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Sunday, October 20, 2013

Musical fetichism - Most overrated violin, ever?









Sure NOT a Stradivari's...




London (CNN) -- A violin played by the Titanic's bandleader as the ship sank sold at auction Saturday for more than $1.7 million, a UK-based auction house said.
The price -- 1.1 million British pounds, when adding the buyer's premium and tax -- is by far the highest ever fetched for memorabilia tied to the sunken passenger ship, according to veteran collector Craig Sopin.
"This figure is going to be hard to beat," said Sopin, who helped authenticate the fact the violin came from the Titanic. "I can't think of anything else that is more iconic to come off that ship."
According to survivors, Wallace Hartley's band played to calm passengers even as the ship sank beneath them.
The scene was depicted in James Cameron's blockbuster movie "Titanic," which depicted Hartley and his band playing "Nearer, My God, to Thee" as the ship took on water.
Hartley's body was reportedly pulled from the water days after the April 1912 sinking with his violin case still strapped to his back.
In 2006, the damaged violin was found in the attic of a home in Britain. It was authenticated through testing of salt water deposits, according to a statement released by Henry Aldridge and Son, which hosted the auction in Wiltshire, England. The violin was adorned with an engraved silver plate that connected it to Hartley.
The names of the seller and the buyer have not been released.
The famous wreckage was first discovered in 1985 off the coast of Halifax, Nova Scotia. Since then there have been a number of research and recovery expeditions, during which time the artifacts included in the sale were found.
Interest in the shipwreck peaked again after the release of the movie "Titanic" in 1997. The film grossed $1.8 billion worldwide, making it the second highest grossing film in history, according to Box Office Mojo, a site that tracks ticket sales.
Over the years, exhibitions of Titanic artifacts have made millions, and auctions have drawn high-priced sales.
In 2004, Guernsey's auctioned off memorabilia from the Titanic and a few artifacts that had been passed down through the families of survivors. An original menu sold for about $100,000, the president of the auction house said at the time.
Sopin, a Philadelphia lawyer who has between 300 or 400 Titanicartifacts, said the ocean liner's sinking is "in a class all its own" when it comes to disasters, due to its unique mix of historical, cultural and cinematic elements.
"The ship is a microcosm of society," he said, noting the different classes of people aboard the ship that fateful night.
And it had both villains and heroes -- Hartley and his fellow band members, none of whom survived, chief among the latter group.
"What they were doing was actually causing a sense of calm on that ship," Sopin said. "You could only wonder the mass pandemonium that would have occurred otherwise. It helped save a lot of lives."




Silences











From John Cage's 4',33" to other silences captured in assorted recordings... a dadaist compilation, reminding to me the Giuseppe Tornatore's movie (Nuovo Cinema Paradiso) where the priest was cutting ALL kisses from EVERY movie to do not sexually move the young audience:-)

"SOUNDS OF SILENCE - the most intriguing silences in recording history
Patrice Caillet, Adam David , Matthieu Saladin 
Disque Vinyle 33t / 30 pistes / 500 exemplaires
Alga Marghen (Milan)
Sound-Houses/FRAC Franche-Comté (Besançon)
/ Éditions Incertain Sens

«Sounds of silence» is a compilation of the most intriguing pieces of silence in the history of the recording industry. The album features moments of silence that range from the purely functional to the highly enigmatic, from the overtly political to the downright silly. There exist, of course, innumerable studies of the use of silence in music, John Cage’s 4’33’’ being the primary example. But for the most part, these studies concentrate on the use of silence in the realms of experimental music and sound art. We fi nd, however, many other examples of silence both in popular and «functional» music (jukebox, elevator music, hi-fi testing, etc...). The silent track seems to know no boundaries, it can be found in pop (John Lennon) and punk (Crass), in hip-hop (Afrika Bambaataa) and in metal (Soulfly), to name only a few of the more «classifiable» moments of silence. These silences are often marginalized, relegated to the ranks of a consumerist inside joke. In reality, each silence has a distinct meaning; they are semantically diverse. These silences speak volumes : they are performative, political, critical, abstract, poetic, cynical, technical, absurd... 

They can be intended as a memorial or a joke, a special offer, or something entirely undefi ned. This is the first time such a wide variety of silences has been published. The album contains work by well-known artists, but also silences that are very rare, and therefore quite mysterious. The compilation presents the silences as they were originally recorded, preserving any imperfections that the hardware (vinyl, flexi, cd, mp3, etc...) conferred upon the enterprise. This decision preserves each piece’s specific history, and gives each track an individuality that is music to the ears. So to speak. Our documentary approach reveals the obvious or presumed motivations for each of these «silences» all the while providing them a new context. This is an album to play full blast, any time, any place. A truly audio experience. The authors (Patrice CAILLET, Adam DAVID, Matthieu SALADIN)"


Interesting... and Francis Picabia and Eric Satie are smiling, somewhere...









Saturday, October 19, 2013

A cool accessory from Japan




Indeed...










Got one!




Morning Song - Iva Bittova & Fred Frith & Pavel Fajt




I LOVE this little unassuming song!






Peřiny / Morning song

J.A.Pitínský
Každý má dvě peřiny
v těch se honí
v těch má kolotoč
v těch má peří
má v nich bílé peří
v peřinách

pojď sem
musím to mít
postel mě svléká
musím?to?
musím?to?
musím?to?mít.




Lovely & sweet way to use an otherwise ugly Braun's clock alarm:-)







Friday, October 18, 2013

NASA Hi-End?




Yes, "that" NASA, folks... maybe exhibiting at next C.E.S. 2014 with a no-compromise multi-amped 15-ways stereo horn-system?!?






Hey dudes... using triodes or Class A?


WOW!


Japan meets C.S.C. - Centro Stabile di Cultura








Less than 100 km from home and always the best live, seldom-seen sets...





WOW!



Rev. Gary Davis "Harlem Street Singer"... the movie






A long-due, fond remembering of the Master of the masters...



HARLEM STREET SINGER

  • 2:15 PM, Sun. Nov. 17, 2013 - IFC Center - Buy Tickets
  • 11:30 AM, Thu. Nov. 21, 2013 - IFC Center - Buy Tickets
Expected to Attend: Trevor Laurence, Simeon Hutner
WORLD PREMIERE - The Reverend Gary Davis, blind since infancy, honed his music in North Carolina’s blues scene before moving to Harlem in the 1940s, preaching and performing on street corners. The 1960s folk revival saw a renewed interest in the virtuoso guitarist, culminating in a memorable performance at the Newport Folk Festival. This tribute gives Davis his due, noting his influence on a generation of folk and blues musicians, including The Grateful Dead’s Bob Weir, David Bromberg and Peter, Paul and Mary’s Peter Yarrow.





 Produced by Woody Mann and Trevor Laurence.







Thursday, October 17, 2013

Living Music - For Allen Ginsberg




I owned this VERY disc for the last 40 years, now... bought the now sought-after original RCA when still at high school... its grass-only cover is still soooo green in my heart... and well cared for in my discotheque.

A long-awaited reissue will be out, soon...

Take your chance to enjoy a grasp from an era of enchantment and joy... music, love and friendship... passion, poetry, live gigs and... yes, folks... grass.



Herbal joys sure shaped the world, back then... when a disc or a book made my days, as well... and a kiss was a treasure.

Enjoy.






Musings - The Ultimate Vinyl Holder






... for our most precious waxes!




A vault.



Thanking Makoto Kawabata:-)

Stereo Prestige & Image - n. 82 October 2013




A preview...












Thanking Jean Hiraga...






Glass' AudioDeske vinyl washing machine from Germany - Clean! Shiny & clean!! Noiseless!!!




After some hard months I felt pretty right for audio and was able to fill with 1 gallon of osmosis/purified water my newly acquired Reiner Glass' AudioDeske vinyl discs washing machine.





I still remember when I owned and sparingly used my third-hand, heavily pre-owned KMAL's washing machine, so bulky, noisy and, someway, primitive, yet effective.


Two sides - one at a time - were a lengthy procedure, quite annoying... then there was the emptying of the glass cans, under the lid... I only used it, maybe 50 time in six years... then I sold it to a DJ owning 30.000+ vinyls, mostly 45 RPM...


Entry the AudioDeske's... always felt attracted from TAS' and Stereophile's review to Tim's 16Blog's review to seeing it in action during last Hi-End audio fair in Munchen, on last May... well, I bought it...





My 9000+ vinyls and my record-fairs and flea-markets chasing and finds deserved it.


The machine is weighty despite its compact size, yet easily positioned on a levelled shelf; it's flawlessly finished in a Nextel finish, elegant and technical at the same time and... a TRUE pleasure to use.


Since I uncrated, water filled and learned how to use it, I cleaned 20+ records, which in about one week use is faaaar more than I did with above mentioned Keith Monks' behemoth in 2 or 3 years;-)





The 6 minutes cleaning, sub-sonic bubbles bombing the grooves and drying is made more effective with someway dirtier records in increments of 1 minutes at a time. 


The results? AWESOME!


The vinyl surface, better the TWO disc sides, are so shiny and the grooves appear brand-new... despite the cleaned disc is 1, 2, 5 or 30 years old! 





Putting on the turntable a previously dusty, fingerprinted disc shows, under EMT 930st neon-ligh, for example, a dust-free surface... and the needle, when in the groove... voilà! also a blacker noise-floor... no clicks or pops, when only 6 minutes before it was a music-concrete concert of assorted noises due to assorted debrises previously nested in the inner grooves.





Yes! I love AudioDeske's.... it's easy, effective, trouble-free and elegant... a sure conversation topic and... yes!! you can always invite - if happily single, of course;-))) - a lady to "clean her "Rubber Soul" copy" and then...;-)))

The audiophile interpretation of after-dinner musing - i.e. "c'-mon at my place... I'll show you my butterflies collection!":-)






Seriously - an incredibly cool add to my system, folks... only, be careful: so called "friends" will arrive - uninvited - with dozens (dirty) records under their arm, saying "Hello!" and asking for washing their crusty discs!


Beware... and enjoy! 



Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Musings?






No... the vinyl collector nightmare!





No Ikea? Ahi, ahi, ahi!!!









Monday, October 14, 2013

The Man in the Elevator - ECM (1988)




Another superb flea-market find! A stellar artists array for seldom heard music.


Heiner Goebbels: Der Mann im Fahrstuhl/The Man In The Elevator (ECM 1369)




Arto Lindsay voice, guitar
Ernst Stötzner voice
Don Cherry voice, trumpet, doussn’gouni
Fred Frith guitar, bass
Charles Hayward drums, metal
George Lewis trombone
Ned Rothenberg saxophones, bass clarinet
Heiner Goebbels piano, synthesizer, programming
Recorded March 1988, Sound On Sound Recording, New York
Engineer: Mike McMackin
Produced by Heiner Goebbels and Manfred Eicher
“Your home is a box. Your car is a box on wheels. You drive to work in it. You drive home in it. You sit in your home, staring into a box. It erodes your soul, while the box that is your body inevitably withers…then dies. Whereupon it is placed in the ultimate box, to slowly decompose”
–Arlington Steward in The Box
Heiner Goebbels continues his (man)made-in-heaven collaboration with Heiner Müller in this fascinating piece of hate mail to the modern condition. Drawing on talents as diverse as Arto Lindsay, Ned Rothenberg, George Lewis, Fred Frith, and Don Cherry, it begins as it ends: in a dance of doppelgangers. Lindsay carefully plots every step of this morbid ball with his delicate guitar. He is the everyman, the proverbial drone splashing his thoughts against the sphere of his labor, rattling like the many cages of transport that carry him through life’s many turns. Like his instrumental comrades, he is constructed by his attire, tuned to the plight of interaction. Lindsay’s omnipleasant diction luxuriates in every rounded r, a tempered steel to Rothenberg’s engaging reeds, the latter a guardian angel fluttering at our backs, constantly tapping the shoulder of those of us who cannot help but ignore the gesture, we in whom ignorance is a coping mechanism.
Lindsay introduces us to the Boss, Mr. Number One whom one never addresses directly. His is a name we must forget, for behind that visage of darkness lies the agitated voice of Ernst Stötzner, who seems to channel David Moss in a constant breakdown of communicative interest. Lindsay’s protagonist responds with a kneejerk expectoration, a James Brown-like cry rendered meaningless in a muzak-infested void. Two distinct voices tainting an urban desert, whose only oasis is circumscribed by the sweeping hands of a wristwatch.
This is a life written in indecipherable shorthand, a steno bound in human skin. A dripping, Peter Greenaway-like pillow book as résumé. A ball-peen hammer ticks away against the inside plane of a metallic skull, branded by the letterhead of a company whose product is never made clear. A desktop computer whines its woebegone tale. The elevator continues to glide along the shaft of our expectations, or lack thereof, smoothed along by the grist of mysteriously absent clerks and secretaries, every coworker a follicle in the dandruff-infested scalp of society.
A flapping of the lips, as if to proclaim, “I am here.” The batting of an eyelid, as if to deny the very same. Against the sparkling passage of data, one can only run in place. A voice over the PA. The boss tops himself, spilling his brilliance across the already untended battlefield of his planner. The populace ignorant, spawning the one serial number who refuses this lot. A warped record of Brazilian love songs melts in between floors, seeping into the sewer, which carries the muck of a single workday below the feet of protesters on the street. Their appeals blend into the signage that advertises their lives.
Intimations of a faraway people and their music laced with grasses of which one can only fantasize. The fume-infested club offers no solace, and only serves to hem the cloak of anonymity, which we can never seem to shrug off. The possibility of rising to the top of the bureaucratic food chain is as vain as hoping that a parachute might spring magically from one’s back the moment he jumps from the penthouse window like so many before. Still, at the end of the day, as the varicolored air burrows like a snake into one’s open shirt, a dream of love waves as one surrenders to a different sort of imprisonment, one in which bliss is real because it is self-selected. But this love belongs in another’s arms, those of the man you’ll never be, who sings as he lives: boisterously out of tune. Cherry’s trumpet cleans the slate before filling in the chrome grille of the last car you’ll ever see. A car whose license plate reads BOSS, and whose chassis was built on the predecessors into which your body will be absorbed in preparation for your replacement.
Such are the polyglot galleries Goebbels draws out of his distinct array of inceptions and spoken words. His is a scathing and evocative exploration of the urban landscape, but one that never smacks of moral self-righteousness. Rather, it involves itself in its surroundings, drawing red threads through death, the corporate environment, and noises of progress. Goebbels joins disparate elements to unite, at one moment pounding them together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that won’t quite fit, the next letting them speak to one another in agreement.
This is an altogether evocative work (in more ways than one), and then some. Like any self-respecting postmodernists, its creators always seem to implicate themselves in the very destructions they describe. Which is perhaps why the elevator is the perfect metaphor: its verticality is counterintuitive to the horizontal passage of human traffic. In that 90-degreee intersection lies more than a geometrical relationship, but something of a defining moment, a physical decay that can be felt in the indeterminacies of music-making, in the fragility of song, and in the power of speech.


Thanking again and again Tyran Grillo for the above essay...

Cabasse Dinghy 221... poor boy Supravox 215 or a surprising good speaker?





Using Cabasse 24B25C a 24 cm cool biconic speaker in a crossover-less enclosure... 98 db/W/m at 8 ohm.

The purest of pure!











Who says you've to spend zillions to get Music?


Thanking my friend Matthias for hinting.