Weird, hippety-hop ska-ish-but-no version...
Not exactly good, but fun.
Why am I thinking of the houseversion of this song?
Thursday, 12 May 2011
Wednesday, 11 May 2011
Andreas Linetzky & Ernest Romeo - "Sentimientos" (Latin Lounge (Putumavo))
Jazzy with beat. Might get irritating after a while, but fun enough for a song or two.
Saturday, 7 May 2011
Walt Whitman - "A child said, What is the grass?"
A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full
hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
may see and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe
of the vegetation.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow
zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the
same, I receive them the same.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
It may be you are from old people and from women, and
from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps,
And here you are the mother's laps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old
mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths
for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men
and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring
taken soon out of their laps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
What do you think has become of the women and
children?
They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.
All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
luckier.
hands;
How could I answer the child?. . . .I do not know what it
is any more than he.
I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful
green stuff woven.
Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropped,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we
may see and remark, and say Whose?
Or I guess the grass is itself a child. . . .the produced babe
of the vegetation.
Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow
zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the
same, I receive them the same.
And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.
Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
It may be you are from old people and from women, and
from offspring taken soon out of their mother's laps,
And here you are the mother's laps.
This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old
mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.
O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths
for nothing.
I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men
and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring
taken soon out of their laps.
What do you think has become of the young and old men?
What do you think has become of the women and
children?
They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprouts show there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait
at the end to arrest it,
And ceased the moment life appeared.
All goes onward and outward. . . .and nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and
luckier.
Chris Black - "Pass Away" (Jericho)
dark, with alt-violin?
everything you know will pass away
everything you know will pass away
wo-ho-ho-ho
Friday, 6 May 2011
Worldwide Groove Coorporation - "Angel Eyes" (Chillodesiac Lounge Fever vol 1)
slow, triphop, female vocals, nice.
DJ T-Rock & Squashy Nice - "The Fugue" (Rock & Squash Techniques)
Parlando, hiphop, triphop, classical music.
Great song.
Thursday, 5 May 2011
Edward Elgar - "Enigma Variations, For Orchestra, Op 36: Theme Andante" (Edgar Holst, the Planets)
This must be the song that inspired Rob D with his "Kurayamino, Clubbed to Death"
Short, but too similar to be a coincedence.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
Modest Mouse - "Bukowski" (Good News For People Who Love Bad News)
Interesting song. Weird.
Well all that icing and all that cake
I can't make it to your wedding
But I'm sure I'll be at your wake
You were talk, talk, talk, talkin' in circles that day
When you get to the point
Make sure that I'm still awake, ok?
Went to bed and didn't see
Why every day turns out to be
A little bit more like Bukowski
And yeah, I know he's a pretty good read
But God who'd wanna be?
God who'd wanna be such an asshole?
Monday, 2 May 2011
Ween - "The Argus" (Quebec (Explicit))
on the "Ween" channel, so not a strange choice, but the song is very un-Ween : slow, dreamlike. Not amazingly beautiful, but pretty amazing nonetheless.
Yesterday we lost our lives, tomorrow we were born
Fortune smiled upon us, sacrifice the Argus
All that he might help us see
Magna eyes the track for miles
Looking for disease
Puzzled by the mountains
Tricked by the sea
And the Argus is practiced compassion
With an eye on you, as one is on me
Will the god eye grant his forgiveness
And allow he that's lived a reason to see
Counting days and building walls, bells ring so to warn
All the signs that guide us, chosen by the Argus
Tell me he has chosen you
Led by form we’ll shed our soul
Trusting like a child
See the dark face that saved us
Drink from his empty eyes
And the Argus is practiced compassion
With an eye on you, as one is on me
Will the god eye grant his forgiveness
Letting droplets of light erupt from the sea
Lying in beds of garlic and orchids
He closes an eye, which closes another
And in sleep he dreams of watching and looking
And feather clouds dancing he curls up his lid and sleeps
Swirling with visions on man's confusion
All of the work done just to appease him
The Argus he cries, though love has it's place in the sun
It's only man's fear that carries him on
Friday, 29 April 2011
Alpha & Omega - "Dub Flute" (Sound System Dub)
Came by on the Ott radiostation.
Curious, since it's dub and definitely stands out inbetween the Shpongle's and Ott's.
Then again, Death Cab for Cutie came by as well.
Hurray For The Riff Raff - "Dance With Death" (It Don't Mean I Don't Love You)
On the GY!BE channel.
Sad ukelele, a drunken circus song sung by a velvety-rough girl.
update
found something on myspace, not overwhelming
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
Christopher Marlowe - "Ignoto" (+/- 1564-1593)
I Love thee not for sacred chastity.
Who loves for that? nor for thy sprightly wit:
I love thee not for thy sweet modesty,
Which makes thee in perfection's throne to sit.
I love thee not for thy enchanting eye,
Thy beauty, ravishing perfection:
I love thee not for that my soul doth dance,
And leap with pleasure when those lips of thine,
Give musical and graceful utterance,
To some (by thee made happy) poet's line.
I love thee not for voice or slender small,
But wilt thou know wherefore? Fair sweet, for all.
'Faith, wench! I cannot court thy sprightly eyes,
With the base viol placed between my thighs:
I cannot lisp, nor to some fiddle sing,
Nor run upon a high stretching minikin.
I cannot whine in puling elegies.
Entombing Cupid with sad obsequies:
I am not fashioned for these amorous times,
To court thy beauty with lascivious rhymes:
I cannot dally, caper, dance and sing,
Oiling my saint with supple sonneting:
I cannot cross my arms, or sigh "Ah me,"
"Ah me forlorn!" egregious foppery!
I cannot buss thy fill, play with thy hair,
Swearing by Jove, "Thou art most debonnaire!"
Not I, by cock! but I shall tell thee roundly,
Hark in thine ear, zounds I can fuck thee soundly.
Sweet wench, I love thee; yet I will not sue,
Or show my love as musky courtiers do;
I'll not carouse a health to honour thee,
In this same bezzling drunken courtesy:
And when all's quaffed, eat up my bousinglass,
In glory that I am thy servile ass.
Nor will I wear a rotten Bourbon lock,
As some sworn peasant to a female mock.
Well-featured lass, thou know'st I love thee dear,
Yet for thy sake I will not bore mine ear,
To hang thy dirty silken shoe-tires there:
Not for thy love will I once gnash a brick,
Or some pied colours in my bonnet stick.
But by the chaps of hell, to do thee good,
I'll freely spend my thrice decocted blood.
Who loves for that? nor for thy sprightly wit:
I love thee not for thy sweet modesty,
Which makes thee in perfection's throne to sit.
I love thee not for thy enchanting eye,
Thy beauty, ravishing perfection:
I love thee not for that my soul doth dance,
And leap with pleasure when those lips of thine,
Give musical and graceful utterance,
To some (by thee made happy) poet's line.
I love thee not for voice or slender small,
But wilt thou know wherefore? Fair sweet, for all.
'Faith, wench! I cannot court thy sprightly eyes,
With the base viol placed between my thighs:
I cannot lisp, nor to some fiddle sing,
Nor run upon a high stretching minikin.
I cannot whine in puling elegies.
Entombing Cupid with sad obsequies:
I am not fashioned for these amorous times,
To court thy beauty with lascivious rhymes:
I cannot dally, caper, dance and sing,
Oiling my saint with supple sonneting:
I cannot cross my arms, or sigh "Ah me,"
"Ah me forlorn!" egregious foppery!
I cannot buss thy fill, play with thy hair,
Swearing by Jove, "Thou art most debonnaire!"
Not I, by cock! but I shall tell thee roundly,
Hark in thine ear, zounds I can fuck thee soundly.
Sweet wench, I love thee; yet I will not sue,
Or show my love as musky courtiers do;
I'll not carouse a health to honour thee,
In this same bezzling drunken courtesy:
And when all's quaffed, eat up my bousinglass,
In glory that I am thy servile ass.
Nor will I wear a rotten Bourbon lock,
As some sworn peasant to a female mock.
Well-featured lass, thou know'st I love thee dear,
Yet for thy sake I will not bore mine ear,
To hang thy dirty silken shoe-tires there:
Not for thy love will I once gnash a brick,
Or some pied colours in my bonnet stick.
But by the chaps of hell, to do thee good,
I'll freely spend my thrice decocted blood.
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
Overseer - "Meteorolgy" (Wreckage)
Violin- and orchestra-samples, spoken word, beats.
Bit bombastic, with beat.
update
the album is "harder", more breakbeat, some oldskool '90 samples
RJD2 - "Ghostwriter" (Deadringer)
Nice {tr|h}iphop
update
listening to album now
- Smoke and Mirrors: oldfashioned samples and voices, good
Monday, 25 April 2011
Der Baader-Meinhof Complex
Raw, rough.
The difficult openingsscene, in which protesting students are severely beaten, is just the start.
The film is gritty, and doesn't loose that when halfway it seems to become more of a documentary than a film: suddenly new people enter the story, and their importance or role isn't immediatly clear.
Good film, but not for an easy night
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