global village » music

Electric Masada

wojtek_t — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 12:43:52 +0000

From @, by Suzanne

wojtek_t — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 07:47:36 +0000

This is more of a real folk song:

The soldier came knocking upon the queen’s door
He said, “I am not fighting for you any more”
The queen knew she’d seen his face someplace before
And slowly she let him inside.

He said, “I’ve watched your palace up here on the hill
And I’ve wondered who’s the woman for whom we all kill
But I am leaving tomorrow and you can do what you will
Only first I am asking you why.”

Down in the long narrow hall he was led
Into her rooms with her tapestries red
And she never once took the crown from her head
She asked him there to sit down.

He said, “I see you now, and you are so very young
But I’ve seen more battles lost than I have battles won
And I’ve got this intuition, says it’s all for your fun
And now will you tell me why?”

The young queen, she fixed him with an arrogant eye
She said, “You won’t understand, and you may as well not try”
But her face was a child’s, and he thought she would cry
But she closed herself up like a fan.

And she said, “I’ve swallowed a secret burning thread
It cuts me inside, and often I’ve bled”
He laid his hand then on top of her head
And he bowed her down to the ground.

“Tell me how hungry are you? How weak you must feel
As you are living here alone, and you are never revealed
But I won’t march again on your battlefield”
And he took her to the window to see.

And the sun, it was gold, though the sky, it was gray
And she wanted more than she ever could say
But she knew how it frightened her, and she turned away
And would not look at his face again.

And he said, “I want to live as an honest man
To get all I deserve and to give all I can
And to love a young woman who I don’t understand
Your highness, your ways are very strange.”

But the crown, it had fallen, and she thought she would break
And she stood there, ashamed of the way her heart ached
She took him to the doorstep and she asked him to wait
She would only be a moment inside.

Out in the distance her order was heard
And the soldier was killed, still waiting for her word
And while the queen went on strangeling in the solitude she preferred
The battle continued on.

Chasing Little Red Riding Hood

wojtek_t — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 10:44:31 +0000

01 – 1.05
There comes Little Hood Keith, scampering happily down the winding path in the forest on a glorious summer morning. In one hand a small basket, full of provisions for his granny, or someone else? In the other, a twig with which he lightly hits the bark of the trees on his way, counting them rhythmically. Sniffing at the flowers, kicking at wild mushrooms, Keith is blissfully unaware that a pair of green eyes follows him along the path in the thick undergrowth.
1.06 – 2.30
At least not until he can hear a muffled crack of braking wood somewhere on one side. Then he remembers what his mum said: ‘Look ahead and walk past fast!’ So Keith resist any temptation to loiter on his way and scuttles off. But as he does so, Wolf Jack, hidden by the bushes, speeds up his pace too. And if one hairy monster wasn’t enough, there is another pair of green eyes and four wild legs – Wolf Gary has joined his brother. It’s now almost a pack!
2.31 – 4.00
Little Hood Keith doesn’t seem to lose his heart though. His small skinny legs become a centipede on speed. The boy nearly takes off in his daring, adventurous escape. What a graceful run-flight!
4.01 – 4.20
The danger peaks when Keith hears the menacing lupine growl in the impenetrable walls of green around him. Suddenly he trips over a sticking root and falls. Jack and Gary keep running wildly, perhaps planning to set a trap ahead of the poor Little Hood Keith.
4.21 – 5.19
But the wood has many traps, also for wolves. Wolf Jack, blinded by his desire to ravish, driven by the mad momentum of his scurry, can’t see a deep, deep gorge opening ahead of him and … in he dives headlong.
5.19 – 6.00
Wolf Gary, speechless, just watches his brother fall down the rocky sides, unable to get control of his body, tumbling over and over, bouncing on stones, getting mutilated, falling and falling to his death.
6.01 – 7.20
After a while, Little Hood Keith arrives to the scene. ‘Oh you brave, clever boy.’ – says Wolf Gary with a wide grin. And off they start the usual chat of the Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood that everybody knows so well. And he says to himself, ‘I’ll eat you anyway, as soon as I begin to feel that I’d like a decent meal.’

Keith Jarrett, piano
Gary Peacock, double-bass
Jack DeJohnette, drums

The Way You Look Tonight .mp3 7.9MB

Jewgitive

wojtek_t — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 14:49:03 +0000

If only we knew more about them. More than a string of loose associations, or resentment, the Star of David evokes; more than the crumbling tombs overgrown by the grass nobody cares to cut; more than the swarthy looking faces of their grandchildren who visit this land to read the scarce plaques on buildings, engraved in the script recalling a half-forgotten nightmare. If only we heard more than the news from their own land, where the yesterday’s victims perpetuate similar atrocities they were once subjected to.
If only we knew what being a Jew meant then, when they lived next door. Today, they have become a fading spot in memory, a mark that links to few facts which only a still surviving handful of witnesses can make any sense of. So much of their world has been wiped out from the world we shared – a sense of belonging, a belief, a religion, a culture, a folklore, a common history, a destiny, a language, a sense of otherness, and a sense of community and neigbourhood.
Last night* the ghost themselves appeared on screen in black and white while their past neighbours and friends spoke of the loss. And the feeling of regret flickered dimly – if only we knew more about them, we would have more of this certainty about ourselves – where we came from and what we should really stick to today.
* a one-off screening of Po-lin. Slivers of memory, a documentary by Jolanta Dylewska, at Forum

variation on Idalah-Abal, mp3, 6.9 MB

Ladies who lunch

wojtek_t — Mon, 12 Jan 2009 14:22:51 +0000

Ladies who lunch is a phrase to describe slim, well-off, old-money, well-dressed women who meet for lunch socially, normally during the working week. Typically, the women involved are married and non-working. Normally the lunch is in a restaurant, perhaps in a department store during shopping. Sometimes there is the pretext of raising money for charity. In India they are popularly called Kitty Parties where a group of women meet for lunch and pool in large amounts of money to raffle off to one lucky lady every time.
The phrase was popularized by a song in Stephen Sondheim’s Company.

I’d like to propose a toast!
Here’s to the ladies who lunch –
Everybody laugh.
Lounging in their caftans
And planning a brunch
On their own behalf.
Off to the gym,
Then to a fitting,
Claiming they’re fat.
And looking grim,
‘Cause they’ve been sitting
Choosing a hat.
Does anyone still wear a hat?
I’ll drink to that.

And here’s to the girls who stay smart –
Aren’t they a gas?
Rushing to their classes
In optical art,
Wishing it would pass.
Another long exhausting day,
Another thousand dollars,
A matinee, a Pinter play,
Perhaps a piece of Mahler’s.
I’ll drink to that.
And one for Mahler!

And here’s to the girls who play wife –
Aren’t they too much?
Keeping house but clutching
A copy of LIFE,
Just to keep in touch.
The ones who follow the rules,
And meet themselves at the schools,
Too busy to know that they’re fools.
Aren’t they a gem?
I’ll drink to them!
Let’s all drink to them!

And here’s to the girls who just watch –
Aren’t they the best?
When they get depressed,
It’s a bottle of Scotch,
Plus a little jest.
Another chance to disapprove,
Another brilliant zinger,
Another reason not to move,
Another vodka stinger.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!
I’ll drink to that.

So here’s to the girls on the go –
Everybody tries.
Look into their eyes,
And you’ll see what they know:
Everybody dies.
A toast to that invincible bunch,
The dinosaurs surviving the crunch.
Let’s hear it for the ladies who lunch –
Everybody rise!
Rise!
Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise!
Rise!

more toasts

listen to the original Broadway version, mp3, 5.2 MB

the king of pop

wojtek_t — Sat, 29 Nov 2008 12:57:12 +0000

I went to this concert. It was in this city with these people. Some of them wore those white shirts, which was a bit strange for a rock concert, I thought. Well actually, it wasn’t a rock concert, they call it trip-hop, whatever that means. First your trip then you hop, I guess. A bit unusual – normally you’d expect a fall after a trip, not a hop. Well these people …
Anyway, the king of trip hop came, they say. So I went to see the king. I quite like they guy, his music that is, not him. But I would never say he is a king. Tricky, that’s the guy’s name, a king? No way. Well, actually he’s no Tricky either, he’s Adrian Thaws, born 1968 in Bristol, England, musician. Well, and actually not even that, you could hardly call him a musician: he is noted for a whispering sprechgesang lyrical style – that’s what Wikipedia has to say about him and I guess they are right. The guy can’t sing, he only speaks. Surprisingly he’s got no rhythm either (I had a chance to find out at the concert). Not bad for a world-famous artist. But there’s one thing this guy can do – he can make good use of other musicians, and in that there is hardly a replacement for him.
But these people. I think I have a problem with them. When he sings, pardon, says his stuff, they stand motionless, emotionless, absent-minded, white-shirted, jaded, spoiled with money. But when he says a nice word to them or lets them shake hands with him, or just brush against him, they treat him like a king, more, like a superhuman, a saviour. If Jesus was jealous he would probably envy Tricky such respect. That’s pop for you.
But I ain’t get fooled. Tricky’s just a boy, a kid. I know it. He knows it: Tricky Kid, Knowle West Boy* these are his own words. So I tell you: no king of trip-hop, pop, or any other. Just a kid, but tricky.
*Knowle West is a district of Bristol of poor reputation
(michał_t)

white-shirted

Sound into wave into show*

wojtek_t — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 18:03:03 +0000

7.25 cold Friday evening mad rash around house spread evenly improvised dress improvised meal without dressing running from bright cold into dark cold cold war between my time and bus times speeding up short steps passing old lady barking dog breaking the cold of the evening slowing down steps getting longer getting on the bus stop bus stop step into the bus relief gallery refilled flyer on entry artists reveal themselves white walls minimal décor two tables tons of toys two minds mind the gap gathering go ahead …

The impression I got after the 30-minute noise concert was that I had attended a modern guerilla meeting, or listened to a new kind of punk music. The ideas behind the latter seem to be the same – rawness, unpredictability, rebelliousness. There is no compromise nor surety. It was the first minute of the set that was its essence for me. Pain Jerk started with a sound that broke into me in the most violent and abrupt way. A war-like (in its every measurable aspect) sound shook the walls, crushed the ears, rocked the body with every change he made. The experience of the sound was dualistic – it encapsulated both the beauty and monstrosity of human nature. The sonic waves flowed through the body like water or wind. Or they crushed like rock, pierced like bullets. The first sound like a bungee jump, or the first kiss. The first sound like murdering someone, or running naked into a church. I wanted to scream, driven both by primordial pleasure and terror.
(tomek_t)

*Zbigniew Karkowski/Pain Jerk in concert, Arsenal Gallery, 24th October, 8pm

The A and Ω haiku*

wojtek_t — Sat, 24 May 2008 11:46:31 +0000

profound silence soars —
thirty charged voices starkly
break into church hymn

(albs_t)

*XVIII International Festival of Orthodox Church Music is taking place at Białystok Philharmonic. It ends Sunday.

Arvo Part, Kanon Pokajanen, Ode III (mp3, 2.7MB)

A thought for a lifetime

wojtek_t — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 14:17:52 +0000

A thought for a night-time (mp3, 3MB)

Global plays and sings carols at Wedel Café

wojtek_t — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 14:51:41 +0000

Two days after Christmas, on the last Friday of the year, Global Village’s own musical talents will play and sing some of the best known Christmas carols at Wedel Café, Rynek Kościuszki.
Friday, 28 December, starts at 6 pm. Admission free.

Kolędnicy z Global Village:

Marzena Białobrzewska (guitar)
Wiktoria Franczak
Tomek Grygoruk
Ewa Grygoruk
Kacper Jelec (guitar)
Marta Jelec (violin)
Andrzej Kozłowski (musical saw, pcv tube)
Maciek Kozłowski
Magda Kurza
Michał Pawłowski (guitar)
Wojtek Rogalski (guitar)

Andrzej Kozłowski, master of musical saw