Tag Archives: analog

REVIEW REBLOG – Akane Hosaka pt2

Here is part 2 of the focus on Akane Hosaka.
There is a certain charm with the music and the review sums it up, it does bring a ray of sunshine through the clouds.
Review courtesy of Yeah I Know it Sucks.

Yeah I Know It Sucks

2Artist: Akane Hosaka
keywords: rhythm, melodies, lo-fi, retro, loops, fun, happy, experimental, electronic

Do you remember the fun music by Akane Hosaka? Her album ‘Loop Music‘ on Wrieuw Recordings (released on a floppy diskette) is still one of my personal highlights in the collection. But to be fair, Akane Hosaka doesn’t sit still and continues her musical journey in an ever expanding way!

Akane Hosaka creates the happiest loopiest electronic loop experimentations and it’s not only obvious fun for her to make them, but also great fun for us listeners to follow these electronic adventures as they come to life and evolve. The great thing of her music expeditions is that a part of the process is that her wonderful nostalgic happiness are once done all finding a way on her official sound cloud account; making it possible to really follow the happenings as if it’s stories within…

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SUNDAY MIX – LISTEN

This Sunday Mix is a little different as the focus is on a single poem and the music demands that you listen, to get the full benefit. So, get your headphones on and let’s begin with some words of wisdom from Eliane Radigue –

 

 

 

 

Listen. Put on morning.
Waken into falling light.
A man’s imagining
Suddenly may inherit
The handclapping centuries
Of his one minute on earth.
And hear the virgin juries
Talk with his own breath
To the corner boys of his street.
And hear the Black Maria
Searching the town at night.
And hear the playropes caa
The sister Mary in.
And hear Willie and Davie
Among bracken of Narnain
Sing in a mist heavy
With myrtle and listeners.

 

 

And hear the higher town
Weep a petition of fears
At the poorhouse close upon
The public heartbeat.
And hear the children tig
And run with my own feet
Into the netting drag
Of a suiciding principle.
Listen. Put on lightbreak.
Waken into miracle.
The audience lies awake
Under the tenements
Under the sugar docks
Under the printed moments.
The centuries turn their locks
And open under the hill
Their inherited books and doors
All gathered to distil
Like happy berry pickers
One voice to talk to us.
Yes listen. It carries away
The second and the years
Till the heart’s in a jacket of snow
And the head’s in a helmet white
And the song sleeps to be wakened
By the morning ear bright.
Listen. Put on morning.
Waken into falling light.

 

 

Poem – Listen.Put on Morning by W.S.Graham – (1918 – 1986)

 

NEWS FROM THE TWITTERSPHERE

Here are some of the recent posts, It is a way for me to get as many of the artists in the spotlight –

 

 

 

 

SUNDAY MIX – FORESTS

This weeks Sunday Mix is loosely based on the REVEIL / Soundcamp / Dawn Chorus this weekend (03/05/15) and has the theme Forests

Let us go now into the forest.
Trees will pass by your face,
and I will stop and offer you to them,
but they cannot bend down.
The night watches over its creatures,
except for the pine trees that never change:
the old wounded springs that spring
blessed gum, eternal afternoons.
If they could, the trees would lift you
and carry you from valley to valley,
and you would pass from arm to arm,
a child running
from father to father.

Pine Forest by Gabriela Mistral

“The forest is a peculiar organism of unlimited kindness and benevolence that makes no demands for its sustenance and extends generously the products of its life and activity; it affords protection to all beings.
–   Buddhist Sutra 

“In some mysterious way woods have never seemed to me to be static things.  In physical terms, I move through them; yet in metaphysical ones, they seem to move through me.”
–   John Fowles   

THE SUNDAY MIX – VOICES

The final Sunday Mix in celebration of American Poetry Month has the theme Voices.

There is a voice inside of you
that whispers all day long,
‘I feel that this is right for me,
I know that this is wrong.’
No teacher, preacher, parent, friend
or wise man can decide
what’s right for you – just listen to
the voice that speaks inside.

Shel Silverstein – 1930 – 1999 – Chicago, Illinois    

NOW I make a leaf of Voices–for I have found nothing mightier than
they are,
And I have found that no word spoken, but is beautiful, in its place.

O what is it in me that makes me tremble so at voices?
Surely, whoever speaks to me in the right voice, him or her I shall
follow,
As the water follows the moon, silently, with fluid steps, anywhere
around the globe.

All waits for the right voices;
Where is the practis’d and perfect organ? Where is the develop’d
Soul?
For I see every word utter’d thence, has deeper, sweeter, new sounds,
impossible on less terms.

I see brains and lips closed–tympans and temples unstruck,
Until that comes which has the quality to strike and to unclose,
Until that comes which has the quality to bring forth what lies
slumbering, forever ready, in all words.

WALT  WHITMAN (1819 – 1892)

Each small gleam was a voice,
A lantern voice —
In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.
A chorus of colours came over the water;
The wondrous leaf-shadow no longer wavered,
No pines crooned on the hills,
The blue night was elsewhere a silence,
When the chorus of colours came over the water,
Little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.

Small glowing pebbles
Thrown on the dark plane of evening
Sing good ballads of God
And eternity, with soul’s rest.
Little priests, little holy fathers,
None can doubt the truth of your hymning,
When the marvellous chorus comes over the water,
Songs of carmine, violet, green, gold.

STEPHEN CRANE – (1871 – 1900)

ACADEMY OF AMERICAN POETS

FEMINATRONIC SUNDAY MIX – THE SEA

It’s American Poetry Month and this week the subject is the Sea

Give praise with the skirling of seagulls
And the rattle and flap of sails
And gongs of buoys rocked by the sea-swell
Out in the shipping-lanes beyond the harbor.
Give praise with the humpback whales,
Huge in the ocean they sing to one another.

 From ‘A list of Praises’  – Anne Porter (2006)

Why do I see these empty boats, sailing on airy seas?
One haunted me the whole night long, swaying with every breeze,
Returning always near the eaves, or by the skylight glass:
There it will wait me many weeks, and then, at last, will pass.
Each soul is haunted by a ship in which that soul might ride
And climb the glorious mysteries of Heaven’s silent tide
In voyages that change the very metes and bounds of Fate —
O empty boats, we all refuse, that by our windows wait!

Vachel Lindsay (1879 – 1931)

The sea-wash never ends.
The sea-wash repeats, repeats.
Only old songs? Is that all the sea knows?
             Only the old strong songs?
             Is that all?
The sea-wash repeats, repeats.

American Poets Society