tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21016007302094974672024-02-20T04:39:02.534-08:00Amarta ProjectThe burblings and thoughts of being an electronic musician, producer, and nerd in general.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-87574147700866143462016-06-17T09:14:00.000-07:002016-06-17T09:14:10.235-07:00Beyond The Sea....Part 2So, where was I?<br />
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Ah yes. I was telling you about where the inspiration, ideas, musings for the tracks on <a href="http://www.amarta.bandcamp.com/" target="_blank">Beyond The Lines, Beyond The Sea</a> came from. Ready for part 2? I am.<br />
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8. A Good Day For Rain<br />
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This is pretty simple. It rained on the day of my brother's funeral. That's all I need to say about that.<br />
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9. Hibiscus Sky<br />
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This has been the lead track for much of the promotion of the album, so hopefully most of you reading this will have heard it by now....No? Check it out <a href="https://amarta.bandcamp.com/track/hibiscus-sky" target="_blank">here, quick!</a> This track started way back before the main writing process of the album happened. It was just an idea that I'd scratched out with a basic groove (which got scrapped) and a melody line (which stayed.) Like many people who are creative, you occasionally hit brick walls in the creative process and such was the case with this one - couldn't get it to flow in any way whatsoever. Then one day I laid out a very funky percussion loop over the track in the hope it might inspire - it did. It totally pinned the track down and allowed everything else to come more naturally to completion. One funky bassline and some vocal cuts later, the track was done. The title - well, I'd always liked the word 'Hibiscus' - and the track had a very widescreen feeling to it, like you were flying or riding through a big wide desert sky. 'Desert Sky' was too easy. 'Hibiscus Sky' was just about right.<br />
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10. Coda.<br />
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Here's the video - seen it?<br />
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This track totally wasn't planned. Messing about one night in the studio, I hit upon a sweet combination of a very simple melody and an equally simple beat which seemed to suggest a certain mood - late night, asiatic, warm - yet still had a introspective feel to it. The idea seemed pursuing despite the fact I had about four other unfinished album tracks to conquer and sort out. It was a fruitful pursuit because it turned out to be one of the easiest tracks to finish on the album, caused me no trouble, and as such is probably one of my favourites. The title 'Coda' came from the fact that it was a simple musical idea that repeats itself in many different forms throughout the piece - the melody is essentially the same throughout but with slightly different inversions and in different contexts, Amazing what you can do with six notes.<br />
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11. Wildflower<br />
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Featuring the talents of Iona Leigh on vocals. Check her out <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ionaleighmusic/?fref=ts" target="_blank">here.</a> And you can hear the full track <a href="https://amarta.bandcamp.com/track/wildflower-feat-iona-leigh" target="_blank">here.</a> The vocal was so sweet and angelic when I heard it I just knew I had to do something with it. It's a take on the old Celtic melody 'Wild Mountain Thyme' - it seemed to fit because my mother was Irish, and it would have been a melody she would have been familiar with. Again, this track came very quickly - some sparse chords, cinematic percussion and a flugel horn - whirl around the vocal quite dreamily until the break twists into into something a bit harder sounding - a dubsteppy bassline with some slamming kick and snare, but still retaining the airiness of the main idea. I loved working on this track and wish I could write stuff like this more often, but hey - they come when they're ready not when you dictate. I hope enjoy this track as much as I did writing it.<br />
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12. An Endless Snow<br />
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Inspired by a wonderful woman. Evgenia is a very talented photographer who took the promo shots for the album, have a look and wonder at her work <a href="http://neverlandphotos.com/" target="_blank">here.</a> She hails from a mystical sounding place in Russia called Syktyvkar, just shy of the artic circle. She'd told me of her home over many coffees and hot chocolates in various coffee places in London, and she's a very captivating storyteller as her photography will testify. The winters of her childhood there were long, angry and all encompassing - and as a self professed sun worshipper this always seemed to rankle with Evgenia. The thought of an endless snow was a very engaging idea to me, and as I am often inspired by words as titles, it seemed a piece of music would be born. The thought of being trapped in snow, a maelstrom which starts as a fluttery blizzard and transforms into a powerful whirlwind of a storm seemed to have a very musical dynamic to it - and it fitted within the main theme and hypotheses of the album. This track marks a departure from many structured musical practices to me. It's written in 5/4, a very hypnotic time signature which also kind of trips you up at the same time - leading to a feeling of uncertainty, which I wanted to convey, and it's effectively a two parter - the first section is mellow, jazzy, uncertain - the thought of being in a snowstorm which may or may not dissipate. The second section switches into a larger format electronica track (still in 5/4) which grows and grows, becoming more ominous and hectic - a musical storm if you like. It was a very difficult track to negotiate and marked a significant challenge for me musically and technically. I'm very proud of this piece of music, I hope you enjoy it.<br />
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13. She Sees The Light<br />
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Again, I have Evgenia to thank for this one. As I mentioned previously, spending time with her often involves a lot of walking. Sorry, I meant to say - A LOT of walking. She is an observer and a beauty chaser and is always on the move. I remember one afternoon last summer she darted across a road in central London somewhere totally out of the blue (she does this often), and disappeared down an alleyway between two buildings. Following her I found us in an almost Victorian type furrow, with a pub on one side, some office drones outside enjoying a pint, and THE most wonderful afternoon light. She was looking up, around, eyes shielded by her right hand and proclaimed matter of factly 'Good light'. She found beauty most would have missed, this was admirable and a mark of the type of person that she is - thanks Evgenia for everything you did for me on this album- whether you realised it or not I couldn't have brought these tracks to everyone without you. She didn't take any pictures in the alley - it really stank down there.<br />
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14. Beyond The Sea (Ae Fond Kiss)<br />
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Another track featuring Iona Leigh - an epilogue to the album. Again based on an old Celtic melody, namely the Robert Burns song 'Ae Fond Kiss', this track is more of a summing up than a true album track, a true ending, a closure. I wanted it to be sparse, beautiful. It's almost like a funereal march with it's drone like bodhran pulse throughout and basic block piano chords, but the beauty of the vocal transcends it totally to a different place. Listen to the words, they say everything I really wanted to say in this album - about my brother, about my feelings, about my journey over the last four years. It's a closing sign being flipped, it's a line under what was a difficult yet beautiful and organic time in my life. I miss my brother, I always will. But with this album I'll always have a keepsake of him, he's always going to be - there. This album is for you. It's for me. It's for us. I hope it speaks to you in some small way or another, makes you smile, reflect, shake your ass. Whatever it brings to you - you're welcome, and thank you.<br />
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Anthony (Amarta Project)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-7152995257382479792016-06-08T11:24:00.004-07:002016-06-08T11:24:37.483-07:00Beyond The Lines....Part 1So here's the thing.<br />
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The kind of music which I like, and make, is very subjective.<br />
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Over time, I've felt a divorcing from regular songs. The music I listen to and am predominantly influenced by, is mostly instrumental, is mostly quite niche and introspective. This allows me/you/the listener to decide what the music is about - to allow your imagination and emotion to imprint on it in a very individual way. Songs, while great, unfortunately have a way of guiding you in a certain direction - the lyrics, vocal delivery, genre - it all adds up to a very regimented 'story telling' way of doing things.<br />
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That's great obviously. It's very popular - and it's worked for thousands of artists and influenced and embelished the lives of millions of people. But for me, for now at least, it's a little too obvious. I don't want to be told a piece of music is about love, or grief, or happiness - I want to decide what it means to ME. Even titles of tracks can set your mind thinking in a certain way. That's the nature of the beast with music, there has to be a grain of something familiar which people can attach themselves to. See, subjective.<br />
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So the point of this blog is to put all those grains in a line for you, with regards to the tracks on <a href="http://www.amarta.bandcamp.com/" target="_blank">Beyond The Lines, Beyond The Sea</a>. I wanted you to know how they started, evolved, and how some fought me every step of the way, and how some came like beautiful gifts. The genesis of them, while important to me, are important to ONLY me. What you get from them from this point onwards is up to you. So, presenting a track breakdown of <a href="http://www.amarta.bandcamp.com/" target="_blank">Beyond The Lines, Beyond The Sea</a> with trepidation and all honesty, is totally my pleasure. You all know this album for me was a cathartic way of dealing with the loss of my brother - it was hard, it was emotional - at times I didn't know where it was going and wondered at some points if I'd even finish the bloody thing. But I did. And here we go.<br />
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1. Epilogue - Beyond The Lines<br />
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The album needed an opener which was going to distill and present all of the feelings encompassed within it. The opening is a big scene setter - minor chords with a cinematic bassline, seagulls, a cool grey coastline cradling an oncoming storm, then a melancholic piano phrase which builds to a energetic glitchy track that pops, squeals, caresses and spins you in the vortex - it had to have everything - I think it does. Finishes on the same opening chords, leaves you in little doubt what's coming. This track came very quickly, it was written in London, as most of the album was before I moved out to the Shires.<br />
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2. Black Rose<br />
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This track was more ambitious than my music production computer (at the time) could handle. The album was started on my trusty dusty PC World Compaq that wasn't designed for music production in any way. The fact that I'd managed to write and produce my debut <a href="http://www.noisetrade.com/amartaproject" target="_blank">Night Stories</a> on it was quite frankly, a flipping miracle. By the time <a href="http://www.amarta.bandcamp.com/" target="_blank">#BTLBTS</a> came along, it was clear that my ambition outweighed its capabilities, and that my tools needed an upgrade. 108 tracks of audio/MIDI, and extensive signal processing on most of those, led to some of the densest and darkest textures on the album. The track's broken groove is inspired by very cool artists like Flying Lotus, who chop and trip the groove into very interesting textures and rhythms - placing beats behind and in front of the groove, messing them up, somehow makes them even more soulful, and provided me with a very interesting framework to build on with the track. It ends with some big Gothic vocals, and an automated bassline that is dense and took bloody ages to program. Groovus intacticus.<br />
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3. Dead Bird<br />
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Vocals by the incredibly talented Odissi - who drolls her beautiful words over a pretty funky little track underneath. The track was written around and inspired by her vocal - a bleak, delicate, dystopian diatribe about losing your way in life. 'And your heart - is like a dead bird' - the most wonderful line that is so beautifully succinct that it said everything I wanted to say about my life, my loss, my mood and feelings. Just hit the nail on the head perfectly. The original track was a lot more melancholic, but I could never get it to work. Then I just scrapped it - and started again. It emerged reborn with a much funkier feel, which acted as the perfect foil to the introspection of the lyric. One of my faves.<br />
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4. Drowning In A Sea Of Gold<br />
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Another track inspired by the sea. Why the sea? Water is a wonderful conduit, it's the life spirit we're all born from. It nurtures us, forms us, binds and unites us. More on that at another juncture. This track was actually two pieces combined - neither of which as a standalone I thought was particularly strong, but when combined really seemed to work brilliantly. The level of detail I put into this track frazzled me - it required lots of layers to really get the point across - listen to it on headphones and hopefully you'll get what I'm talking about. Technically this was a challenge, and I'm really pleased with the way it came out - the ethereal vocals, the funkiest bassline I've ever written - and a melody that just sort of sticks around. Drowning In a Sea Of Gold - we all have more than we need, and it can consume us and divorce us from what's really important, knowing yourself.<br />
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5. Run Each Mile<br />
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My co-conspirator in music, the highly talented and perceptive Yves Schelpe of <a href="http://www.psyaviah.com/" target="_blank">Psy'Aviah</a>, cited this track as a cross between Moby and Fat Boy Slim - I couldn't help thinking that was a brilliant way of describing it! Upbeat, glitchy vocals, optimism, funky bassline and organic (programmed to death) drums - it has a running rhythm that works really well. This track is for my niece Lucy. I lost my brother, she lost her dad. He would have wanted you to 'run each mile' Lu - make sure you do.<br />
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6. Sunshine/Motherless Child<br />
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This for me, is one of the most personal tracks on the album. From a production point of view, it was one of those ones that fought me all the way. It never gave me an indication that it was ready, that it was right, that it fitted comfortably anywhere. It only seemed to resonate with me as an artist. Realising that was entirely the point, I persevered. It's an amalgam again of two tracks, the first being a hiphoppy trappy kind of summer jam with a slinky vocal sample or two - which then hits you in the face with something darker. Now I'm not going to tell you I can DIRECTLY relate to a slave song/spiritual from The Deep South, but it did feel relevant. The nobility, fragility and beauty of the vocal in this part of the track is one of the highlights of the entire album - don't miss that. Please.<br />
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'Thinking 'bout ya sometimes - and I love ya like the sunshine.' Yes bruv - always.<br />
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7. Ghosting<br />
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Time to thank Yves from <a href="http://www.psyaviah.com/" target="_blank">Psy'Aviah</a> again for this one, because this track wouldn't exist without his input. He posted a poignant article on Facebook about an online phenomenon called 'Ghosting' - the act of ceasing all communication with someone you are dating, seeing, whatever - because...you can. Because it's easier than fronting up and telling someone you're not interested anymore. People, sadly, have become a more disposable commodity with the relentless march of the internet. Their shape in people's lives becomes smaller, harder to accomodate, and be less relevant or influential on their lives. I've been ghosted a couple of times - it's fucking horrible. In terms of the album - it's another form of loss, isolation - one which can lead to a kind of grieving process - it seemed relevant to what I was trying to say, and it was an inspiring title, so the track was born - it came very quickly, and was one of the albums gifts. Thanks Yves. Thanks to those who ghosted me. I got a nice track out of you. No you can't have royalties.<br />
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So we're halfway through. I'll tell you a lil story about the remaining seven tracks on <a href="http://www.amarta.bandcamp.com/" target="_blank">#BTLBTS</a> next time. Yay!<br />
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<a href="http://www.amarta.bandcamp.com/" target="_blank">Pre-order Beyond The Lines, Beyond The Sea here</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.facebook.com/AmartaMusic" target="_blank">Amarta Project on Facebook</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.twitter.com/AmartaProject" target="_blank">Amarta Project on Twitter</a><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-76702072207378924682016-05-04T11:26:00.002-07:002016-05-04T11:26:32.448-07:00There to Here, Then to Now - A Brother's TaleIt's been a while. Hello.<br />
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It's been so long since I wrote an update on this blog, I don't know where to start - so I won't. I'll just talk for a bit if that's okay with you? Cool.<br />
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'Beyond The Lines, Beyond The Sea' is the name of my new album. It's coming out on June 20th 2016, almost four years since my debut 'Night Stories' on September 10th 2012.<br />
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On September 11th 2012, I got some devastating news.<br />
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My eldest brother Nick had cancer. It wasn't going to go away. It would claim him in a year.<br />
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Let me tell you about Nick. He liked music. He liked fishing. He liked to take photographs. He liked to travel. He liked to drink whisky. He loved his family very much. As big brothers go, along with next in line David, I couldn't ask for better.<br />
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What followed in terms of the next twelve months, both personally and musically is kind of a maelstrom - a spiralling journey that somehow, at some points, never felt like it was going to stop being downward, or ever get better. Music was my ally, my friend, my confidant, but - this time round - it left me. I couldn't write, couldn't shape my fingers into a chord to lay on a keyboard, I couldn't do anything. Even the prospect of turning my computer on to face it daunted and tricked and terrified me.<br />
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And then came the day that he left us too. Almost exactly a year since we were told we would lose him.<br />
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Grief is such a subjective thing. Some people can carry on with their day - pulling and dragging themselves through it, healing through industry, seeking out support when they need it like popping a painkiller from out of the blisterpack. Others retreat, look inwards, try to unravel, and understand, and withdraw....latterly, this was me. I was angry, I was sad, I was suffering my own way - as we all were. No one in the Taylor family had it any easier than anyone else. <i>Time is what you need</i> I told myself, the aged cliche which is more than true. Less than true were some of the friends who would not afford me that time and thought I should 'snap out of it', 'be more positive', 'stop being so sad', 'its not what he would have wanted'. If stating the obvious were an Olympic sport right? These people stopped becoming friends very quickly. If they ever are in a position where they lose something more significant to them than their car keys (and they will) then I shall be very interested in measuring the relevance of their grief for them. I told you I was angry.<br />
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By the by. To the point.<br />
Music, after time, became more accessible to me, if certainly not easy. Nick was always over my shoulder when I was writing this album - sometimes I could almost hear his voice, not in a cliched Hollywood way, giving me guidance (he certainly wasn't Yoda) - but just the sound of his voice was there. Like the hum of a streetlight, or traffic across air - he was a reference point always. I'm not sure that was a good thing - this album was hard fucking work, it never made it easier. But I always felt he was there - but then I realised - I got it wrong.<br />
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There I was trying to make this album for him - to finish it for him - to leave something as a parting gift that he would have been proud of and listened to and enjoyed. No.<br />
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Not entirely.<br />
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This album was MY journey. A journey through grief, through change, through pain, through loss, through coming out the other side. I still am, I think I always will be.<br />
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Beyond The Lines - beyond what we see every day, beyond what we take for granted....<br />
Beyond The Sea - to that place where one day we will go, that we will never return or turn away from....<br />
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This is what that journey sounds like.<br />
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For Nick. For Me. For Us.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amarta.bandcamp.com/" target="_blank">'Beyond The Lines, Beyond The Sea' Pre-Order Here</a><br />
<a href="http://facebook.com/AmartaMusic" target="_blank">Amarta Project on Facebook</a><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-2551419515931489412012-08-22T16:57:00.000-07:002012-08-22T16:57:38.391-07:00Night Stories Part 4 - Notes On The FutureTodays listening - '13 Angels On My Broken Windowsill' - BT<br />
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August 23rd, half past midnight. Head's like the inside of the Matrix. All I'm seeing is streaming lines of code and bleached out colours searing the back of my skull, etched in as if by some kind of industrial lathe.<br />
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I'm tired. But today, has been a good day.<br />
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A friend's birthday. A kiss on the arse from the bank. Nice food. Yeah, a good day.<br />
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So why so jaded? Well - this promotional lark is draining. I've never been one to talk about myself (there are members of my family who don't know that I have an album coming out - they really should by now. It's on the to-do list, honest) so a constant barricade of mememeness is rinsing me out like a hot flannel.<br />
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I know given the nature of what I do, that this is an essential routine. What's the point of making music if no one hears it? But I honestly don't know how pluggers/publicists/promoters don't get the urge to saw their own heads off daily. I guess I must be doing it wrong. It's monotonous, boring, slightly humiliating and ultimately, provides little return for the input (I'm guessing.) Now I'm sure there's a right way and a wrong way to do self-promotion, but sheesh - does it HAVE to be so rigid?<br />
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The answer is yes.<br />
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We live in a world where talking to people is just not de rigeur any more. Everything is wireless - intangible like air and transmitted across networks that don't just span your street, or town - but the world. Logistically, it's a nightmarish situation. Especially for someone as disorganised and lazy as me. So, parading I go, album in hand, across the world wide web tapping timorously on doors I'm not even sure I should be tapping at. It's the classic case of 'throw enough shit at the wall and hope some of it sticks.'<br />
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But, hey ho. It's a learning curve right? Positively speaking, this grind on the numbers has worked a little magic, in a lot of ways - and cumulatively, that adds up to a lot. My track got played on national radio - that's a result by any stretch. How the fuck did that happen? Don't question it. Lap it up and milk it. It's also traded me with a little more perspective musically. I haven't so much as TRIED to write any music or be creative since the beginning of July, and it's a really eye opener realising how much time I ploughed into this album, now that it's finished. Freed from the murk of the creative haze I can clearly see what coming AFTER 'Night Stories' - some of which may surprise you sonically.<br />
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This self-inflicted hiatus from the music making has made me realise it's not the be all and end all, but to my defintion as a person, a human being - it's pretty much essential and can't be overlooked. Music will always be there, it's not just a whimsy. Will it be the main focus for always? Who knows. For now, yes.<br />
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There is life after music.<br />
<i>There is no life without it.</i><br />
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'Night Stories' - September 10th. Be there or be square.<br />
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<a href="http://www.facebook.com/AmartaMusic" target="_blank">www.facebook.com/AmartaMusic</a><br />
<a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject" target="_blank">www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-38108807136054171172012-08-10T09:01:00.000-07:002012-08-10T09:01:06.854-07:00Night Stories Part 3 - Every Story Has An EndingToday's listening - 'Night Stories' by Amarta Project. Yep - me again.<br />
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So where was I? Oh yes, 5 tracks down, half way in. So...<br />
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6. 'Cloud Cover'<br />
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Look at these beautiful people.<br />
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Ladies and gentleman - allow me to introduce you to the Boat Party Masseeeeeeve.<br />
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How is this related to 'Cloud Cover'? Well - it was after a night out with this bunch that CC came into being. Last summer was kinda dreary, weather wise. Typical British summer ya know - kinda sunshiney, mostly cloudy, overall disappointing.<br />
I had this notion, that I liked the title 'Cloud Cover'. It sort of summed up my mood at the time of inception, and pretty accurately reflected the shitty summer weather of 2011. When I first started writing it, it was kind of downbeat, reflective - not the happiest of tracks.<br />
The I went out with this lot, and had a great night out.<br />
The revisited version of CC, post Boat Party, was a different story. It became infused with a break in the cloud, an injection of sunshine provided by a mad night out with some great people. If you listen to the track it starts off kind of pensive, resolved onto a minor chord. Then, as with a break in the cloud when the sun comes out, it shifts to a more upbeat partylike mood. You can see yourself dancing with a drink in your hand, surrounded by great company, sailing the high seas (well, Thames) through to midnight and beyond. CC has been live on my sites for a while, and has proved to be one of my most popular tracks - mostly thanks to this lot. Cheers.<br />
June 5th 2011 - the sun shone brightly that day.<br />
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7. 'The World Looks More Beautiful At Night'<br />
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It really does. This track was designed to be listened to driving around London by night, maybe by the river, on a summer's evening in an open top car.<br />
London is full of ghosts, and you see them quite often shuffling about the streets in the wee small hours. You see some strange things. Sometimes they stand stock still in the street waiting to be noticed. Sometimes you catch them hovering in a doorway. Sometimes you don't see them at all, you just know they're there. They don't make a sound - but they have a resonating frequency that you feel deep within, somewhere. This track is my attempt to translate that frequency. It's lazy, dreamy, funky, sinister, beguiling - a little bit lost and jarring. It means nothing in its' constituents - a snippet here, a vocal clip there, a monotonous groove underpinning - but when you sum it all together, it just works. Very proud of this track, it's my soundtrack to a city that's indefinable and shifting, beautiful and evil. And as for the intro sounding like 'West End Girls' - that's COMPLETELY intentional.<br />
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8. 'Neon Sun'<br />
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Another track that proved a battle of wills. The classic case of having a beginning, and an ending - but nothing in the middle to gel it together. This in turn proved to be a blessing as I had to flex my imagination and musicality quite a lot to get the job done. The result is probably the best 'drop' on the album. Again this track, much like 'Monument', modulates quite a bit musically. Don't know what key it's in. (Okay, force me to call it - A minor, with a modulation to D minor after the drop - happy now?) It's subtle, you wouldn't notice it unless I'd pointed it out (which I just did) but it was the glue that was needed to nail this. All in, despite this geek talk, all you need to know is this - IT'S. A. BANGER. Play it loud. No - LOUDER THAN THAT. Yeah - now you got it....<br />
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9. 'Hearing, Breathing'<br />
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The most personal track on the album. In February of this year, I was struck with a crushing bout of vertigo. If you've ever had it, you'll know how horrible it is. You can't move, you can't get up, sit down - nothing. It's like spending your life in the inside of a washing machine on spin cycle. The best you can do is lie still and breath. This vertigo continued for a couple of weeks, and a doctor's diagnosis was that it may be 'something else'. Meniere's Disease is a condition that can manifest as vertigo in its' initial stages, and can lead to a loss of hearing down the line. The prospect of losing my hearing was terrifying. I pretty much disappeared off the radar when I was going through this, but thankfully came out the other side.<br />
<br />
Breathing is kinda important. I knew this, obviously - but only truly appreciated it after one night, sitting in my car at work, eating a Snickers bar. Random? Yes. Relevant? Totally.<br />
Whilst chowing down, a small piece of the bar got lodged in my throat. The more I tried to shift it by coughing frantically, the more it seemed reticent to move. Panicked, I stumbled out of the car gasping for breath - drawing in but not being able to breathe out until there was no room left in my lungs. Involuntary tears streaming down my face I thought 'this is it, you're going to die in a pile on some concrete in an industrial estate in Hounslow.'<br />
Not ideal.<br />
On my hands and knees now, I coughed harder, and harder, whining and gasping until finally, after what felt like a million heartbeats ripping through my ears, it shifted. I must have stayed there for a while, dribbling onto the concrete. I drew gazes from the little Indian boys pummelling up and down the road in their forklifts as they loaded fruit into the ar-tics. Thanks for your help fellas. 'Preciate it.<br />
I've had my appreciation of the simpler things in life rekindled this year. Listen to this track - if you listen hard and close - you will hear it breathing too.<br />
<br />
10. 'Shiver'<br />
<br />
Written pretty much in one sitting - 'Shiver' was completed in about 6 or 7 hours, maybe the quickest written track on the album. The first edit of this track was too long, it bored me. So it was subject to a musical bob cut for the album. The result is much tighter, more concise, and more impactful as a result. It's a cold sounding track that warms up through the layers. All the synth sounds are quite thin, reedy, barely there - but when layered up with a big sub bass and a housey groove, heat up significantly. It's pretty relentless, musically not very deep - but it has a presence and a vibe that just again, kinda works. The power of layers. And yes, that is me muttering away over the top. This track was submitted to a label for a deephouse compilation. They rejected it. Losers.<br />
<br />
So there you have the inside track. An autopsy of the pieces that slot together to represent 'Night Stories'.<br />
I'm very proud of it. I hope you are too.<br />
<br />
September 10th!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.facebook.com/AmartaMusic" target="_blank">www.facebook.com/AmartaMusic</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject" target="_blank">www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-35809764098875194062012-08-09T14:51:00.000-07:002012-08-09T14:52:56.658-07:00Night Stories Part 2 - Every Story Has A Beginning<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today's Listening - 'Night Stories' by Amarta Project.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's a good reason that today's listening is, well....me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thought you might like a little run through of the tracks on my album, what they're called, how they came about, the quirks they have, the heartache and equal euphoria they brought - that kinda thing. You in? Sweet.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Night Stories' was initially born approximately three and a half years ago. Terrible parent that I am, I cannot remember exactly when. Tracks started ecreting themselves out of a few loops and samples, and as my knowledge of production grew, from actual seeds in my head. At the time I never really imagined that there would be an album at any point, it was just something more productive to do than sitting watching TV. I experimented with different styles of electronica, failing miserably in lots, succeeding in a few - aped as many of my favourite artists as I could (apologies to BT, Hybrid, Depeche Mode, Ryuichi Sakamoto and a hatload of others) and just sort of knuckled into it.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My 'day job' is working as wheels for hire by night. It all sounds much more shady and exciting than it really is, but it did involve spending great swathes of time driving around London by night, and almost (on quiet nights) as much time sitting in my car with nothing better to do than to sleep or gaze out of the window at whatever suburban nightmare/utopia I was parked in. Unable to sleep under the glare of sodium orange street lights I would often think about the tracks I was working on, and many ideas would formulate - at night. I was never a day person, have always been a nightbird. So inevitably when I was working on the tracks it would be at night, through to early hours. Anyone that knows me would know that a 5-6am finish in the studio would not be unusual. The tracks somehow take on a darker flavour by night - this would not be the same album it was if the only difference to my method was working during daylight hours. It wouldn't have the edge. And so....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Welcome to 'Night Stories'.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1.'Bad Monday'</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This track was a perfect contender for the album opener. It had a dark kind of energy to it that was a perfect capsule for everything the album would come to stand for. The title comes from a vocal sample I found lying about on my hard drive, and the track was built around that, mostly.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The actual writing of the track was very fast - maybe a week from initial idea and arrangement to mixdown. That's pretty quick for me, and I think it was the energy of the track that carried me through the process - it's upbeat without being glossy, beautiful and grimy too. Just like me really.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. 'Science...And Other Things'</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The text conversation sort of went like this.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sal - What are you doing?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Me - Looking up equations on the internet.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sal - Sorry?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Me - I'm writing a track that's got a vocal sample in it quoting Newton's laws, I want to make sure it's accurate before I include it.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sal - Ant, what are you REALLY doing??</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sal probably doesn't remember this text conversation. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm a geek, and I don't care. I wanted to write a track that sort of summed that up. Having toyed with titles like 'God Particle' and 'Higgs Boson', and having dismissed both for being equally wanky, I was no further with my geek track. Then, this sort of came out of nowhere. Jumping on the opportunity to make THIS my geeky science track I decided upon a somewhat generic yet I think intriguing title (what other things?) here you have it, track 2. And one of my faves.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. 'Pushka'</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The last track to be finished. When compiling tracks for the album I found there was a gap. All the tracks were either too slow (80-100bpm) or too fast (140-175 bpm). There was nothing in the middle. So, this track was written to order. I've always loved the Above and Beyond sound - slick, fat and killer on a dancefloor. Figuring I could tackle this, and then realising I couldn't, I ended up with Pushka. I love this track but don't ask me where the title came from - it's too rude.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4. 'Monument'</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This track is the only truly instrumental track on the album - everything else has a vocal sample, a clip, a reference - this one, nothing. That's not by design, it's just a coincidence.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hands down, without question - this track fought me every step of the way. It started as an idea based around a couple of melodies I had in my head - namely the opening riff you hear and the main melody you hear after the drop. Could I find a way to plumb them together? No. Bloody No. So it sat on the hard drive, safely on rotation. And it sat. AND SAT. Every time it came round on the revolving door, it abruptly threw its chin in the opposite direction like an errant child and stropped 'Nope, not ready.'</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I knew I'd get you in the end my pretty...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To this day, please do not ask me what key this track is in - it modulates to the point of confusion. E minor - maybe? A minor - likely. G major in the outro - probably. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every time I hear this now, more and more I hear Depeche Mode. Early DM, ya know - when they put tunes in their songs.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">5. 'Jenny Kissed Me'</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Say I'm weary,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Say I'm sad.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Say that health and wealth have missed me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Say I'm growing old - but add</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jenny Kissed Me.'</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For the record, she didn't. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A snippet from the poem of the same name by Leigh Hunt. There's no reason for this stanza to fit anywhere in this track. It's not romantic, soft, ballady in any way. Yet - it fits perfectly. This track was written pretty quickly, and again - I have no idea where it came from. I stumbled upon the groove purely by accident - one of those happy ones. Most of the time ploughed into the production of this track involved me shouting at my computer screen at stupid o'clock in the morning after it decided that it did not like this track and would not comply with whatever I asked it to do. I would tell it to freeze tracks, it would hear 'crash and burn like a motherfucker'. I would tell it to save the set, it would hear 'fuck off and open the task manager, I'm FIRMLY not responding'. But I won in the end.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Something to do with large amounts of resampling and huge reverb tails, though not nearly as quirky a title. Fully expecting a lawsuit from the Pet Shop Boys for this track. Oh well.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's half the album down. Tune in for the other half soon.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-13374349945950435172012-07-12T06:37:00.000-07:002012-07-12T06:41:42.314-07:00Night Stories Part 1 - A Boy Called Anthony<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today's Listening - 'If The Stars Are Eternal Then So Are You And I' - BT</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Been a while since we all caught up. Sorry about that - you all good? you look well.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My last blog post was over a year ago. I can only apologise for neglecting you, but honestly speaking, I never forgot you - it was always the intention to return here when I had something full and valid to say. Blogs that update regularly with very little to illuminate are no kinds of blog at all. That said, it has been over a year since I last posted, so I better make this a bloody good one.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today I'm going to tell you a story.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's the run up to Christmas 1983. Anthony is twelve years old. One day, with clearly nothing better to do, he stumbles upon the latest Argos catalogue. Flicking through, not looking at anything in particular, he stumbles upon a picture on a page which, at the time, he couldn't have realised was going to change the course of his life. It was an inevitability, a first step of a journey - a path that was going to welcome and reject him with equally unforgiving and open arms to this day. This was what he saw.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Haq9BlEBHoQ/T_7HHF-jLGI/AAAAAAAAAJw/49_hUUY7lsY/s1600/4539722535_6233c9fa14_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Haq9BlEBHoQ/T_7HHF-jLGI/AAAAAAAAAJw/49_hUUY7lsY/s320/4539722535_6233c9fa14_z.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This, is a Casio MT65 electronic keyboard. In 1983, it cost £149. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He would gaze at the picture on the glossy thin page, read the item description over and over until he could tell you verbatim how many different sounds it could make, how many rhythm patterns it had - it even had an arppegiator. Anthony didn't even know what an arppegiator was, but he was impressed it had one. He wanted one. He really wanted one.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anthony could have happened upon any other item on any other page. Meccano or Lego that might have sparked an interest in engineering or construction. Chemistry sets that may have burgeoned a desire to be a scientist. A football, an art kit - whatever. But this was it. A light going on.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anthony remembered the times before - long summer holidays being dragged to Ireland to his Uncle John's place in the heart of the Irish countryside - the kind of place where the sun shone all summer long and there was really, nothing to do. In Uncle John's parlour was an old, well loved, hideously out of tune upright piano that had an odour to it. Not a bad one, a smell of well loved old wood and discoloured ivory. You'd lift the lid, which was never locked, and be hit with it's musty smell square between the eyes. The action of the piano was one of age - the keys were light and soft, and you could feel the flimsiness of the hammers hitting the strings deep within. The sound was tinny, drowned out - a little lost. He didn't understand what the black keys were for, so played the white ones. He had found C major. On top of the piano in front of him was an old black and white photograph, in an elegant pristine silver frame which was clearly polished more often than the picture was looked at. In the picture stood two figures, a man to the left, a woman to the right - his maternal grandparents. The faces were blackened with labour and hardship, and the expressions were of what he could only describe as confusion - <i>what's this thing then? Taking a picture? A camera? </i>- but the eyes, of both, burned through the glass, they watched, and he watched back. He played. As they watched. Hours would roll by. Even now he can still hear that first naive tune that he composed.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's 1988. Anthony is a teenager, a perfect teenager. A gangly awkward stick of angst and one question....why me? Mrs Stead, the music teacher, is on his case. A short, frosty Scottish woman who must have been very attractive once. Anthony spent a lot of time avoiding her, mainly because Anthony was a lazy bastard and disillusioned with academia. Coursework was NOT being done. Often they would chase each other round the school building, him running away, always being found - she always sniffed him out like a weasel. He often thought that she must have reckoned that he didn't like music. She would have been wrong - but he wanted to do it his way. She was all semiquavers and staves and 'every good boy deserves favour' - he was hit the keys and feel what comes out. They never really saw eye to eye.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the dining hall was a grand piano. I say grand, as a term of definition only...there was very little that was grand about it. The school could never have afforded a 'grand' grand piano - it had clearly been acquired from somewhere else, after 'somewhere else' had no more use for it. Little matter. The dining hall was only ever used at lunchtimes and the odd afternoon for an insipid drama class (yeah, look - I'm a tree...) most other times, it was empty. Anthony on free periods would sit at the piano in the vacated dining hall, learning chords, relative minors and revelling in how beautiful a major 9th chord would sound as it resonated round the insides of iron and wood with the sustain pedal held til the sound dissipated to nothing. If you hit the chord hard enough with the pedal on, the chord would often resonate for two or three minutes, delicately changing as the vibration would transfer from hammers to strings, from strings to frame, and from the ironwork to the wooden enclosure. Again the sound would change and become brighter and more playful if the lid was up on its strut, quirkily and cockily pointing its apex to the corner wall.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Joe was the caretaker, one of two - Joe was the one everyone liked. He would now and again wander in to sweep the floor after lunch, or pass through on his way to somewhere else. He would never say too much if Anthony was sitting there - though he would say one thing that would stick, and return every once in a while when inspiration was being aloof.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>'You sure can make that thing sing....'</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Twelve year old Anthony would leave the Argos catalogue open, strategically, on the page where the keyboards were. Asking for it was never going to work. £149 was a lot of money to my mother. The answer was always going to be no. Stealth was the key, the slow drip of conviction being applied to a mind that would never open to possibilities through any other means. This carried on for what felt like months. It probably <i>was </i>months. Christmas was nearing, and so was his fear that he wasn't going to get what he wanted. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Christmas Eve night he couldn't sleep, after being dispatched early. There was clearly a lot to do, and he was only going to get in the way. The stairs and hallway were dark as he edged down the stairs. The kitchen light was off. The kitchen light was <i>never </i>off. She was always in there - cleaning, or reading if all the cleaning was done. Voices in the living room. He expected nothing but a rebuke to go back to bed as he walked into the living room, along with a sharp pointed gesture to go and get the glass of water he wanted. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Standing by the sofa were my mother and my sister, wearing faces that only read 'busted' - followed by a rare and unexpected joint laughter. On the sofa in front of them was a half wrapped box, about the size of a Casio MT65 keyboard. He looked at the box. 'Casio MT65 Electronic Keyboard' dimly lit and smudgy from the reflection of the Christmas tree lights. If he could find words to tell you how he felt, he still wouldn't be able to tell you.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anthony still has that keyboard. It's wrapped in plastic in an upstairs cupboard. It's yellowed, beyond dead, and has anatomy missing. But he will have it til the day he dies.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anthony's mother only ever bought him two presents in his life of any worth. One was that keyboard. The other was a typewriter.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Twenty nine years later, Anthony's first album 'Night Stories' is due to be released.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My name is Anthony. Hello.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/AmartaMusic" target="_blank">www.facebook.com/AmartaMusic</a></span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject</span></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-4796598219153666302011-06-01T08:39:00.000-07:002012-06-12T15:28:52.189-07:00Chaos Theory, Digital Soul...And Other Stories.<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today, an experiment.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Click play below, and read on.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><object height="81" width="100%"> <param name="movie" value="http://player.soundcloud.com/player.swf?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F16331791">
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<embed allowscriptaccess="always" height="81" src="http://player.soundcloud.com/player.swf?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F16331791" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="100%"></embed> </object> <a href="http://soundcloud.com/amartaproject/the-butterfly-the-tornado">The Butterfly & The Tornado</a> by <a href="http://soundcloud.com/amartaproject">Amarta Project</a> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ever heard of chaos theory? You should have, it affects you every day. The pantheon that is Wikipedia defines it as thus...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In chaos theory, the <b>butterfly effect</b> is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions; where a small change at one place in a nonlinear system can result in large differences to a later state. For example, the presence or absence of a butterfly flapping its wings could lead to creation or absence of a tornado.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although the butterfly effect may appear to be an esoteric and unusual behavior, it is exhibited by very simple systems: for example, a ball placed at the crest of a hill might roll into any of several valleys depending on slight differences in initial position.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The term "butterfly effect" itself is related to the meteorological work of Edward Lorenz, who popularized the term.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The butterfly effect is a common trope in fiction when presenting scenarios involving time travel and with "what if" cases where one storyline diverges at the moment of a seemingly minor event resulting in two significantly different outcomes.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Okay, good. We clear? No? Well, stick with me yeah? In a nutshell, things that seem insignificant, such as the gentle breeze of a butterfly's wings - can lead to greater outcomes. Micro density changes in air pressure will translate as a transferrence of energy to something else, snowballing with other micro events to create significant changes - in this example, a tornado - in some other place across the globe.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Translating this basically infers a theory that, nothing is random. The unpredictable becomes infinitely predictable, and our daily droll as we know it, is never random - it is predetermined by events over which we have (seemingly) no control. Obviously, we create these micro events ourselves - breathing, sleeping, sweating, sneezing - everything we do, to the atom, is a micro event. Ostensibly our lives become data sets, zeroes and ones - you've seen The Matrix, right?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This theory, idea - fascinated me. What is music? It's a data set. Notes occuring at set points, at set frequencies, in set rhythms.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Zeroes and ones.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So this is the premise of this latest AP offering, The Butterfly & The Tornado. It's an experiment, it's an application of numbers. It's also, I think, pretty chilled to listen to. You may find it a challenge, you may find it dead boring. The important thing is that you - find it. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The construction of the track was based, completely, on random events. Whilst writing this I had no idea how it would sound. The software I use for music production allows random sequencing - so with this in mind, I loaded a bunch of samples into the software and set each sample to trigger what's known as a follow event, ie. each sample or sound becomes a domino in a chain, one falling into the next, triggering a new completely random sample. If you listen to the twitchy, glitchy bippy percussion which permeates the track, especially at the beginning, this is chaos theory - completely - in action. I did not edit, or chop or change these events. They were, as is - and as is, good enough. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Again, later in the track - a drum break, set to randomly chop, reverse, pan left and right. Challenging - maybe - to listen to, but wondrous to know that it was all completely random (or was it?) The soul of the track was completely digital, the sounds you hear - merely the screws holding the structure together.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a piece of music, does it work? That's for you to answer my dears. I can only say that I enjoyed letting it be chaotic, and as an experiment - totally glad I gave it a bash. What you hear is left with all mistakes left in, and is mixed MINIMALLY, with only some final glitter added on to gel it. The randomness and the rough edges are part of what makes this work. Do let me know what you think.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh and if you do leave me some feedback - in the spirit of the day - make it random.</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.listn.to/AmartaProject"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">www.listn.to/AmartaProject</span></a></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-88396408822812366772011-05-20T12:43:00.000-07:002011-05-20T12:43:29.055-07:00Waltz with MeToday's listening - "I Got A" - Nicolas Jaar.<br />
<br />
1,2,3 - 1,2,3....<br />
<br />
We all know a good waltz when we hear one don't we? In the last blog I mentioned writing (more germinating at the moment) a piece inspired by a TV show I saw. It was written in one of those golden moments, at 3am - when I really should have been in bed.<br />
<br />
<i>But when it comes, you bow to it.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
The piece is a cute, twee, major chord piece of Americana which would slot into a cult movie as easily as black coffee and cherry pie. Unintentionally, it's in 3/4 time - ie. it's a waltz. It's important to distinguish that it's in 3/4, and not 6/8....it is definitely a waltz.<br />
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Now, this didn't strike me as strange at the time. <i>It is what it is - it's nice - I'll use it for something - it sounds good on a solo piano - can I go to bed now? </i>But upon reflection I had to concede, that's it's the first piece of music I've written which isn't 4/4. Why is this? Why is there a drought of pieces in irregular meter? It's almost as if musicians are afraid of it - or regard it as something dirty.<br />
<br />
<i>It's too hard. The listener won't accept it. It's unfamiliar.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Nothing could be further from the truth. When I realised I'd written my first non 4/4 piece, I felt another shoot in bloom as a musician, another string to my bow, another bullet in my armoury. Some notes and observances then...on a waltz.<br />
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A waltz, in my opinion, is one - or t'other. It's either a delightfully joyful experience, or it's mournful, aching and cold. There is no in between. I'll illustrate this - watch this video. You'll know it - and you will let your inside sway from side to side as you listen to it. 1,2,3 - 1,2,3....<br />
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"The Blue Danube" - Johann Strauss<br />
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Pretty isn't it? There's something about this piece of music that just warms you from the inside out, and certainly - the meter of it helps that along. It gives it a jaunt, a spring to its heel. This is a wonderful, timeless illustration of the waltz. Another wonderful illustration of the waltz, will leave you on the dark side of the moon - howling. Watch this for shading in the extreme - again, it's a waltz. 1,2,3 - 1,2,3....<br />
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"Open Heart Zoo" - Martin Grech<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/NSKfw_2OTJw/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NSKfw_2OTJw&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NSKfw_2OTJw&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><br />
Oh, hello. Was staring at my boots there.<br />
See what I mean? Howling. The meter makes it metronomic - intense and inevitable, the futility of a soul waiting to be broken. Both achingly beautiful and both - waltzes.<br />
<br />
Never been a music theorist. Never been a theorist of any kind really. I work and live with what feels good. At 3am when I wrote that piece of music, 3/4 felt good.<br />
<br />
And I hope it will continue to do so for some time.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>'In the midst of winter, I finally learned that there was, in me</i><br />
<i>An invincible summer.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>- </i>Thomas Carlyle<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject">www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject</a><br />
<br />
Amarta Project on Facebook - <a href="http://www.listn.to/AmartaProject">www.listn.to/AmartaProject</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-57901490967725228222011-05-04T12:48:00.000-07:002011-05-04T12:48:31.591-07:00Stargazing...Pearldiving.Today's listening - Frequent Traveller - 'East Croydon'<br />
<br />
Hello. Thought it was about time to update you a little bit on the actual innards of this blog, namely - me being an electronic musician and producer.<br />
<br />
Let me clarify the grammar. I am NOT electronic. My music is.<br />
<br />
As it's my blog, and it's 'my name above the door' so to speak, I reserve the right to wiffle on about anything I want. (What kind of pants have you got on? Now? Really?? Kinky.) But as such I did set it up to tell the adorati about my music, so maybe an update on that would be nice, yeah?<br />
<br />
Days switch between creative flow and creative dam. At the moment, happy to report, that it's<i> flowing.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Yesterday, a prime example. Two new tracks born, and a piano piece written at 3am after being inspired by a documentary on More4 ('Catfish' - watch it) Rolled into bed at 6am feeling quite pleased with myself....<i>love days like this....why can't every day be like this?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Today, much cutting and pasting arranging a brass section for one of the tracks I started yesterday, lessons learnt. Musically? NuDisco. Eighties synths, Weekender groove with a Deadmaus kick. Sch-weet.<br />
<br />
Other lurking in the background with their hands in the air saying "Me next, me next!" - more floor based grooves, some funk, plenty of chillout - a sparkle of electro and breakbeat. My children are beautiful.<br />
<br />
<i>Amarta.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
There does seem to be a light at the end of the tunnel. I am increasing more confident an album will be born soon. About fucking time. How it will sound I don't know - there is enough variation for three albums, but not enough music for three albums - and to be honest I'm not sure how much work one album is going to be at the moment, let alone three. Stick 'em in the bank eh?<br />
<br />
Spring is my favourite time of the year. The air smells of life, and days are so much more welcoming and energetic. There is EVERY chance I have been infused.<br />
<br />
I've also bought a telescope. Geek.<br />
<br />
Through all of my inner struggle with the norm, and as hard as days are - relentless, unforgiving, hurtful - I am SURE I shall look back on these pearldiving days and regard them as the best days of my life.<br />
<br />
Salut.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.souncloud.com/amartaproject">www.souncloud.com/amartaproject</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.listn.to/AmartaProject">www.listn.to/AmartaProject</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-22432768811109664732011-04-27T09:18:00.000-07:002011-04-27T09:18:23.171-07:00Happy New EasterToday's listening - Kelly Mueller "We Keep On"<br />
<br />
It's been a while. How have you been? You look hot.<br />
<br />
Choosing to write my first blog of the year in April is totally typical of me. I'd like to say that it's because I've been so busy with new things, well - in a way I have - but in more of a chasing my tail kinda way than a straight arrow kinda way.<br />
<br />
A listlessness which will be the death of me.<br />
<br />
Points of note. My regularity with black clouds and trauma has persisted - I don't know if that's anything to do with the impending (apparently big) birthday I have coming up but..<i> c'est ca. </i>My inability to conquer the waywardness of my creative output continues to be a bugbear. Starting things - fine. No problem. You want me to start something? I'm on it. All over it. You want me to finish it too? What? You're kidding....right? I don't DO finishing.<br />
<br />
Acres of tunes - some middling, some blooming, some downright ominous, but all magnificently Amarta in their own way - sit whimpering on my hard drive like toddlers pining for ice cream. It's daunting turning on the computer these days, knowing that I'm inevitably going to confront a swathe of failure.<br />
<br />
Maybe this is the way of things - maybe they're not meant to be finished. Maybe - they're shit and shouldn't be finished. Whatever the reason, they're NOT finished and it bothers me.<br />
<br />
Focus is an attribute of the logical mind, not the creative one. Creative minds are annoying. They make you stare out of the window, holding nothing but a fascination for the changing light. They make you<br />
introverted and socially abnormal, they consume you with doubts that harbour and never really go away. There's always a chink in the armour - there is never a sheen of calm, just a turmoil - sometimes prevalent, sometimes muted, but always there. It skews a mirror, making you twist so you cannot see your face the way others see it. It makes you see and feel things differently to most other people. Your eyes will meet mine and mine will always fall away first. I see words on a page and I hear music. I drive my car, and I see ghosts. I stare at walls and I see a landscape. Across all of this is the dichotomy of trying to live a normal life - work, pay bills, wash and iron clothes - and there is always an errant clash. It's like having a radio on a station, only to jolt the dial one tone too far and be bombarded with cold harsh white noise instead. It's not easy, and every day - is a struggle to do the right thing.<br />
<br />
Why do I say all this? I don't know. I don't wish to appear pretentious, and I guess somehow I'm failing to do that, but - it's the best validation I can give at the moment for being...me.<i> The way I am. </i><br />
<br />
I am many things to many people, but to me - I am only ever myself. And that's the flaw. But then - aren't we all in the same boat?<br />
<br />
<i>'What life can compare to this?</i><br />
<i>Sitting quietly by the window,</i><br />
<i>I watch the leaves fall and the flowers bloom, </i><br />
<i>As the seasons come and go.'</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>-Hsueth Tou</i><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject">www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-90757798570026521012010-12-06T06:50:00.000-08:002010-12-06T06:50:38.139-08:00The Mortlake AngelIt was 2am-ish, Sunday December 5th 2010. The place was Thames Bank, Mortlake - north side lip of the River Thames.<br />
It was icy and crisp after a recent freeze, pancakes of ice scattering the pavement at the river side as if the Thames had sneezed. The river itself was titan - at eye level a vast and endless wash of inky black water that gave no clue to its presence, save for the chill off the water and the twinkle of reflected lights from the bridge above. The sky was starchy.<br />
<br />
They sat close to the river, outside the pub, called <i>The Ship.</i><br />
They sat on two opposing tree stumps, on the other side of the narrow road from the pub, him with his back to the river - her facing him. The pub was still alive - embers of a Christmas party dying away to the drunken strains of "Sweet Caroline" on the karaoke. There were no faces at the window though the lights were on, the voices inside impressing that maybe the pub itself was singing - emoting through its gabled and jaded windows, staggering out the last few strains of the second chorus via the crack in the slightly ajar door, then fading to sleep where it sits - lights off, slumbering away another bitter Christmas shindig.<br />
<br />
None of this seemed to detach them, they shouldn't have been there. They looked <i>cold. </i> To the absolute core. The vapour of their breath rose up and haloed them - their eyes locked, but the gaze was not adoring - instead tense, heart wrenching to brutality. They did not move, save for their lips. Some geese flew over the river, north to south, gaggling.<br />
<br />
He leaned forward, buried his face into the girl's chest, and she cradled his head by holding his neck. His shoulders were slouched and tired, but they began to tense, rise and shudder rhythmically as the tears came.<br />
<br />
<i>What use is a heart that's broken? What if your heart was born broken and you never knew it 'til now?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
She tried to give comfort, solace - she failed. Her eyes were as black as the river and as quiet as the pub behind her, she did not understand. How could she? She wanted to try, once. Now after so many years of confusion and scratching through the dirt she perhaps didn't want to admit, now and right here, that she never could. <i>My life is everything that no one understands. I wasn't meant for this, and I don't belong. </i><br />
<br />
She <i>still </i>could not understand the words. His shoulders raged against her, and the tears fell so deeply. A car passed on the narrow road behind them, the driver slowing to rubberneck them. The glare from the headlights caught him full in the face as he lifted his head. His face was marbled white, the eyes - almost the same colour behind the blue. The headlights swooped round the corner - and were gone.<br />
<br />
He took her hand and opened it, leaning his face into her palm. <i>Take these, they will keep you strong.</i><br />
The tears stung. They burrowed into the skin of her palm, hot needles piercing before a respite. He closed her hand around them into a clasp. This time her head dropped and it was her turn to sob.<br />
<br />
He put his hand on her shoulder, as he did - she raised her gaze again and opened her eyes. He was gone. Twisting and surprised, she looked through 360 degrees for him. No sound or ripple from the river, no mark of a footprint in the crushed ice before her. No vapour of a breath, or a scent from any direction. He was gone.<br />
<br />
The snow began to fall again. As it chilled the back of her neck, she swept the overlong fringe of her bob over her ear and opened her still clasped hand. Nestled in the crick of her palm were four small white feathers. Undisturbed by the breeze, they sat patiently in her hand - waiting. Snow flakes rested alongside them on her palm, and again she began to weep.<br />
<br />
How long she sat there, I don't know.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject">www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-15104594623872117582010-11-25T12:55:00.000-08:002010-11-25T12:55:10.314-08:00The Disappeared"You know....it's EVIL out there."<br />
<br />
He wasn't sure himself if he was referring to the weather, the hard lashing of rain mozaicing down the coffee shop window, or something altogether more colourless.<br />
<br />
He looked directly at her across the table. Her front two teeth peeped out from under her top lip and sat awkwardly on the cushion of her bottom one as she half smiled. He could tell she was trying her best, so softened a little.<br />
<br />
"Out there, you know - I don't like it. It's full of <i>them.</i> Look...." He traced his finger across the glass, mapping trajectories of people as they walked from right to left, towards, away - a cluster of lines streaked in the condensation on the window. A history of journeys, messy, random - urban.<br />
<br />
"It takes everything I am to come in here, but the coffee is good. Look at <i>them all. </i>I don't know where they're going - what does it mean do you think? Why do they all look the same, and dress the same? Why do none of them look happy? Why are they all so - disappointing..."<br />
<br />
Again her looked at her, and she again half smiled. Her eyes were big. Really big. A round face framed by a sleek bob that was chestnut - once - and a haunting jawline.<br />
<br />
"You don't say much, do you?" He realised that maybe she couldn't.<br />
<br />
The door of the coffee shop swung open. A man and a woman walked in, epileptically shaking the rain off their shoulders and laughing. They - were <i>them. </i>The woman slid into a booth and flirted a smile at the man who went to order their coffee, in doing so, making sure her skirt was just that little bit too high up her thigh as she crossed her legs to face him.<br />
<br />
<i>It takes everything I am to come in here.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Heads began turning. Starting at the errant end of the coffee shop, whistling through a half turn to the entrance and stalling somewhere in the middle, only to be kickstarted by another chance comment which set the circle in motion again. Somehow within this violent sense of rhythm he knew people were staring. It didn't bother him, or make him perspire, not even when his hands began to tremble or his feet stuttering as he tried to stand up.<br />
<br />
"Are you okay? Sir?"<br />
<br />
The big eyes of the coffee girl blinked high and wide as she swept a lock of chestnut hair over her ear and peppered him with broken English. No semblance of her face stuck to his memory. Behind her was a mirror. He saw nothing but a blinding white light where his shape should have been. A moment of pure clarity. <i>She was never here when I needed her.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
He pulled out a scrunched twenty from his pocket, balancing himself with his other hand on the cold formica table.<br />
"I've just got to get out for a while...get some air...."<br />
He was aware a sliver of blood was trailing from his nose, also aware that the mischevious couple were no longer flirting, only gawping.<br />
"Are you sure Sir?"<br />
Again the broken English. Again the image of her naked and beneath him. It lolled in his head and shifted from side to side like a counter weight. No, no, no.....<br />
"I'll be fine once I get some air. I just need....to....<i>disappear....</i>"<br />
He hugged himself, his sleeves riding up to reveal slender forearms. Turning without retrieving his jacket from the back of his chair, he ran out of the shop into the rain - a streak on the window, lost in the random.<br />
<br />
He recalled the words from the letter as he swallowed miles of the charcoal motorway in front of him. Was it late in the night or early in the morning? He couldn't tell.<br />
<br />
<i>What's it like being you?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
A small question, an afterthought of a question. Yet one he couldn't answer.<br />
<br />
<i>I hope you're happy and healthy, and I promise I won't leave it so long next time!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>All my love,</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Axx</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Was it really three years ago? How could it be?<br />
<br />
He remembered this place from his childhood, but now it looked so much more ominous. The beach he remembered lay maybe two hundred feet beneath him, strewn across the sea like damp muslin. The beach he remembered as a four year old. The tide had been out that day, and gasping starfish lay half buried in the wash. There had been a small boat too - a fishing vessel perhaps - lodged sideways on in the sand. Funny how it came back to him. It was perhaps the first memory of a time before now, of a time when her hair started to change from satin to steel wire. The night made it somehow more romantic, like a scene from someone else's life.<br />
<br />
<i>What's it like being you?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
The words seemed to run off the yellowing notepaper to meet him. Substantially more different than it had been eight short hours ago. Lassooed, the arms of the sea before him sparkled under the sick moon, and all seemed to fit in its rightful place. Diseased blood in his thin body rose to the surface as he began to undress, folding them into a neat pile. Placing them on the still warm bonnet of his car, he took five steps forward.<br />
<br />
<i>It takes everything I am to come in here.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Closing his eyes, he took another five steps forward, but only managed three as the ground disappeared beneath him.<br />
<br />
What's<br />
it<br />
like<br />
being<br />
you....?<br />
<br />
<i>Gasping starfish. Stars fell.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject</span></a></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-61072717043180114532010-11-18T10:14:00.000-08:002010-11-18T10:14:58.370-08:00Days Like ThisToday's listening - "Le Nocturne De Lumiere" by BT.<br />
<br />
"<i>Sparkling...</i>"<br />
<br />
The child pointed upwards at the heavily illuminated ceiling full of Christmas lights.<br />
<br />
"<i>Look...!</i>"<br />
<br />
Her mother was far too consumed by the clothing rail in front of her to acknowledge this small moment of wonder in her child's life. Lifting another garment from the rack, she perused it - running her right hand down the side of the dress slowly and tenderly from shoulder to hemline. Shifting her hips and switching the dress from left to right to gain another vantage point, the light changed with the angle. Again the slow stroke down the line of the dress - and a shake to flick out the crumple from the rail. Her daughter twisted in her buggy, and gasped with a little exasperation. Thrust her hips upwards. A movement that half suggested a half thought, of half freedom. A dash for the wire. <i>If I go now, she won't notice.</i> The thought seemed to dissipate as quickly as it came however, as another Stepford mother and buggy combo slid in the shop entrance beside her. As if tapped on the cheek, the little girl shouldered herself round to look at her new distraction. A little boy of about the same age, a bunch of brown curls tucked under a Baby Gap beanie. There was no exchange, other than a swapping of vacant thousand yarders which seemed to say <i>Your mum shopping too then? We could be here a while you know - do you have sweets? </i>She pointed up at the lights again, looking at him.<br />
<br />
He wasn't interested.<br />
<br />
Her mother was a short slim woman, raven black dyed hair scraped back into an Essex facelift, snub nosed and square jawed. She wanted to be younger than she was. Her palour was cold and malnourished, coffee and cigarettes having sucked all colour inwards. The tracksuit was unseasonal for the time of year, an off white tone that suggested her washes were not hot enough. The caressing of the dress continued, with a quizzical look. <i>Can I afford it? Will it suit me? WHY can't I afford it?</i><br />
She would have looked awesome. A good conditioner, some make up to hide the tiny red pocks around the nub of her chin, a hearty meal. Her daughter winged, and as a knee jerk her lips pursed into a <i>sssshhhhhhh.</i><br />
With a look of resignment, she hooked the dress from the rail, placed it lovingly over her arm and grasped the horns of the buggy. Twisting towards the till, her daughter looked surprised at the sudden movement. <i>We going then?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Small moments later, they smoothed out of the shop, purchase hanging on the handle of the buggy. The little girl looked excited, and pointed up at the lights again.<br />
<br />
<i>Look!</i><br />
<i>I know, pretty aren't they?</i><br />
<i>Yaa!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Mum looked left, but turned right. As her head swept round she caught my gaze. I smiled a pathetic unthoughtful smile, more on the inside than on the out, but enough for her to notice. She cast me a look that was as icy as a bell ringing. I looked down at her waist. It was tiny and snake-like. Soon lost in the haze of movement, they disappeared.<br />
<br />
She will soon be at a party, wearing her dress. She will dance, and she will laugh. She will drink too much, but she will be happy. She will be sitting at the end of the night on a chair or a doorstep, unable to move - pointing up at the Christmas lights in an awestruck gesture, and no one will acknowledge her.<br />
<br />
But, that doesn't matter.<br />
<br />
I stood up, and blinked to clear my eyes.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject">www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject</a><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-37472953888819336102010-11-04T12:34:00.000-07:002010-11-04T12:34:15.390-07:00Thursday. The ones that got away, and the ones that haven't arrived yet.Today's listening - "FML" by Deadmau5.<br />
<br />
Song titles, are kinda funny.<br />
<br />
Evocation of an emotion or a feeling, a memory - can come from a million places. Every time I drive to my local Argos Superstore I think of sperm donors.<br />
<br />
Okay, let me qualify that.<br />
<br />
On my way there about 4 years ago I was listening to the radio in the car. I swept into the car park, taking the short cut through the bays to avoid the herculean chassis juddering speed bumps. The show on the radio was talking about sperm donation - the ethics, the pros, cons etc. and for some reason, it stuck in my head. Now I cannot fail to drive there, taking the same route through the car park, without thinking of, well - ya know.<br />
<br />
Often, after this inappropriate flagstone of an idea was cemented in my head, I have parked up and wandered towards one or more of the three stores (it's a small retail park - a retail patch if you will) thinking about the process of sperm donation. <i>Do you have to fill the pot? Do you get paid by the cc? Do they provide gentlemen's magazines to help the process along? Do the cubicles get sprayed down with spermicide afterwards to appease H&S? </i><br />
"Thank you sir, your item will be with you in about 5 minutes - please go to your collection point."<br />
<br />
I fully expect to be handed a pot and a wet wipe.<br />
<br />
Same with song titles, they can make or break a tune. Take "Imagine" for example. Great song, shit title. It's - ironically - unimaginative. "Bat Out Of Hell" by Meatloaf? Totally different story. AMAZING song title. Works on two, unique and key levels. One, it supplants and underlines the energy of rebellion and having just plain damn enough of your situation...."Like a bat out of hell I'll be gone when the morning comes..." It's catchy, memorable and does everything a pop lyric should do. Two, it references the Greek playwright Aristophanes 414 BC work entitled "The Birds." In it is what is believed to be the first reference to a "Bat Out of Hell";<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>'Near by the land of the Sciapodes there is a marsh, from the borders whereof the unwashed Socrates evokes the souls of men. Pisander came one day to see his soul, which he had left there when still alive. He offered a little victim, a camel, slit his throat and, following the example of Odysseus, stepped one pace backwards. Then that bat of a Chaerephon came up from hell to drink the camel's blood.'</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">Two levels, the veneer - and the groundwork of creating the veneer, the bones, the inspiration. The evocation of a memory in the writer of a text, a picture, a thought, a process which stuck. Amazing and beautiful.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">Although, quite what Meatloaf was thinking when he came up with "In the Land of the Pig, the Butcher is King" I haven't a fucking clue.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">You know sometimes, you have to read a song before you listen to it. Max the experience. As a parent to be names their child after due care, thought and love, such is with songwriters - the good ones anyway. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">As a footnote, here are some titles I will never give to my works, and songs I will never write It would just be wrong.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"Muffin Top"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"Gone Kidding"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"Your Love is Scrunchy"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"There's Always Someone (Who Wants to Pour Sand in Your Pants)"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"In The Bushes"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"Of All The People"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"Stains"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"I Am What I Am And I Will Survive"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"Twitter Me"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"How Much Did You Pay To Get Your Face That Way"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"Don't Touch That It's Sore"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"Gone In 30 Seconds"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">And finally...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;">"Spunk Donor."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px;"><a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject">www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject</a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-56912260423443783082010-10-28T09:26:00.000-07:002010-10-28T09:26:11.442-07:00Frenetic - There is One Bird in My House.....Todays listening - "Crazy" by Seal.<br />
<br />
In the immortal words of my fellow edgwarian Lee Kern, <i>it's kicking off, it's kicking off - the chip shop's kicking off.</i><br />
<br />
The thing with apples, is that you take a bite, masticate, savour and enjoy. Too small a bite, and you're chewing air. Too big, you choke. My current bite of life's apple is a little too large compared to my usual mouthful. But I'm just the right side of choking today, so it can only really be a good thing. Thursday the 28th October is turning out. Mild and autumnal, with a sky so grey that if you poked a paintbrush into the clouds you could paint the world charcoal. Proceedings today have been as they should have been - sitting in front of a computer screen at various lego bricks of data trying to arrange them into something that resembles, well - music. It's a task that isn't quite finished yet, but a man cannot live by music alone - he needs buns and blogs too.<br />
I've got to the point where I'm currently sick to death of listening to my own music, and have had my gob choked by my (present) inability to finish any of it. So, remixing is the order of the day. Bubbling under is "Red Headed Devil Woman" by Odissi, my take on it being <i>if it ain't broke, don't fix it.</i> But here lies a quandary that halts progress - what if your remix is broke? What if you're not sure that it's either homage laden and doffing a cap to the original, proclaiming its genius in a slightly remodelled form, or if it's just an unimaginative pile of gorilla turd? Worse still, a cross between the two? The sky isn't the only thing that's grey on this day today. Time, and ears, will tell. Bubbling under part 2, is "Bird 1" by Underworld. A scheming brooding track with nightmarishly beautiful vocals and a bassline so simple and effective it would dislodge your spleen as soon as look at you. What Amarta fairy dust has been sprinkled on this beauty? A reworked bassline which gives the track a less edgy more musical take, leading to a progressive break that, if goes to plan, will knock your tits/balls off. Here's hoping.<br />
<br />
No actually, fuck hope. I don't have time - they both have a deadline. 1st November. Eek. It's going to be a long night. Grey will be black by then - grey is middle, it's nothing, it's confusion. Black, black is where it happens. It's deep, it's cold - it's sexual and elegant. <i>My little black tracks.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Bubbling under - three. "Secret Garden" by Cora Novoa. It's beautiful and simple. Justin would drop this on the Rehab at 4am, only to find it should have been dropped by Armin at midnight - unravelled, it's chill which goes trancey on your ass. Is it working? Seems to be - tell ya when I've finished, hmm? Deadline 8th November - time enough.<br />
<br />
That bun was good. Cars parking over my driveway to pick up kids from the school across the road are NOT pissing me off today. That's good.<br />
<br />
Oh and speaking of grey....<br />
<br />
<i>"Beauty without colour seems somehow to belong to another world.</i><br />
<i>(|Of a snow covered landscape)"</i><br />
<i>- Murasaki Shikibu</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Winter is coming, Here's to the neutrals.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject">www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-85230685756005884702010-10-21T12:19:00.000-07:002010-10-21T12:19:19.468-07:00Embroiled.Today's listening - "Deja Vu and the Sins of Science" by Tears For Fears.<br />
<br />
So, I was walking through my local shopping centre, pinged from one shop to the other and straight into the queue at Costa. <i>A tall black Americano. I want a tall, BLACK Americano.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
The queue, for 10.30ish AM, was - unecessary. Peering at the faces of the encumbant <i>baristas, </i>I can only assume they were trainees - the faces were unfamiliar, nervy and thoroughly pissed off looking. I hit a spot of warm sun as I shuffled into line - a spear of warm sun lancing down my back.<br />
<br />
In front of me were three suits - two male, one female. One of the suits had a spot of black ink on the inside right of his open necked shirt - he didn't look the type to be negligible about such things. The other male suit was tall, awkward looking, and the sort of person I couldn't have ever respected when I was a suit - insincere eyes, nothing behind them except a vague thought of "I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about" all wrapped up in management blue sky speak type bullshit. If I'd had a stick of celery, I could have knocked him over with it.<br />
<br />
This queue ISN'T moving fast enough.<br />
<br />
The female suit was short, plain looking with dirty blonde hair - and though I didn't get close enough to verify this - probably had halitosis. She looked kinda stinky. The warm sun on my spine had been replaced with a dull throb of discomfort as I overwigged their conversation....<i>We're very open.....we don't like to pull rank with people....we're a community you see....but we have absolutely no qualm in saying something is YOUR responsibility if we have to....but we don't like to do that.....</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
So they're next. <i>I want a TALL black Americano.</i><br />
<i>Can we have a.....er......</i>(five minutes chatting shite in the queue and they hadn't even the courtesy to have their order ready).....<i>I want a....um......small.....small? Yes, small cappuccino....also can we have a skinny hot chocolate, and an Americano, small.</i><br />
Pissed off nervy barista boy repeats the order with an intonation that implies a question mark for verifcation.<br />
Celery man nods, with a twitchy smile. Can you all just fuck off out of the way now so I can order my coffee?<br />
<br />
"Yes sir...?"<br />
"Large black Americano to go please...."<br />
<br />
The coffee is hotter than the sun. Fingering the cup awkwardly I stride purposely to the car - after all, I have things to do. My stride was not enough of an indicator of my urgency to a diminutive young woman who crossed my path. Oh Fuck. She's selling.<br />
"Hello Sir have you got a moment?"<br />
"This....coffee....is.... REALLY...hot...."<br />
"Oh! Let me....."<br />
<br />
The cup was out of my hand, coff-napped. In a blink she was across the floor, standing at her pedestal with my coffee, holding it to ransom.<br />
"Oh it IS hot isn't it?"<br />
I HAD to go over, this pissed me off. She was pretty, but smug looking - yeah, she'd got me to stand attentive so I'd look smug about it too. But she wasn't going to win this one.<br />
"My name's Stephanie, nice to meet you."<br />
The hand was outstretched, instinctively my hand cupped into hers and I was aware that she KNEW she was winning this one.<br />
"Ant."<br />
<i>Just shut down, she can't win if you just shut down.</i><br />
The blurb followed, about who provided my energy. <i>That fucking coffee would if you'd just give it back. </i>I had to give her dues, despite my uncommunicative grunts and furtive looks between my coffee and the nearest exit, she was flirting well. The smile was insincere though quite warming, and the twizzle of the long honeyish hair through her fingers as she talked were vaguely appealing. She pulled out her mobile and called someone to check my tarriff against the one she was flogging. She was on hold.<br />
"Do you work round here?"<br />
"Ye...erm..."<br />
"What do you do?"<br />
"Driver."<br />
Her brow crinkled a little, nose scrunching.<br />
"Hmmmm, you <i>look </i>like a photographer...."<br />
Did she mean I looked like a specific photographer or, generically, I looked like how a photographer would look to her? This vagueness of aside annoyed me further. I think maybe, she just meant scruffy.<br />
Apparently her tarriff would save me £148 a year in energy bills. She said this loudly, boastfully, proudly - ironically too, as her colleague was engaged with a belligerent passer by (without coffee) who proclaimed they had signed up last year and were out of pocket. I almost smiled, almost.<br />
Stephanie was sure that her doe eyes and smile were winning out, and slid a contract out from her folder. Pen poised...."So can I take your full name?"<br />
"I'm not signing a contract, here - now...."<br />
"But...we're cheaper?"<br />
"Sorry, give me something to take away and I'll make my own mind up."<br />
"But it's only vaild today, this quote....haven't you got better things to spend that £148 on rather than energy bills?"<br />
The smile again. <i>Yes, I had. A leather jacket. But YOU'RE not getting a commission from me today Stephanie.</i><br />
I stood, almost staring at her waiting for her to say something next. The one who speaks next, loses. For the first time I noticed she was actually really pretty. She spoke.<br />
"Well, of course you're free to check this out yourself, do your own comparisons..."<br />
<i>Am I? Oh. Thanks.</i><br />
"I'll do that, thank you."<br />
Now I smiled.<br />
"Have a nice day." She didn't mean it.<br />
"You too."<br />
<br />
Grabbing my coffee, I found it had cooled.<br />
<br />
Oh Stephanie, it could have all been so different.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject">www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2101600730209497467.post-61371643799170893372010-10-09T12:16:00.000-07:002010-10-09T12:16:49.187-07:00Humble Beginnings.Hi, how you all doing? First post, first blog - first set of schoolboy type errors, no doubt.<br />
<br />
Some of my tracks and remixes are available to listen to on the link below, please be kind - I don't take criticism very well. More info about my music to follow, and no doubt more random burblings depending on my mood.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject">www.soundcloud.com/amartaproject</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982909681528203047noreply@blogger.com0