Month: March 2019

Isn’t playing the fiddle STUNNING?

In music, anything goes really, including within classical fare. Yet our own period is different in that we must also see what the latest contribution looks like, if not actually listen to it sometime during the entire process. Not to sound like some curmudgeon here, but just to offer an observation (get it? haahaha! crack myself up) regarding a glaring fact about us nowadays. That idealism must be aligned with consumerism to be afforded an audience-in-the-main.

First to point, this Mutter album is quite marvelous. We live in a special time of the female violin virtuosi… and most, if not all, are fairly attractive specimens in my humble opinion. Although this wasn’t the case when the music they perform was actually created, else we would STILL be talking about the fiddle babe. Back then the closest approximation to their approach was our own domain of electric guitar heroes Jimi Hendrix or Stevie Ray Vaughan (et al). For example in the 19th century a mostly non-descript male with INCREDIBLE JAW DROPPING technique would saunter upon stage and completely blow away his audience for hours on end. Then journey forth to the next major european city for further triumph. Being physically attractive was a complete non-factor, the main being to skillfully present the most extreme range of “a wooden box with strings”. Niccolò Paganini had every health disadvantage one could contract, yet became legendary for his playing alone, not mere survival.

Jimmy Page was our closest approximation to Vincent Van Gogh musically so far.

But back to the present. We are conditioned to accept the simplest fact that classical music is 98% beautiful and non-threatening, whilst the other 2% sells even WORSE! One gifts the Classical CD (usually) by the cover, then the composer, then lastly the store’s return policy. The amazon prime marketplace teems with “like new” selections from the used bin pond.

Actually a fun market for the trainspotter is created just by watching the prices rise and fall for previously marketed releases opposed to newer artists. For example, one music label obtains the entire catalog of Gustav Leonhardt for an extremely modest sum to which it can sell 8 hours worth @ 99cents a pop. What an incredible bargain!

Gustav Leonhardt – Wikipedia

Gustav Leonhardt (30 May 1928 – 16 January 2012) was a Dutch keyboard player, conductor, musicologist, teacher and editor. He was a leading figure in the movement to perform music on period instruments. Leonhardt professionally played many instruments, including the harpsichord, pipe organ, claviorganum (a combination of harpsichord and organ), clavichord, fortepiano and piano.

Truly, a musician’s musician.

Whilst another MAJOR label grooms a female sex bomb to perform these aged standards with her dress falling off and it goes double platinum EVERY TIME! Usually these are eastern european females who have risen to the top thru competition rather than school or conservatory. Otherwise the professors would never have let them be released in the wild. Yum, pregnant again comrade? No matter!

Ever had a boner listening to the Well-Tempered Clavier? Get ready.


But I must admit, there is a distinction when it comes to today’s violin fighter ace in stockings. It seems the most primal quality to adore in females comes out mostly thru a modest listening, rather than just ooogling her delicious body. That genius being the widest span of feelings and emotions any human produces now. Judiciously I won’t mention particular names here, but the spectrum ranges from godlike aloofness to total agnosticism, warm motherly love to a flash terminator cadenza, from the most flighty of western sensitivities to eastern bloc totalitarianism… by at least seven or more divas since the turn of this century. Bravo!

Yet, what if she weren’t good looking? I’m not sure that problem exists for the hardened music aficionado (like myself). We’re blind to defects, even to our disadvantage. Our pleasure is in knowing that what she gives to all is priceless… so I’ll rather take that to the mp3 bank.

-b

Girl playing violin on beach in bikini

Àsian girl miming to music

why I enjoy youtube, its taste is impartial.

The Mouse Lionella

Many will recognise this story, told in many forms by me over the years, yet at its heart, the song remains the same and the mouse that is the guide to Rael in my last story returns as a hero to save the young life of Rael in this.

You may know that in my early years I spent time in a small village and travelled the desert sands as part of a caravanade. When I was five, my best friend Chiara began to tend the fire with me at night once per week. This is the start of our story together.

Tending the fire was a great honour but also an important task as the fire kept animals from the camp and also kept the village warm. The task of relighting a fire was something we would struggle to do on wet days – so the fire had always to be alight.

We were young and often frightened by the noises in the night. Our task was to be on guard against a raid by hungry animals. And so we told each other stories to keep the dark of the fire and the terror of the night at bay.

After a few weeks and for many days thereafter we were joined by a little mouse. We called him the little lion because he was so brave and would come right up to the fire. We were convinced he liked to listen to our voices chattering and singing in the fire light. Soon we began to feed him the little we had left from our own food.

It was the mouse that taught us about the stars, because the village elder told us there was a group of stars called ‘the Mouse’. At first we did not believe him but then we looked carefully and saw it. And when we saw the mouse in the sky then suddenly the mystery of the stars was no more, and we could see the archer, and the blade, the scorpion, the scythe, the buffalo and the lion, the centaur and the Hunter. Soon we began to understand the dance of the stars and how they commune or talk to each other, their patterns and seasons. We were very grateful to the mouse for this insight.

Then one night, the mouse did not come.

We woke the village, though it was dead of night. The elders took up their spears and all of the women and children grasped brands of burning sticks and we waited for the attack.

Two lions came into the camp but saw the flames and the spears and after prowling the surrounds, they moved on. Had the village been asleep, they would have dragged the young from the tents to eat them as we slept, tearing out their throats to ensure they made no noise. Being by the fire and in the clearest of view, they would have come out of the dark to take both Chiara and I first.

In the light of dawn, we searched and found the little mouse. It had been tossed by a lion and killed quickly – we believe it had tried to save us in the only way it knew how: by sacrificing itself rather than running away. That day, we christened Chiara “lionella” in honour of the mouse that saved us, and many, many of the stars have been named by us both after that smallest and bravest of heroes.

The Apple Tree

The Apple Tree

This is an allegory of my life.

In a village by the desert plains, where the rivers run north towards the hills and leave the scrubland that is the dry approach to the vast banks of sand that are the deserted lands, stood an apple tree

Alone

She was unusual because she always bore fruit through the late springs and early summer, when even the figs would wither in the heat and the fruit was a constant source of nourishment for those who were brave enough to traverse the deserted lands:

sweet and juicy, with memories of childhood and a time of peace and contentment; hard skinned yet succulent centre; and never was a worm found in the fruit of her tree.

A gift from God was that tree!

No-one ever asked the tree if they could take the fruit, people would assume the tree did not mind. And because this is a story of hope, I can tell you that the tree did not mind, and she gave gladly, but sometimes she hoped people would understand and appreciate her generosity.

Then one day a wise man said of the tree: this tree is not normal, it is beautiful and it is unique

So instead of travelling to the deserted lands, and partaking of the tree as they passed, people began to visit the tree itself. Soon its fruit were in demand and those who wished to make a profit from such things looked to sell the fruit. Thus the tree was gradually stripped from too much attention and from the desire of the people to have its fruit – the tree could not stop giving but soon it had just one last fruit left to give.

Then another wise man said the tree was a fraud: this is not an apple tree; why would an apple tree grow by a desert? This is some other kind of tree. So the people divided between those who believed in the tree and wanted its last fruit and those who would destroy the tree for being different.

The people fought over the tree’s last fruit and as they did so they tore the tree to the ground and they trampled the land around it until the tree was left as dust to drift across the open plains, then a memory, and then forgotten.

Save for one seed from the last fruit that fell into the hands of a small boy, who kept it safe as he grew until he reached the age of discernment. And when the boy became a man he was faced with a terrible choice:

to plant a new tree for many to partake of its generosity, and risk the tree being ridiculed and fought over and eventually being destroyed

or to plant it hidden in his own garden to be safe, but never again to be as giving as it had been

He wanted to ask the tree herself but to do so he must plant her and his choices meant he was bound to make the tree sad – this he could not bear. So he spoke instead to a wise man who was said to have lived for as long as the desert had nurtured the people of the caravans.

The wise man asked the boy to bring him to where he had found the seed and as he stood at the spot where the tree had been planted the wise man told the boy a story.

I once took a seed from a place where war had torn to destruction the beautiful orchard of a graceful princess. The princess lay dead amongst her trees, dying to save them from the men who brought war to her gates. They put her trees to flames but one seed survived and as a boy I carried it home.

I remembered the selflessness of the princess and I knew in my heart that her tree would wish to be planted where it could help the lost and the tired and those who needed nourishment. So it was I who planted the tree here in her memory.

The princess knew she would die and her tree knew it would also one day be destroyed for its generosity – so should we and indeed could we have saved them?

My son, those who are generous of heart will not thank us if we try and save them from the uncertainty and the hurt and the cruelty they suffer. Their generous hearts will find a way to break any bonds – but if we hide them away such that they can no longer be generous then they will wither quicker than if we had poisoned them.

We cannot save those whose wish is to be generous from themselves; we can only plant them on the path to their dreams. So plant your tree and have no regret if she comes to grief for she will be happier knowing she served than she was saved

Brexit fiasco is EPIC

MPs reject May’s EU withdrawal agreement

MPs reject Theresa May’s EU withdrawal agreement by 344 votes to 286, a majority of 58, throwing UK’s Brexit plans into more confusion. Mrs May said the vote would have “grave” implications and the “legal default” was that the UK would leave on 12 April.

I’ve found the BBC to be much too forgiving.

Brexit Day is cancelled: May’s final deception falls to pieces

She had one last grubby trick to pull. As the hours ticked down to the moment Britain was supposed to leave the EU, Theresa May forced another vote on her deal. She told the Commons it wasn’t really her deal at all. She claimed that supporting it would not prevent MPs from altering the overall Brexit package.

probably the best analysis of “Brexit Day”.

The Boeing Scandal

Good day! Figuring out how to embed articles just like on gplus.. here ya go

The emerging 737 MAX scandal, explained

Boeing executives are offering a simple explanation for why the company’s best-selling plane in the world, the 737 MAX 8, crashed twice in the past several months, leaving Jakarta, Indonesia, in October and then Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, in March. Executives claimed Wednesday, March 27, that the cause was a software problem – and that a new software upgrade fixes it.

RIP Ranking Roger of the English Beat

He passed away at age 56. Here’s the obit from BBC, in this video he’s the one on cowbell.

One of my fav bands growing up.

Looking back at google+

The year is 2025, holding up in a cut-rate apartment in Marseille, waiting for the next train out of here, by way of sea. All I own now are some Eurail coupons for the Champagne run to Paris, and my aged but loyally slow Kindle Fire tablet still remains at my side. Indeed my soon-to-be ex-wife took from me everything of value, but it was hers to begin with anyways! I would beg that milk maiden again for another indulgence, but to seek her out squanders even more rations I cannot spare. This situation is perilous, yet I look out the filthy window past the squalor and towards the sound of approaching machine guns.. the Nice TGV noisily pulling into Saint Charles station with another batch of white christians (so they’ll claim).

criticism of its interface.

Meeting people on googleplus, a failed social media site of the now-failing mega corp namesake, was a pivotal moment in my life, to say the very least. I exchanged my viewpoints, first at knifepoint unwillingly, due to YouTube changing over commenting to this “better” system. At the video hub, I merely put forth my technicals towards those able to understand me, and would comment on those able to interest myself. Now I would have to begin relationships? WTF!

I always sought out queers, atheists and die-hard hippy peaceniks for all my efforts at commenting. Encouraging fellatio, god-hate, and universal brotherhood seemed to affect the most feedback, which really was the extent of my sharing besides stuporous videos about HTPC (home theatre setups) or obscure explanation of materialism itself (counter-apologetics). Benefiting the ignorant needs an audience, but a terse reply to idiocy was deemed insufficient by google at that time. Now the everyday shut-in must establish themselves onto their new revenue continent… that isn’t Facebook or Myspace of course. So after 2 months of not being able to comment without profile I broke down and committed myself to exploring the frontier.

Soon I discovered, that I mostly abandoned the style of Youtube I locked myself into and ventured active participation in “Hangouts”. The rest is herstory.

One day, after amassing a retinue of followers who found value in my curious postings and writings, those which being not-boring but not-safe-for-work, and surviving the subsequent lifetime ban from gplus for such pornography, I met her. Why? Such is fate that it gets distracted too easily. Simply a reminiscence of a lost conversation is placed within the subject, to which he’ll instinctively reply in proper form, “Your name seems familiar, have we met before?” However derivative it sounds, formulaic, after all it is required for coupling between human specimens. Something the gplus enterprise never encouraged, but suffered the consequences accordingly. Fools!

obviously.

There are two excuses that explain what occurred in 2018. First, straightforwardly, was that a supposed leak of private information was too much of a liability for Google to withstand and would need the remedy of shutting down gplus entirely. Many experts claimed that really this was due to Facebook, Instagram, Pictogram-shtizwhatevs winning the social media war, that gplus was a system only for the misguided and misanthropic. But has this ever stopped the world’s largest social media blockbuster site called 4chan? I think not.

Second, I succumbed to the destiny of marriage. Provided that I pay for it only in loyalty and never capital. My views are firm in that anyone I should share a rug with should prove themselves worthwhile. So I demanded her to take the role normally accorded a suitor (of significant standing of course) and live with that responsibility in our own special union till the end of days. Actually, the development of this union was already more important to her than any of my sentimental idealism notwithstanding. She demanded I convert to Islam and move to France. Easy enough

Googleplus prepared me for my life’s mission. That’s the simple truth.

~To be Continued~

Rachel DuPre

Testing this convoluted new wordpress. Do me a favor and leave a comment to this, because I would like to see if I can use that comment info you give in order to make/permission u a regular poster, thx.

-b

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