Wieso bin ich eigentlich so allergisch gegen Radiomoderatoren (gerade eben von Planet Radio, musikmäßig übrigens viel besser als das jetzt völlig zum altbackenen Endlos-Mainstream kaputtreformierte hr1), die mich und millionen andere im Singular duzen und finde es total affig, wenn mich jemand in meinem Blog siezt?

In the winter of 1991/92 I saw a movie in the Utopia in Luxembourg called Tous les matins du monde. In the beginning there is a scene where you see a very slow zoom into Gérard Depardieu's face which lasts for about an eternity in film time, i.e. five minutes or something. And there is this strange calm music playing. French baroque music from the second half of the 17th century by amongst others Sainte-Colombe. Whom Depardieu is actually incarnating in the film. The music is played on the viola da gamba, a kind of missing link between the violin and the guitar, I'd like to think.

This film was about the most boring movie I ever saw in my life. I don't remember any dialogues. There was just this enervating quiet unknown classical music and some images of people moving around in a cottage on the country side, in the forest. I am not sure if the music made me dislike the movie or vice versa. Probably they just complemeneted each other. And I wasn't ripe for them.

A friend of mine who usually likes the music I like gave me this CD by Hille Perl. I listened to it first the day before yesterday on the way to work. It was just before 7 o'clock, I drove into the sun which was rising in between the Frankfurt skyscrapers. The sky was in a light-coloured blue. There were lots of interbreeding vapor trails in it. I had no expectations concerning the music and no idea about it as well. It took me by surprise. So relaxed, so pure, so human. There is an incredible strength in this music I didn't notice the first time. Hille Perl plays the seven string viola da gamba. The seventh string supposedly added by Saint-Colombe. On her page there are two quotes I have to cite, the first one as you can hear it in her play:

The second one for its maybe unintentional humour

Should I see the movie again? I don't think so. Maybe in another twenty years.

Voting for Bush is just a way of confirming what we all know already: The terrorists have won.

Imagine you are going to be executed in one hour time. What would be the one last song you would like to listen to before the end? I know it's a perverse question. My song would be Shapeshifting from the new Bark Psychosis abum, I guess. At least right now. There is everything in that song I'd need for the journey to the other side. A dream of a female voice, a droning melody, some beautiful and some everyday noise. It's all there.

The better and even more perverse question. Which is the song which will make you want to kill yourself after having listened to it? The song which is better than life. I haven't heard it yet. And I don't want to really. Because it will probably be so loud that you'll prefer to kill yourself before the end of the song.

Die letzten 20 Aphorismen sind die schwersten. Bei den MM geht es um Ironie, aber das scheint niemanden mehr hinter dem Ofen hervorzulocken. Ich lass das 134. Stück jetzt mal so lange stehen bis irgend jemand (mich eingeschlossen) einen Kommentar dazu abgegeben hat. Wenn nicht, dann bleibt die Platte halt dort stehen. Davon geht die Welt dann auch nicht unter. Oder doch?

for having removed the blogroll from this page. It slowed down the page too much. Give me some time and I will do a new static one here with all my faves.

Sheila Wood (John Wood's wife): "If you're so unhappy Nick, why haven't you killed yourself?"

Nick: "It's too cowardly, and besides, I don't have the courage"

(at the end of the thread mentioned in the previous post)

Two links:

• Hazey Jane Talks to The Pinefox, a long ILM thread from April I missed out on. The Pinefox starts asking an obvious question on the sequencing of the two songs called Hazey Jane II and I on Bryter Later and the discussion slowly moves towards more excitng things.
• Stranger to the world, an article by Peter Paphides in the Observer which I haven't read yet. Apparently (not really surprising) it is extremely sad.