Thursday, February 12, 2009

The Sound-Image: Floating Points' Radiality

Sound and light are unique physical phenomena that tend to belie our direct tactile grasp. The ear perceives a sonic source of extended spatial distance, often of unknown source, by capturing and amplifying the vibratory waves in the air. The eye is perched at the heights of an Olympian mountain. This small organ of manifold layers might see things originating from enormous distances, even stretching time in looking millions of years into the past while gazing into the stars.

How might one touch the sharp brightness of the sun's radiation? In what way might one come to hold onto a melody that dissipates like a phantom a moment after being heard? Try to put into words the substantial quality of sound or an inkling of light's tactile sensibility.


Perhaps this refusal of strict objecthood is a reason why light and sound have both been associated with supernatural sources, and divine powers, throughout history. In Ancient Greek mythology, Prometheus robs fire from the gods and gives the gift to human beings. Take the invisible voice of a strange, omnipotent God booming awfully from the burning bush. Or further back, consider the immediate creative power of some great Being producing entities with his spoken words, stating in simple grammar for instance, "Let there be light."

Such meditations on sound and light arise from my viewing of a new Floating Points music video, Radiality, constructed under the direction of Hayden Bannochie & Alex Pissourios. Working from the title of the composition, the music video attempts to weave together a central converging point, a structural radius, where sound and image in a particularly modern context magnify sensual form.

In the beginning there was darkness. Darkness glides along melodic chords, opening its eyes into the static cut scene of an electricity tower looming over skeleton trees. A filtered burgundy orange air washes over the static. Our modern age is one of a proud Prometheus that grants us the force of electric fire to harvest the energy to warm our bodies.

The radius of such industrial fire is dynamic. It twists and turns with the rhythmic dissonance of a watery slap bass and piercing bolts of light that crash onto the screen like falling rain on a win shield. Brooding chords wither along zigzagging laser lines drenched in the smoggy haze of sunset. The electricity tower pulses synthesized swirls of burning drums, eventually broken down into its infrastructure-- the collaborating lines of twisting geometry-- bending into a vertigo of angles. Building in momentum dabbling computer signals work their way harmoniously into the dithering melody, rising and falling like spasmic breaths of air.

While sound travels in waves, light betrays such easy classification. In fact, light is the only physical phenomenon that can be measured as a wave or a particle, depending on the reflective stance of the observer. Perhaps such a dual physical make-up is what allows light to manipulate the sensual effect of music, informing the feel of vibration while making its invisibility more tangible.

In Radiality, Floating Points explores the physicality of the sonic and visual phenomena. Bass heavy synth wrangles the chest mirrored by the piercing quality of abrupt splashes of light that bother the eyes. However, the radiality of sonic-light also strives to reenchant our sterilized impressions of mechanical electricity and factory sound with the enigmatic immateriality that influenced the ancients to reflect on the supernatural. Grasping the infinite in such phantom-like phantasmagoria is an impressive, if not sublime feat.

Make sure to turn the sound UP when listening and make the screen as large as possible. This video demands full perceptual attunement.




Floating Points will release an album soon, stay tuned!

Monday, February 9, 2009

The Wash


Lying at the corner of 6th St. and Folsom in a nearly petrified state of waste are the remains of a car wash. Simple in stature, the rectangular car wash is open ended, a collapsed sunroof to the heavens, stations for manual cleaning neatly mounted at entrance and end. The building grazes the corner sidewalk much like a Taco Truck, transgressing typical boundaries of commercial space, edging ever closer into the intimacy of the streets where pedestrians walk in bipedal fashion rather than ride on four wheels.

A place where drivers dismount their steel steeds, breathe in the cosmic gases of industry, and pay a couple green bills for their robot's purification. A structure for meditation. A robot cleaned and a mind restored. What to make of an abandoned car wash in the historic auto district?


Much like human beings, robots require occasional cleansing by ablution. Detailed rituals of purification have been developed to remove clods of filth from the robot, refreshing its thickened skin to a softened stage of premature innocence.

Rolled onto a conveyor belt apparatus, initial baptismal waters lightly wash over the surfaces of the soiled vehicle. Only the exterior receives these water blasts, which increase in vivacity and pressure as the rolling machine grows accustomed to the cleansing ritual. A soapy residue churns out from socket furnaces and piping to envelop the robot in a wispy, sud concoction.


Once thoroughly johnsoned & johnsoned, spongy cobalt creatures--dressed in the furry hair that recalls nothing less than an elderly smurf--spin spasmodically, gently lacerating the vehicle with their rubbery tentacles. Although slightly painful for the robot, the rapid whippings break up knots of dirt still intact after the ablution soaping. The filth amalgamates in preparation for a final vacuuming from gyrating suction necks, whisking the sludge into the sewer's oblivion with billowing chokes of gas. Alas, a car manifests itself, stammering for destination, yearning for concrete, beckoning contenders, anticipating a medley of primary colored lights.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Sanguine Sunday is Independent

Sanguine Sunday is now independent of Crooks and Grannies. All further episodes and posts can be found on domain of the eponymous title. Updates come twice a week, once upon a time, on Sunday.

Tune it. Kick in the door. Grind it out.

Friday, January 23, 2009

A Waltz into Trauma

By mistake I saw Ari Folman's animated documentary about the 1982 Lebanon War, Waltz with Bashir, back in October. Let me clarify, I was in the dreadful city of Brussels, completely exhausted from three days of sleepless travels, and had just escaped along with my companion a meddlesome Belgian--which was not too difficult considering his morning drunkenness, broken leg, and freshly slashed face--who insisted on showing me the main shopping district.


We surreptitiously ducked into a local movie theater, choosing to watch the next available screening, Waltz with Bashir. After the fat Belgian lady working at the counter finally agreed to sell us tickets (she did not think we should see an Israeli film with French and Flemish subtitles while she stupidly identified the Hebrew language film as in Arabic), we settled into our seats and enjoyed a moment's of rest before the start.

I never fell asleep. Waltz with Bashir opens suddenly with frothing yellow-eyed hounds running through nondescript Israeli streets, knocking down everything in their path, coming to a stopping point outside a lone square window where an unshaven man blankly stares into the monsters that haunt him. The nightmare begins.

Director Ari Folman tells the story of himself, a middle-aged Israeli filmmaker who lost his memory of fighting in the 1982 Lebanon war at the age of 19. The scene of the hounds, a recurring nightmare told to the aged Folman by a fellow soldier, jump starts his psychological journey to recapture his own memory of the war. The result of this journey is the creation of Waltz itself, an imaginatively construed world outside of our earthly dimension. Art director and illustrator, David Polonsky, and director of animation, Yoni Goodman, execute richly colored, chiaroscuro illustration that recalls the aesthetic quality of graphic novels.


Folman's film becomes a reflection on the dynamic nature of his fractured memory, as he investigates the reality of the blocked experiences by seeking out, and conducting interviews, with others present alongside him during the war. We witness Folman's live interviews (two dubbed over for the sake of anonymity) that take place in illustrated bars, rural homes, or a car, splicing immediately over to the recalling of dreamy sequences of escape and hipnotic meditations on horrific war scenes. The soundtrack propels this pschyedelic discplacement of experience, ranging from rhythmic drum claps mirroring the movements of a racing heart during night terrors, ironic pop music chanting about the thrills of bombing Lebanon reflecting the soldier's experience of returning from war to a land of general normalcy, and the incessant machine gun fire--chilled by the silence of death.

How does one recount the atrocities of war? What creative form might inch towards capturing the its reality, a reality that by its very natue eludes our grasp? A reality that human nature resists, repressed into the realm of myths, denied and blocked up in the subconscious. How might one detail the journey of recollecting this lost memory, divided and traumatized by its origin? Waltz thrusts the the unreal into the real, seamlessly layering hallucination with brutal fact, the construction of memory with some truth to be remembered. There might be no more exacting medium than animation to disclose such interplay between the imaginary and the real, and the complete breakdown of these categories when taking up the horrors of war.

Throughout the narrative we see repetitive sequences of the younger Folman wading in the sea outside of the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps where Lebanese Phalangists massacred thousands of Palestinians in vengeance of the assassinated president-elect of Lebanon Bashir Gemayel. Folman struggles with his guilt, coming to acknowledge the fact that he, and otherIsraeli soldiers, permitted the Phalange militia men to enter the camps. They stood by a few hundred yards away, perhaps unable to believe the sure signs of the massacre right before them.

In the dreamy state Folman rises to the shores with his troupe. They dress in fatigues under dreary, yellowed sky lit by flares and walk sullenly into the dilapidated, blown out buildings of West Beirut. The sequence repeats on end throughout the narrative, reaching a corner turned where hijab adorned women scream in terror, yell, and then the whirling sound of silence. Again and again the audience witnesses this scene, anticipating the view of atrocity, dreading the moment, and again and again, the impending fact is cut off from us.


Folman faces the problem intrinsic to any documentary of atrocity; how does a director disclose such brutality without turning it into a spectacle? How might a filmmikar avoid transforming such horrors into phantasmagoria for our own entertainment, seated in cushioned theater chairs, our bodies circuited into a lit up screen that affords a vicious movement of suspense and drama.

In the final scenes of Waltz Folman transitions abruptly from the magestically powerful animated world into gritty, documented footage of the massacre. We see bodies stacked and beginning to rot, rubble and human parts indistinguishable, the spilled entrails of a ferocious massacre. And just for a moment we are taken to this time and place, thrown violently outside the bounds of the protected camera lens, enveloped within the horror.

Somehow Folman's animated, hipnotic dimension prepares us for this task, doing consistent labor on our sentiments, shaping our abilities to imagine the impossible, and fooling the body's defense mechanisms into accepting the most unreal of all realities. For a moment, the veils of the spectacle fall back, the protective cognitive system breaks down, just a moment enough to grasp the absolute terror.

Folman's final work is nothing short of a masterpiece, a compelling anti-war documentary that achieves the most exemplary of moral efforts: to disclose the genuine reality of horror and trauma, hoping to guide us to feel the obligation of working towards its demise.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Sanguine Sunday - Resolution (ep. 3)

We've been trying to orchestrate a podcast feed, but such a feat combined with the time consuming ventures in learning sound editing in logic, has postponed our new years mix so long that well, it's almost 2010 already. Granted it's only the middle of the month, what better day to throw out a mix on such a remarkable day that triumphs a call to action and resistance to petty delays and griping commitments to future goals (you know, making a legit podcast.)

Friends! I give you our resolution. Until the podcast comes, we shall harness the internet's maternal riches in its nourishing offer of zshare!



Let's get down to the program. In the spirit of the new horizon set forth by 2009, Honey Knuckles cuts up some soul collaborated proto-break tunes--putting emphasis on the afro-beat, disco, and krautrock sectors--with the resolution of improving his b-boy technique in the cypha'. And I (Z-Noooote) take the year of recession to reflect upon the magical quality of money. In resolving that it's time to either find a hustle or make some more cash money in recession times, or less ambitiously, just wondering about the poetics of the dollar bill, I find some inspiration in a collection of cross-genre dollar lamentations, on the grind motivations, and fuzzed out flows flipped up for my own purposes. Finally, Aisha rocks steady with some knowledge on the Oscar Grant protest in Oakland and the perennial abuse of police authority in the inner city. Let the chi flow!

Much resource is to be found in the rich history of music to help us make the resolute kind of resolution that will prove lasting. So peep that shit. And tell us about your transformations.

Download here.


Tracklist:

Honey Knuckles - Breakin' Breaks

Mark Ronson - God put a smile on your face feat. The Daptone Horns (Talk)
Lefties Soul Connection - Code 99 (Talk)
Dave Cortez with the Moon People - Happy Soul with a Hook
Sharon Jones - I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
The Pointer Sisters - Send him back (Piloosky Edit)
Ides of March - Aire of a good feeling
Gil Scott Heron - The bottle
Fela Kuti - Roforofo Fight
The Beginning of the End - Funky Nassau Pt. 1 & 2
Manu Dibango - Soul Makossa
Manu Dibango - Moni
Kraftwerk - The Robots
Holy Ghost - Hold On
Can - Vitamin C
Lowell Fulsom - Tramp
Eric B. & Rakim - Know the Ledge
The New Mastersounds - Land of Nod (Lack of Afro remix)
Maceo and the Macks - Soul Power 74
Red Astaire - Mambo El B-Boy
The Budos Band - The Proposition (Talk)
Cymande - Dove (Talk)

Z-Note - the Money Mix

Young-Holt Unlimited - Ain't There Something Money Can't Buy
Amral's Trinidad Cavaliers Steel Drum Orchestra - The World is a Ghetto
Bohannon - Save Their Souls
Demon Fuzz - I Put a Spell on You
Sly and the Family Stone - I Cannot Make It
Public Enemy - Shut 'Em Down (Pete Rock edit)
Common Sense - Soul by the Pound
Slum Village - Get Dis Money
Stevie Spacek - Let the Dollar Circulate
Billy Paul - Let the Dollar Circulate
The Sylvers - Stay Away From Me
Black Merda (w/ Linnie Walker) - People Let me Know
Eric B. and Rakim - Paid in Full (Coldcut edit)
Eddie Bo - The Thang (Part 2)
Eight Minutes - I Can't Get No Higher
Fatback Band - Goin' to See My Baby
James Brown - Give it Up or Turn it Loose (remix)
Run DMC - Hard Times
The Flying Lizards - Money



Big ups to Edgar at Words, Words, Words for providing a resonant response to the soul recession episode and kicking me to the Billie Paul's soulicious brain melter, Let the Dollar Circulate. Peep his bombastic, well versed journey through a rag-tag history of American soul recession music.

Endnote: to be improved in the beta stage --> mic levels, mixing skills, music knowledge, radio voice, suggestions?

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Sanguine Sunday - (Recession Soul) - ep. 2

Ya' it's that time of the year, one brisk San Francisco morning after winter solstice, the days are just about to get longer but not much brighter. In tune for the Holiday season in the midst of thin wallets and heavy eyelids, Sanguine Sunday mixes up some of what we like to call recession soul. Bringing you that uplifting flavor from the hustle to the bounce, some of those I need monay type of jams, and even the more contemplative what the hell is goin' on with our economy ballads--recession soul covers all it takes to overcome the despair of dusty pockets.

In the spirit of such hard times, Aisha interviews Rayan on the grind, a struggling San Francisco renter and resident of Moss Street about the merits and craft of couch surfing. Meanwhile Zeno mangles 2 for 40 dollar buttered up lobster dinners. Keep on listening for a surprise battle between man and crusty sea beast; shit is sinister.

And Happy Holidays everyone! Moss Street's Sanguine Sunday will see you again in 2009!

LISTEN

Intro
Souls of Mischief - 93 Til' Infinity (inst.)

DJ Zeno
Slum Village - Reunion
Black Milk - Bounce
James Brown - Talkin' Loud and Sayin' Nothing (remix)
Pilooski - Can't There be Love
De La Soul - Say No Go
James Pants - We're Through
Jesse Johnson - Can You Help Me
Brothers Johnson - Ain't We Funkin' Now
Slave - Slide
Bernard Wright - Spinnin'
Con Funk Shun - Got to be Enough
DJ Quik - Tear it Off
Roland Appel - Dark Soldier

Honey Knuckles
(Talk) Eddie Kendricks - My People...Hold On
The O'Jays - For The Love of Money
Laura Lee - Crumbs off the Table
Charles Wright & the Watts 103rd St Band - What Can You Bring Me?
Joseph Henry - I've Never Found a Girl
Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings - What If We All Stopped Paying Taxes?
Sound Experience - Devil With the Bust
Breakstra - Getcho Soul Togetha (Part 2)
Brick - Dazz
Carl Carlton - She's a Bad Mama Jama
Lyn Collins - Mama Feelgood
Fatback Band - Backstrokin'
Lakeside - Fantastic Voyage
Jackson Sisters - I Believe in Miracles
Earth Wind and Fire - Brazilian Rhyme
Patrice Rushen - Forget Me Nots
Herbie Hancock - Wiggle Waggle
Johnny Pate - Shaft in Africa
(Talk) Barry White - I'm Gonna Love You Just a Little Bit More Baby
(Talk) Gary Bartz - I've Known Rivers
(Lobster Dinner Freestyle Battle) Edan - Sing it Shitface Instrmental

Endnote: Zeno AKA Krimpnasty is looking for a stable moniker. Suggestions appreciated.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Sanguine Sundays

What up blog world. I have been taken a hiatus to get my soul together, but I just felt a pinpoint abyss in my swelling heart without updating this little virtual grab bag of my life. And all the personalities that fit into that, big ups Granny Wesson and Cyrus the Humble. Oh ya, Granny's been holding it down on her new music blog teamed up with Def1, the keskejecoute headmasta. It's on the come up.

Anyway, in the past few months a new persona by the name of Zeno AKA Krimpnasty has been added on to the mix of my schizophrenic psyche. The dynamics of this antogonistic sideplate has not been synthesized in any harmonious way yet. Big ups to D-Rock AKA the illustrious Honey Knuckles, that smooth operator, I have been translating my music interests into the chopped and screwed ways of djing.

So we developed this little concept of an online radio show, eventually a podcast, and perhaps on the distant horizon something more ambitious. We call it Sanguine Sundays--props to Aisha for that sinster double S moniker--and we hope to introduce you to the music we are listening to, the way we listen to it, and the way we scrape it all up each and every Sunday afternoon. Expect the deep monster funk, word power Hiphop, soulclap breaks, fuzzed out psych, throw back soul, new wave, boogie, electro, sprinkled with some rock and let's call everything else incognito.

The first episode is blazingly titled Moss Street Meats. Enjoy.

12-14-08 - As we approach the end of 2008, the Moss Street family decides to do a little bit of winter cleaning of the freezer. Items included a bag labeled "meat", kosher chicken that was once resurrected from the trash can, and mystery Filipino meat from our early 2008 excursion to Manilla Oriental Market. Memorable quote of the evening: "Does this meat have cheese in it?" "No."

playlist :

Intro

Talkin' All That Jazz (remix)

Honey Knucks
Cutie Pie - One Way
Paperboy - Ditty
Soul 2 Soul - Back to Life
Salt N' Peppa - Shoop
Jamiroquai - Virtual Insanity
Black Street - No Diggity
Paula Abdul - Straight Up
David Banner - Play
Santogold - You'll Find a Way (Switch remix)
Marshena Shaw - California Soul (Mad Decent edit)
Latyrx - Lady Don't Tek No
Eric B. & Rakim - Paid in Full
Tribe Called Quest - Scenario
Beastie Boys - Shadrach
Dizzee Rascal - Fix Up Look Sharp
Red Astaire - Love to Angie
Sir Joe Quartermain And Free Soul - So Much Trouble
Bar-Kays - Soulfinger
James Brown - Get Up

James Brown - Honky Tonk Popcorn Part II (talk over)
James Brown - Funky Drummer (edit)

Zeno

Nas - Queens Get the Money
Big Beat - Billy Squier
Slum Village - Do You
Del tha Funky Homosapien - Dr. Bombay
Ultramagnetic MCs - Ease Back
The Jaz - To Your Soul
Divine Styler - Ain't Sayin' Nothin'
Bar-Kays - Hit and Run
De La Soul - Me Myself and I
Jungle Brothers - Doin' our own Dang' (JB's mix)
Main Source - He Got So Much Soul
Marie Franklin - Bad Woman
Big Daddy Kane - Warm it Up Kane
Coldcut - Fat (Party and Bullshit)
Notorious B.I.G. - Party and Bullshit
Madvillain - Monkey Suite
Outkast - Wheelz of Steel

Outro
J Dilla - Donuts