here is for your ears. here for your brains. thank you, neneh.

heute morgen im auto auf dem weg zur arbeit lief auf hr2 ein instrumental, das mir bekannt vorkam. ich gucke auf das display des radios, das mir la valse anzeigt. ich denke erst, das kann doch nicht sein, das ist doch nicht das kurze stück von den négresses vertes, mit dem ihre phantastische platte mlah beginnt. dann sehe ich den interpreten und anscheinend auch komponisten auf der anzeige. yann tiersen. und ich bin dankbar, dass ich an das ursprüngliche akkordeonstück erinnert worden bin. weil tiersens version zwar nicht schlecht ist, aber ein dermaßen blasser abklatsch, dass man es kaum glauben mag. sehe gerade, dass es bei ihm eigentlich la valse d'amélie heißt und da erinnere ich mich wieder an den film, den ich auch schon nicht besonders gemocht habe. weiß im grunde gar nicht warum. er war eigentlich ganz nett. aber wahrscheinlich war es gerade die nettigkeit, die betulichkeit, die mich damals so gleichgültig gelassen hat.

in any case das ursprüngliche la valse, das ich anfang der 90er zum ersten mal bei einem griechischen freund in luxembourg gehört habe und das ich an dem abend bestimmt zehnmal auf dem cd-spieler programmiert habe (zurückgespult wäre noch angemessener gewesen), wäre der erste track auf einer c90-kompilation mit meinen lieblingsmusikstücken. es ist nur 92 sekunden lang (inklusive zehn sekunden faststille am ende), aber es nailed einen gemütszustand, der mir aber sowas von nicht fremd ist. man nennt es melancholie. das akkordeon ist bestimmt das richtige instrument, um dieses gefühl der traurigkeit auszudrücken. und der walzer, das um sich und seinen partner herumdrehen, ist die richtige tanzform. was natürlich die eigentliche ingeniosität ausmacht, ist die einfachheit der melodie. die so etwas bezauberndes hat wie manche stücke von satie (die gnossiennes foremost). aber zusätzlich zur schwebenden leichtigkeit eine tiefe, die mich hochzieht.

Watching Joy Division's performance of their token live song on the BBC2 TV show Something Else on 15 September 1979 (audio file) still makes me regret that I missed out in ever seeing them in concert. Peter Hook starts the song with his simple incredibly cool bass line, Stephen Morris joins in by hitting his drum kit like a devil on speed, a second after that Barney Sumner evolves the main melody on his slightly distorted guitar and finally after a little more than half a minute the personnel is complete when Ian Curtis utters the first word "Radio" in his muffled baritone. And then he delivers the first sentence

which could have been a zen koan with the answer included. The pure energy, the raw power of this song in which the intensity peaks in the second half when Ian moves in his bizarre abrupt way and shouts

does not cease to astound me every time I hear and watch it. You can see the pain he feels on his face, the obsession transmits to the spectator. In the last verse the lines

reflect the physicalness of this song perfectly.

Michka Assayas wrote in his novel Exhibition about attending the phantastic concert at Les Bains Douches in Paris end of 1979 (which fortunately has been recorded and released a couple of years ago). The audience consisted of less than 100 persons (how was it possible?) who hardly didn't react at all to the music. I suppose they were all spellbound. Curtis didn't speak in between songs. He seemed to be penetrated by a sensation of terror. Half a year later he was dead. He had carried out his own transmission with the rope of the clothes rack.

This song has been covered more than ten years ago by a band from Duluth, Minnesota. Their name is Low and I had the pleasure to see them a while ago. They can put on a live show like few other groups. Their music emanates a spirituality, a softness, a warmth which is hard to resist. Yes they have a religious background. They are Mormons. Anyways they made Transmission their own song. They took all the speed, all the frenzy out of it. They sucked it to the bones. Without loosing the intensity. It sounds almost more oppressing in slow-motion than in punk mode. Ian Curtis does not have to turn over in his grave. I would give a lot to listen to him singing the Low version today.

• Lyrics

What can I say? I could do some stupid name-dropping as I have done in the past here. Roger Quigley indulges in and sings about lost love like Robert Wratten, is surrounded by an otherworldly, dreamy, floating guitar sound à la Vini Reilly, makes the time you listen to his music stand still like Nick Drake etc. Or I could write that I have listened to so much dull and average music in the last months that I was not prepared for this song. Not prepared for the calm maelstrom drawing me back into the realm of melancolia. A place where I have spent most time of my life. I am attracted to it but I know that I shouldn't stay there any longer. Had my dose. I like to think that I only go there still because of nostalgia. And that I have left it behind. Which may well be wishful thinking. Didn't I tell you I had nothing to say?

über new grass von talk talk hab ich schon mal was geschrieben. zu faul zum verlinken, use the search! in any case das ist das lied, das ich mir für meine beerdigung wünsche. zusammen mit dem lied davor, auch wenn es für die ein zwei trauergäste wahrscheinlich eine ziemliche zumutung wäre.

Another song from my winterswap mix cd. It was supposed to start side two after a side one which was getting darker with each track. With a second movement overlaying the first from soft & slow to super slow as in your heartbeat stops to almost fast & rocking out. Peaking in Joy Division's Transmission from the Peel sessions. But then I realised that cds unlike records or tapes do not have two sides. And more or less gave up on the concept of having two different sides.

Anyways this is a lullaby with a mighty ethereal bassline I'd like to play to a baby if I had one. It is totally out of this world. More dream than reality. More in the womb than outside. More heaven than earth. More floating than sinking. More above the clouds than under the rain. More intuitive than logical. More light than darkness. Happy are those who have eyes they can close.

The lyrics don't make a lot of sense to me. But Liz sang gibberish before so that was quite a big step. According to them she starts the song with

A shadow without someone/something casting it, I can understand that. But the first line? Never listened to it before but it is amazing how it totally does not fit with the song. I don't hear that line at all by the way. It must have been made out.

everyone and his mother is doing these best of lists for 2006. i have bought eleven albums this year. the last year with less entries in my database is 1961 with eight. and of those eleven only the thom yorke, the yo la tengo and the cat power (the first half at least) did something for me. so i started listening to songs (of albums) people found outstanding. what did i miss? according to the very limited sample more than i thought.

motel de moka had a band in the top twelve with the terrible name grails. instrumental atmospheric stuff from portland. simple and haunting. slow and dark. probably a must-buy.

fujiya & miyagi from brighton were featured several times (thanks to phil where i read about them first). krautrock with an often motoric - electronic i suppose - beat à la neu!. great but not exactly new. at least as good as stereolab ca. 1991.

emily haines from metric, the daughter of paul haines, had a very personal album out this year (marcello). she is on piano and sings a little bit like the girl from elysian fields. jennifer charles was her name if i remember well. emily's voice is maybe not quite as sexy but still very intense and totally captivating. our hell and crowd surf off a cliff are the two songs of hers that knocked me off my feet.

i listened to one song by barbara morgenstern (phil again), called the grass is always greener which i liked a lot. an electronic minimal pop ballad on a wistful note. i doubt that the rest of her album is as good. i am a pessimist, didn't you know?

the same goes for beck. i heard elevator music. i really dig that guy when he is in that quirky mood. not in gainsbourg-nick drake or whatever derivative mode. that is how i like my rap. i still don't usually.

beirut had a phantastic song (sean put it on his top spot) called postcards from italy. which is also number one in the zündfunk charts of november. the voice is a little too plaintive for my likes (that's what i don't like about a lot of the otherwise pretty elaborate indie these days). but the instrumentation with horns and banjos (apparently ukuleles) is glorious. and that trumpet tune after the two minute mark is absolutely fabuluous.

and again the wailing squeaky voice. dan bejar's. i got kind of accustomed to it. destroyer's rubies was on many lists. it seems to have a couple of great songs. painter in your pocket is one.

casey dienel's doctor monroe (phil and sean, i think) was a nice surprise from nowhere. light and tuneful. the kind of girlish natural voice i fall for.

i have to listen to charlotte gainsbourg's 5:55 again. marcello put it quite high, i dismissed the songs i heard as shallow easy listening in the beginning. the operation is definitely a killer tune.

i didn't know juana molina (phil) from argentina at all before. río seco is a very smooth and sensuous whispered guitar ballad with some spooky background howls.

there must have been more good songs out there. but i didn't have enough stamina to listen through all the boring stuff you have to before finding the jewels.

• total playing time: 1:15:46
• no. of tracks: 16
• no. of tracks by artists from the us: 11
• no. of tracks by artists from the uk: 4
• no. of tracks by canadian artists: 1
• no. of tracks by black artists: 4
• no. of instrumentals: 3
• no. of songs with female lead singer: 3
• oldest track from 1970
• newest track from 2005
• longest track: 9:40
• shortest track: 1:39

i made my winterswap mix cd (see that blue-greyish ice crystal logo on the right). and it's wonderful, of course, the best cd ever burnt in the universe. a collection of mostly slow, often melancholic songs which have increased my love for music in the last ten or fifteen years. fading seamlessly into each other most of the time. is there anybody in the world to whom this stuff means as much as to me? i doubt it. and if there was, i wouldn't want to meet that doppelgänger in musical taste. yes i am afraid of the abyss.

ok then, here is the starter. listen to it on full blast if you want to hear anything. street noise. a voice in the distance. a car passing by. a bunch of keys. a key opening a door. the slamming of the entrance door. a creaking door. shut with a short bang. someone walking up the stairs. someone heavy. an acoustic guitar. playing a simple tune. getting louder. that's it. the trip begins.

my mix cd for the winterswap is kind of finished. but now that i am listening to boards of canada i think why not make a second one only with them on it? they are the last band i discovered which sounded at the same time new and appealing to me. and still does. when i listen to their analog-electronic soundscapes there is always that wide blue sky opening. a winter sky. and yet so warm. it could also be a night sky. full of stars. this feeling that we live in an immense cosmos. and we are part of it. we are not lost. we belong there. never have electronics sounded so human. i guess i wrote that before. pish.