to the record, I realize that your heartbeat speeds up. Do you feel the same high I do? Fortunately without the obligatory come-down of other stimulants…
By now you are breathing in tune with the record. You are aware of the beat. Listening to the music I feel so close to you, I mean I know, how much closer could we get?
But I feel as if every action and every word has a sound which resonates and vibrates in us, making the waves through air and liquid become an aural landscape full of texture and vibrancy.
Sorry for sounding so full of pathos suddenly, I can’t help it.
Is it clouding my mind? Is it contaminating my thought? Or doest it bring clarity, coherence, integrity? I am never quite sure which one it is.
I know, at least you have made your judgement.
Why do you want to use ‘Let it roll, let it ride’? Think about it.
Blood pressure, heart rate, depression and anxiety decrease.
Relaxation, well-being and mindfulness increase.
Open cell foam operates as an acoustic energy absorber, designed to damp low frequency sound energy with the goal of attaining a flatter room response by reducing resonances.
Feel the subtle vibrations of ‘Let it roll, let it ride’. Let change happen within yourself.
You enter a deep state.
Take out the motion of a gas at a certain temperature and cause it to slow down through friction. That friction gives off heat to conserve the total amount of energy. When some energy is turned into heat, the intensity and strength of the waves are reduced.
It’s not magic just Physics.
Lightly touch the bases of your palms, then the palms themselves, and finally your fingers. Don’t forget to leave a small space between your palms.
Cross-legged, your hips are elevated above your knees.
Eyes closed. Spine straight. Absorb.
Energy is energy. Energy cannot be created or destroyed - only change its state. The total available amount of energy in a system remains constant. In a way, only our perception of it changes.
Focus on your breath, but don’t control it.
Chant your chosen ‘Let it roll, let it ride’.
Chant for well-being, not perfection.
You will have good days, and bad days.
As you turn on the speakers the space fills with energy. It bounces off every available surface. Interfering waves are reduced. Peaks go down, valleys up.
Transition to silence.
The fingers are moving slowly over a smooth surface, the result is almost invisible, only to be seen later on an additional layer of material and become intelligible. Both stages, the movement and its discernability are fixed to be preserved.
Forensics. The screen. Quotidian routine. Your faces. Your screens. Your mirror in the bathroom after a hot shower.
Grid. Geometrically as precise as the stroke of human fingers can be. Disrupted by intuitive overlaying.
When did we decide that our face is a safer means of identification than our finger prints? Are we even sure about that? Do we have any proof? Do we want to have one?
Are you walking around the streets desperately trying to find your nameless twin to prove them wrong? Or are you this blindly trusting person? Nothing will happen anyway, your palm is safe. Your mirror is safe. You are safe. It’s a sound concept.
The odds are astronomical.
That´s what you think at least.
Writing with your finger becomes a record, without having a single clue of what exactly. It is a score you can perform.
Just indulge yourself.
By the way the term forensic relates to the discussion or examination performed in public. And sometimes you’re your own public.
Who else would you need?
“It was not about making music that might describe a terra incognita but the opposite, music that would put us in touch with very familiar and remembered emotions, which for me as a musician translated into the use of a nineteenth-century operatic idiom, if you like... Wagner and this sort of thing, creating a certain cross-cultural mythology.”
It has long been fashionable to dismiss C as a mere pasticheur, who assembles scores from classical spare parts. Some have gone as far as to call him a plagiarist.
To accuse C of plagiarism, however, brings to mind the famous retort uttered by Brahms when it was pointed out that the big tune in the finale of his First Symphony resembled Beethoven’s Ode to Joy:
“Any ass can hear that.”
Although it’s fun to play tune detective, what makes these ideas indelible is the way they’re fleshed out, in harmony, rhythm, and orchestration. We can all hum C’s main tunes, but these pieces are more complicated than it seems.
Take for instance his “Los Calaicos” where there’s a rhythmic quirk in the basic pattern of a triplet followed by two held notes: the first triplet falls on the fourth beat of the bar, while later ones fall on the first beat, with the second held note foreshortened.
This is not to deny that C has a history of drawing heavily on established models. He’s a man singularly fluent in the language of music and its history and no-one can deny that. And it seems that he’s saying with every piece he ever composed: I can mimic anything you want, but you need a living voice. And that’s exactly what he has been giving us for decades, the living voice of our era, no matter how deep he had to reach to make such a voice resonate.
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