Prague Main Station. A homeless guy plays a piano.
Showing posts with label Art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Art. Show all posts
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Thursday, March 22, 2012
CHECK IN
Just checking in. For some time there was an emptiness of some kind, you know what I mean, the artistic emptiness. I left it all behind for I thing that it was said and done what was to be said and done.
And there was nothing much to write about. Just rejoicing life, that’s what it has been all about.
This means, it’s quite over, isn’t it. Well, not precisely over. But there is definitely something new beginning.
When something ends and the new is not yet born, there’s some kind of gap, a bardo, how do you want to call it.
A window of opportunity, some people say.
I have found inspiration in some great personalities of music industry, that stand alone like a Hercules Pillar over the waters and despite of their age, nature and history and everything that’s behind them, they’re still able to surprise and come up with something new, inspiring and trendsetting…yeah, I’m just a sole poor follower. A follower of the apocalypse? Maybe. I’ve spent some time studying latest work of Trent Reznor. And Thom Yorke. And Yann Tiersen. And Hans Zimmer. Oh and Alan Wilder of course. There’s seems to be some kind of path I’d like to follow. And I have just started and it seems to be thrilling.
Back in the White Room.
And there was nothing much to write about. Just rejoicing life, that’s what it has been all about.
This means, it’s quite over, isn’t it. Well, not precisely over. But there is definitely something new beginning.
When something ends and the new is not yet born, there’s some kind of gap, a bardo, how do you want to call it.
A window of opportunity, some people say.
I have found inspiration in some great personalities of music industry, that stand alone like a Hercules Pillar over the waters and despite of their age, nature and history and everything that’s behind them, they’re still able to surprise and come up with something new, inspiring and trendsetting…yeah, I’m just a sole poor follower. A follower of the apocalypse? Maybe. I’ve spent some time studying latest work of Trent Reznor. And Thom Yorke. And Yann Tiersen. And Hans Zimmer. Oh and Alan Wilder of course. There’s seems to be some kind of path I’d like to follow. And I have just started and it seems to be thrilling.
Back in the White Room.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
DRESSED IN RED
DRESSED IN RED - A WALK THROUGH THE CITY IN ENGLISH AND CZECH
I feel like mother after hard birth pangs. Maybe I haven’t survived, bled to death at the delivery room, left my body stained with blood lying somewhere at the corridors dark like night but the life I’ve given to that child shall not be stopped in bloom.
And now it comes into the world to get beaten and gain experience and rejoice and grow and I’ll just stay in the distance and pay attention like a careful parent at the playground.
It is always a strange feeling, something ended and something new begins. Two years of nothingness that were binding my hands and tongue and then emptiness and darkness, crisis, sadness and then again a hope with the first notes shouted out in the world.
Bloodflies. I was at the mountains of Slovakia in the neverending silence and there at the bridge over the stream intriquing for that terrible triplet rhythm and looking for words I would bark into the chorus, because one thing was clear since the first note, THIS was going to be a single, crop-full with dark energy, something that makes you stamp into the rhythm and shake your head. The beginning of a story that is a cliché same like comics itself and Lady Torment and suffering on a cross in a neverending orgasm and latex and black lines and vampires that suck out of you… everything.
And Starlover, that kinky lovesong for You which resisted for such a long time and a year and a half of waiting for that right chorus that has lifted it all into the clouds. And last winter in exile and an amplifier which fell down the stairs and nothing happened to it... and Vito in the end who took this song and converted it into a club hymn. In The Night Lies The Dawn, the last song made, I have never managed to stay on the ground ever before and make the song as simple as it deserves. Clean and clear, throbbing and alive. And one another lucky chance, when one chord changed and strings have crept in out of the blue to take the song and lift it somewhere above the clouds.
And singing in the night when Vanessa slept behind the door so that a strange crispiness sneaked into the voice and strange sadness and a shadow in this tired dream. And Mystic Highway, which had been waiting for almost four years for the right moment when I found the right attitude and the right end and Brian Eno giving instructions in my dreams – MORE space, just more space, I sublimed in the mist with this song and if you don’t know what’s suffering, please skip this track right away. And then here we got this raw and dirty cell in a long time ago abolished nuthouse where I was forgotten and my head vainly beats into that padded door. Nobody is opening. It’s just me and my demons of sadness. Accused, taken behind the city limits and killed with silent scream I end up here left alone. I run, before myself?
Do I wake up in the darkness, where maybe new lives are born, or am I going to be tried again? Am I a wandering soul who doesn’t know where it belongs? And here comes Brian Eno again, who after sixteen void versions helps to find the right one. One of the first and the simplest ones, how else... so give me a chance and I’ll try, I promise I’ll try...maybe next time. In the city, where rain always pours down from the sky and angels on the houses’ fronts are coming alive and are waving at you. It doesn’t matter that you are dead, so am I. And I’m a shadow that woke up alive just for that thought that You are. I can’t believe that You are... And here comes Lady Death, so beautiful and pure, take my hand because you know, that you’re like a feather doll and a sleep is a gentle friend to get along with. And this chorus will be haunting me for a long time after. How many versions. Ten? Maybe. And a guitar solo across half of the song? Why not. Everything once comes for the first time. And for this trip, you may set sail just once.
And it is time to say goodbye, because this bullet in my head is into pieces with every part of it yelling at me “It’s the end!” I don’t know what happens next, no titles, no happy endings, I do not travel anywhere, I just feel cold. The clock is broken and it no longer measures our time. Farewell. And then this strange guy who lives on the beach came in my dream and convinced me that it is still worth it to write, to dream and to sing, even though it seems that a hope is buried somewhere in the unmarked grave. Perhaps about that, that when those Tibetan monks finally manage to count all the stars in the sky, they all start to fade out, one by one. And that it will be You, who will silently whisper to my ear, that this is the last day of the world.
NEJSI TO TY, NEHLEDÍŠ SNAD NA MNE?
NENÍ TO SNAD STUDENÁ KREV NA KOEČCÍCH PRSTŮ CO LEPÍ SE NA MNE?
JESTLI JSEM SKUTEČNĚ ŠPATNOU CESTOU ŠEL
A VYPRŠEL MI VŠECHEN ČAS?
Jsem jako matka po těžkých porodních bolestech. Možná jsem to nepřežil, vykrvácel jsem na sále, nechal svoje krví zbrocený tělo ležet někde na chodbách temných jak noc ale ten život, který jsem dal tomu dítěti, už nikdo nezastaví v rozkvětu.
A teď jde do světa, kde se bude otloukat a otrkávat a narážet a radovat se a růst a žít a já jen z dálky ho budu sledovat a chránit a hlídat jako starostlivej rodič na pískovišti.
Je to vždycky tak zvláštní pocit, něco skončilo, něco začíná. Dva roky nicoty, který mě svazovaly ruce a jazyk a pak temno a prázdno, krize, smutek a pak zase naděje s prvníma notama vykřičenýma do světa. Bloodflies. Byl jsem ve slovenských horách v tichým nekonečnu a tam na mostě u potoka spřádal plány na ten děsivej trojkovej rytmus a hledal slova který budu štěkat do refrénu, protože od první noty bylo jasný, že TOHLE je singl, nacpanej temnou energií až k prasknutí, něco, co tě donutí dupat si do rytmu a házet hlavou. Začátek příběhu kterej je klišé jak comics samotnej a Lady Soužení a trýznění na kříži v nekonečným orgasmu a latex a černý linky a vampíři, který z tebe vysajou ...všechno. A Starlover, ten divnej lovesong pro Tebe co tak dlouho vzdoroval a rok a půl hledání a čekání na ten správnej refrén, kterej to celý zvednul do oblak. A minulá zima v exilu a zesilovač, kterej spadnul ze schodů a nic se mu nestalo..a nakonec Víťa, kterej si tenhle song vzal a tajně z něj udělal klubovou hymnu. In The Night Lies The Dawn, poslední dokončenej song, ještě nikdy se mi nepovedlo se uhlídat a nechat song tak jednoduchej, jak jen to jde. Čistej a průzračnej a tepající a živej. A zase jedna šťastná náhoda, když se jeden akord změnil a vloudily se stringy který přišly odnikud a odnesly song někam nad mraky.
A zpívání v noci když Vanessa za dveřma spala takže nepozorovaně se zvláštní křehkost vloudila do toho hlasu a divnej smutek a stín v tom unaveným snu. A mystická dálnice, která čtyři roky čekala na tu chvíli až najdu tu správnou polohu a správnej konec a Brian Eno, kterej mi ve snu dával rady – ještě VÍC prostoru, ještě víc, rozplynul jsem se v mlze s tímhle songem a kdo neví co je trápení, ať tenhle song rovnou přeskočí. A pak je tu syrová a špinavá cela v dávno zrušeným blázinci, kde na mě zapomněli a já marně biju hlavou o ty polstrovaný dveře. A nikdo neotevírá. Jsem tu jen já a démoni smutku. Obviněn, odveden za město a s tichým výkřikem tu sám a opuštěný skonám. Utíkám, sám před sebou?
A probouzím se v temnotě, kde snad nové životy se rodí, nebo budu zase souzen? Jsem snad bloudící duše, která neví, kam patří? A zase je tu Brian Eno, kterej po šestnácti marných verzích pomáhá najít tu pravou. Jednu z prvních a jednu z nejjednodušších, jak jinak...Tak dej mi šanci a já se budu snažit, určitě to zkusím...možná příště. Ve městě, kde pořád prší a andělé na domech ožívají a mávají na tebe. Nevadí, že jsi mrtvá, to já taky. A jsem stín, který obživl jen kvůli té myšlence, že Ty jsi. Nemůžu uvěřit tomu, že jsi... A přichází paní Smrt, tak krásná a čistá, vezmi mne za ruku protože víš, že jsi jak figurka z peří a spánek je přítel se kterým si rozumíš. A tenhle refrén mě bude strašit ještě dlouho. Kolik verzí, deset? Možná. A kytarový sólo přes půl songu? Proč ne. Všechno je jednou poprvý. A na tenhle výlet se můžeš vydat jen jednou.
A je čas se rozloučit, protože ta kulka v mý hlavě je na kusy a každou svojí částí křičí, že je konec. Nevím, co bude, žádný titulky, happyendy, nikam necestuju, jen mi je zima. Hodiny se rozbily a už neměří náš čas, sbohem. A pak přišel ve snu ten divnej chlapík co bydlí na pláži a přesvědčil mě, že má smysl psát, snít a zpívat, i když už se zdá, že naděje leží někde v neoznačeným hrobě. Třeba o tom, že když se těm tibetským mnichům podaří konečně spočítat, kolik je hvězd na obloze, začnou jedna po druhé zhasínat. A že to budeš Ty, kdo mi zašeptá do ucha, že tohle je poslední den světa.
I feel like mother after hard birth pangs. Maybe I haven’t survived, bled to death at the delivery room, left my body stained with blood lying somewhere at the corridors dark like night but the life I’ve given to that child shall not be stopped in bloom.
And now it comes into the world to get beaten and gain experience and rejoice and grow and I’ll just stay in the distance and pay attention like a careful parent at the playground.
It is always a strange feeling, something ended and something new begins. Two years of nothingness that were binding my hands and tongue and then emptiness and darkness, crisis, sadness and then again a hope with the first notes shouted out in the world.
Bloodflies. I was at the mountains of Slovakia in the neverending silence and there at the bridge over the stream intriquing for that terrible triplet rhythm and looking for words I would bark into the chorus, because one thing was clear since the first note, THIS was going to be a single, crop-full with dark energy, something that makes you stamp into the rhythm and shake your head. The beginning of a story that is a cliché same like comics itself and Lady Torment and suffering on a cross in a neverending orgasm and latex and black lines and vampires that suck out of you… everything.
And Starlover, that kinky lovesong for You which resisted for such a long time and a year and a half of waiting for that right chorus that has lifted it all into the clouds. And last winter in exile and an amplifier which fell down the stairs and nothing happened to it... and Vito in the end who took this song and converted it into a club hymn. In The Night Lies The Dawn, the last song made, I have never managed to stay on the ground ever before and make the song as simple as it deserves. Clean and clear, throbbing and alive. And one another lucky chance, when one chord changed and strings have crept in out of the blue to take the song and lift it somewhere above the clouds.
And singing in the night when Vanessa slept behind the door so that a strange crispiness sneaked into the voice and strange sadness and a shadow in this tired dream. And Mystic Highway, which had been waiting for almost four years for the right moment when I found the right attitude and the right end and Brian Eno giving instructions in my dreams – MORE space, just more space, I sublimed in the mist with this song and if you don’t know what’s suffering, please skip this track right away. And then here we got this raw and dirty cell in a long time ago abolished nuthouse where I was forgotten and my head vainly beats into that padded door. Nobody is opening. It’s just me and my demons of sadness. Accused, taken behind the city limits and killed with silent scream I end up here left alone. I run, before myself?
Do I wake up in the darkness, where maybe new lives are born, or am I going to be tried again? Am I a wandering soul who doesn’t know where it belongs? And here comes Brian Eno again, who after sixteen void versions helps to find the right one. One of the first and the simplest ones, how else... so give me a chance and I’ll try, I promise I’ll try...maybe next time. In the city, where rain always pours down from the sky and angels on the houses’ fronts are coming alive and are waving at you. It doesn’t matter that you are dead, so am I. And I’m a shadow that woke up alive just for that thought that You are. I can’t believe that You are... And here comes Lady Death, so beautiful and pure, take my hand because you know, that you’re like a feather doll and a sleep is a gentle friend to get along with. And this chorus will be haunting me for a long time after. How many versions. Ten? Maybe. And a guitar solo across half of the song? Why not. Everything once comes for the first time. And for this trip, you may set sail just once.
And it is time to say goodbye, because this bullet in my head is into pieces with every part of it yelling at me “It’s the end!” I don’t know what happens next, no titles, no happy endings, I do not travel anywhere, I just feel cold. The clock is broken and it no longer measures our time. Farewell. And then this strange guy who lives on the beach came in my dream and convinced me that it is still worth it to write, to dream and to sing, even though it seems that a hope is buried somewhere in the unmarked grave. Perhaps about that, that when those Tibetan monks finally manage to count all the stars in the sky, they all start to fade out, one by one. And that it will be You, who will silently whisper to my ear, that this is the last day of the world.
NEJSI TO TY, NEHLEDÍŠ SNAD NA MNE?
NENÍ TO SNAD STUDENÁ KREV NA KOEČCÍCH PRSTŮ CO LEPÍ SE NA MNE?
JESTLI JSEM SKUTEČNĚ ŠPATNOU CESTOU ŠEL
A VYPRŠEL MI VŠECHEN ČAS?
Jsem jako matka po těžkých porodních bolestech. Možná jsem to nepřežil, vykrvácel jsem na sále, nechal svoje krví zbrocený tělo ležet někde na chodbách temných jak noc ale ten život, který jsem dal tomu dítěti, už nikdo nezastaví v rozkvětu.
A teď jde do světa, kde se bude otloukat a otrkávat a narážet a radovat se a růst a žít a já jen z dálky ho budu sledovat a chránit a hlídat jako starostlivej rodič na pískovišti.
Je to vždycky tak zvláštní pocit, něco skončilo, něco začíná. Dva roky nicoty, který mě svazovaly ruce a jazyk a pak temno a prázdno, krize, smutek a pak zase naděje s prvníma notama vykřičenýma do světa. Bloodflies. Byl jsem ve slovenských horách v tichým nekonečnu a tam na mostě u potoka spřádal plány na ten děsivej trojkovej rytmus a hledal slova který budu štěkat do refrénu, protože od první noty bylo jasný, že TOHLE je singl, nacpanej temnou energií až k prasknutí, něco, co tě donutí dupat si do rytmu a házet hlavou. Začátek příběhu kterej je klišé jak comics samotnej a Lady Soužení a trýznění na kříži v nekonečným orgasmu a latex a černý linky a vampíři, který z tebe vysajou ...všechno. A Starlover, ten divnej lovesong pro Tebe co tak dlouho vzdoroval a rok a půl hledání a čekání na ten správnej refrén, kterej to celý zvednul do oblak. A minulá zima v exilu a zesilovač, kterej spadnul ze schodů a nic se mu nestalo..a nakonec Víťa, kterej si tenhle song vzal a tajně z něj udělal klubovou hymnu. In The Night Lies The Dawn, poslední dokončenej song, ještě nikdy se mi nepovedlo se uhlídat a nechat song tak jednoduchej, jak jen to jde. Čistej a průzračnej a tepající a živej. A zase jedna šťastná náhoda, když se jeden akord změnil a vloudily se stringy který přišly odnikud a odnesly song někam nad mraky.
A zpívání v noci když Vanessa za dveřma spala takže nepozorovaně se zvláštní křehkost vloudila do toho hlasu a divnej smutek a stín v tom unaveným snu. A mystická dálnice, která čtyři roky čekala na tu chvíli až najdu tu správnou polohu a správnej konec a Brian Eno, kterej mi ve snu dával rady – ještě VÍC prostoru, ještě víc, rozplynul jsem se v mlze s tímhle songem a kdo neví co je trápení, ať tenhle song rovnou přeskočí. A pak je tu syrová a špinavá cela v dávno zrušeným blázinci, kde na mě zapomněli a já marně biju hlavou o ty polstrovaný dveře. A nikdo neotevírá. Jsem tu jen já a démoni smutku. Obviněn, odveden za město a s tichým výkřikem tu sám a opuštěný skonám. Utíkám, sám před sebou?
A probouzím se v temnotě, kde snad nové životy se rodí, nebo budu zase souzen? Jsem snad bloudící duše, která neví, kam patří? A zase je tu Brian Eno, kterej po šestnácti marných verzích pomáhá najít tu pravou. Jednu z prvních a jednu z nejjednodušších, jak jinak...Tak dej mi šanci a já se budu snažit, určitě to zkusím...možná příště. Ve městě, kde pořád prší a andělé na domech ožívají a mávají na tebe. Nevadí, že jsi mrtvá, to já taky. A jsem stín, který obživl jen kvůli té myšlence, že Ty jsi. Nemůžu uvěřit tomu, že jsi... A přichází paní Smrt, tak krásná a čistá, vezmi mne za ruku protože víš, že jsi jak figurka z peří a spánek je přítel se kterým si rozumíš. A tenhle refrén mě bude strašit ještě dlouho. Kolik verzí, deset? Možná. A kytarový sólo přes půl songu? Proč ne. Všechno je jednou poprvý. A na tenhle výlet se můžeš vydat jen jednou.
A je čas se rozloučit, protože ta kulka v mý hlavě je na kusy a každou svojí částí křičí, že je konec. Nevím, co bude, žádný titulky, happyendy, nikam necestuju, jen mi je zima. Hodiny se rozbily a už neměří náš čas, sbohem. A pak přišel ve snu ten divnej chlapík co bydlí na pláži a přesvědčil mě, že má smysl psát, snít a zpívat, i když už se zdá, že naděje leží někde v neoznačeným hrobě. Třeba o tom, že když se těm tibetským mnichům podaří konečně spočítat, kolik je hvězd na obloze, začnou jedna po druhé zhasínat. A že to budeš Ty, kdo mi zašeptá do ucha, že tohle je poslední den světa.
Monday, March 23, 2009
UNPACKING THE ARTIFACT
We have the specialiest of all the special editions of "No Line On The Horizon" at home now. It's really beautiful. Real artifact. Seems that this is the way the record companies will reach our pockets in 21st century.
Well, still there's some added value you'll get together with the album. Like the movie, book, poster, whatever else. Something from the background. So you may feel closer to the band. It's more intimate. Like in the old days, when you unpacked the CD or tape, browse the booklet and read the lyrics when listening for the first time. I like this way of selling music. Who doesn't care for it may just download the record either legally or illegaly, doesn't matter. But this feeling of unpacking the new album and being closer to the artist will not be there.
So I'm looking forward cause this year's gonna be a harvest. At least new Depeche Mode and Placebo have their 'special editions' on their way.
I hope we'll be able to hit this road too, even probably in more humble way. But I guess it'll be worth trying. To do something more. Album's not enough and I would so much like to produce artifact. With story behind.
The question for one million is: will people in our country buy it?
Well, still there's some added value you'll get together with the album. Like the movie, book, poster, whatever else. Something from the background. So you may feel closer to the band. It's more intimate. Like in the old days, when you unpacked the CD or tape, browse the booklet and read the lyrics when listening for the first time. I like this way of selling music. Who doesn't care for it may just download the record either legally or illegaly, doesn't matter. But this feeling of unpacking the new album and being closer to the artist will not be there.
So I'm looking forward cause this year's gonna be a harvest. At least new Depeche Mode and Placebo have their 'special editions' on their way.
I hope we'll be able to hit this road too, even probably in more humble way. But I guess it'll be worth trying. To do something more. Album's not enough and I would so much like to produce artifact. With story behind.
The question for one million is: will people in our country buy it?
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Christopher Lee
One of my favourite actors, 86-years old Christopher Lee has visited Czech Republic at International Film Festival. Surprising everyone, he sung an excerpt of the czech opera (in czech language). He knows more about our history than any native Czech and he even personally knew czech national heroes - Reinhard Heydrich's assassins!
I just can't express my admiration for this actor legend!
Sunday, July 13, 2008
APOCALYPSE NOW
Well, what to say?
It was a beautiful hot summer afternoon and it has turned into a mayhem within 3 minutes. Sometimes it's good to be an afternoon band. This is one of the Creamfields' headliners, Sebastien Leger and his view of the sad event.
It was a beautiful hot summer afternoon and it has turned into a mayhem within 3 minutes. Sometimes it's good to be an afternoon band. This is one of the Creamfields' headliners, Sebastien Leger and his view of the sad event.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL
For the first time in my life I'm gonna check out the major film festival in Karlovy Vary. We'll see how the madness looks like. Lakeside X shall perform at VF Fer Club on Monday, July 7 at 11PM. Hopefully this bloke comes round ;)
Monday, May 19, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
CONTROL
Being a big fan of Anton Corbijn, I had to go to take a look at his film. More on that, today, when almost everyone who has ever held a guitar in his hands and stood on stage endorses Joy Division, it’s a necessity for the musician to see that film. Today I’ve learned that the major part of the budget was paid by Corbijn himself – another reason to visit the theatre with good sensation.
I’m not a critic and I gladly leave that job to someone more competent, I just want to add some few personal feelings I’ve had from the movie. Some of them have come immediately within the spectation, some even the other day, after some time of thinking it all over.
First feeling – beautiful black and white design. I love black and white movies! Got to admit that I expected it to be little more “Corbijn-like”, but movie is a movie and it’s basically not a video. Few “classical” shots are there anyway, the one impressed me the most (among many others) is the part where Curtis walks down the street, then the camera turns and we’re watching him from behind, seeing the big white “HATE” painted on the back of his jacket. That gave me creeps. And a little laugh inside – few days ago I spent one afternoon walking on the Charles Bridge in Prague with a big sign around my neck saying “LOST?” when shooting our new video – I am really curious whether we’ll be accused of copying something again.
Second feeling – the film had slowed down a bit in his middle part, but nevertheless at this point I was just enjoying the atmosphere and the environment of the late 70’s and I suggested it was a director’s intention to let people breath out before the load of the final part.
Third feeling – I was just floating on the waves of the atmosphere and for few moments I regreted I wasn’t born in 1960 in Manchester and 18 years later I wasn’t rehearsing with bunch of some suburbian losers in unknown parents’ garage, didn’t meet Tony Wilson in some pub...
Fourth feeling – life is simple and you don’t need any pomp to achieve something exceptional. Ordinary people with something extraordinary inside of them get suddenly connected to that strange ingenious stream that starts to spirt and even the ordinary guy from the local employment office can compose a great song. The right place, the right time, the right deployment of things and people.
Fifth feeling – I liked the fact Corbijn had not idolized Curtis. Was he complicated? Or simple? A hero or a coward? Surely both of all. He was not even particularly likeable, he was maybe pissing me off for some moments of the film. Was he selfish? Sure he was. He was just taking – and to the world he was sending over his feelings. Everyone of that kind must be at least little selfish in some way. Maybe Curtis started to crumble down even from the fact, that he suddenly became so famous. All the time you are trying to make people take you a bit seriously, and when they start to listen to you, you just find out it’s all just a superficial adoration, no one in fact takes care of you, but just of the pretty shell. So you just give it a fuck. You just keep roaring out your feelings and you don’t give a shit if someone’s listening. The more you spit upon the people, the more you’re getting attractive for them. The vicious spiral. Kurt Cobain put once a shot through his head because of that, I believe.
Maybe another thing – among all these things, Curtis started to feel more and more alone. Loneliness is an inner feeling and it doesn’t matter how many people are around you. The depression comes from inside, it’s like a black hole eating you and taking all your hopes, it doesn’t have a cause and there’s no cure. You don’t know why you feel bad. You don’t see anything good around. All the world of yours is being reduced to you and your ugly shell, inside of which you’re stuck just with your sorrow.
And by that we have reached my last feeling – during last ten minutes of the movie I have remembered the time, when I struggled to write some things for EXIT:NOWhere. I was in the state, when the man is already behind his desperation, almost calm, in the matter of fact. I reconciled with the fact that I finish the record and leave. Of course, normally considering person cannot understand such thoughts. But when you’re in such a state, for you it seems that you think normally, only that your “normality” has a strangely twisted logic. Selfishness, self-regret and self-punishment prevails at that point. It’s all piece of shit, but you don’t reach that view. You don’t even reach the view, that it’s not heroism at all, but the contrary of it. And that you won’t even see your closest ones mourning for you. And that you won’t see the end titles with the beautiful “Atmosphere”. And there’s one thing that is quite clear, that same as in this movie, death is trivial and ironically non-impressive.
The film has got me. And yet because of the fact I was able to go to see that film yesterday evening, I am glad to be here.
Thanx J.
[for CZ see Comments of this article]
I’m not a critic and I gladly leave that job to someone more competent, I just want to add some few personal feelings I’ve had from the movie. Some of them have come immediately within the spectation, some even the other day, after some time of thinking it all over.
First feeling – beautiful black and white design. I love black and white movies! Got to admit that I expected it to be little more “Corbijn-like”, but movie is a movie and it’s basically not a video. Few “classical” shots are there anyway, the one impressed me the most (among many others) is the part where Curtis walks down the street, then the camera turns and we’re watching him from behind, seeing the big white “HATE” painted on the back of his jacket. That gave me creeps. And a little laugh inside – few days ago I spent one afternoon walking on the Charles Bridge in Prague with a big sign around my neck saying “LOST?” when shooting our new video – I am really curious whether we’ll be accused of copying something again.
Second feeling – the film had slowed down a bit in his middle part, but nevertheless at this point I was just enjoying the atmosphere and the environment of the late 70’s and I suggested it was a director’s intention to let people breath out before the load of the final part.
Third feeling – I was just floating on the waves of the atmosphere and for few moments I regreted I wasn’t born in 1960 in Manchester and 18 years later I wasn’t rehearsing with bunch of some suburbian losers in unknown parents’ garage, didn’t meet Tony Wilson in some pub...
Fourth feeling – life is simple and you don’t need any pomp to achieve something exceptional. Ordinary people with something extraordinary inside of them get suddenly connected to that strange ingenious stream that starts to spirt and even the ordinary guy from the local employment office can compose a great song. The right place, the right time, the right deployment of things and people.
Fifth feeling – I liked the fact Corbijn had not idolized Curtis. Was he complicated? Or simple? A hero or a coward? Surely both of all. He was not even particularly likeable, he was maybe pissing me off for some moments of the film. Was he selfish? Sure he was. He was just taking – and to the world he was sending over his feelings. Everyone of that kind must be at least little selfish in some way. Maybe Curtis started to crumble down even from the fact, that he suddenly became so famous. All the time you are trying to make people take you a bit seriously, and when they start to listen to you, you just find out it’s all just a superficial adoration, no one in fact takes care of you, but just of the pretty shell. So you just give it a fuck. You just keep roaring out your feelings and you don’t give a shit if someone’s listening. The more you spit upon the people, the more you’re getting attractive for them. The vicious spiral. Kurt Cobain put once a shot through his head because of that, I believe.
Maybe another thing – among all these things, Curtis started to feel more and more alone. Loneliness is an inner feeling and it doesn’t matter how many people are around you. The depression comes from inside, it’s like a black hole eating you and taking all your hopes, it doesn’t have a cause and there’s no cure. You don’t know why you feel bad. You don’t see anything good around. All the world of yours is being reduced to you and your ugly shell, inside of which you’re stuck just with your sorrow.
And by that we have reached my last feeling – during last ten minutes of the movie I have remembered the time, when I struggled to write some things for EXIT:NOWhere. I was in the state, when the man is already behind his desperation, almost calm, in the matter of fact. I reconciled with the fact that I finish the record and leave. Of course, normally considering person cannot understand such thoughts. But when you’re in such a state, for you it seems that you think normally, only that your “normality” has a strangely twisted logic. Selfishness, self-regret and self-punishment prevails at that point. It’s all piece of shit, but you don’t reach that view. You don’t even reach the view, that it’s not heroism at all, but the contrary of it. And that you won’t even see your closest ones mourning for you. And that you won’t see the end titles with the beautiful “Atmosphere”. And there’s one thing that is quite clear, that same as in this movie, death is trivial and ironically non-impressive.
The film has got me. And yet because of the fact I was able to go to see that film yesterday evening, I am glad to be here.
Thanx J.
[for CZ see Comments of this article]
Monday, October 02, 2006
FRANTISEK DRTIKOL I.
In a moments of the deepest spiritual darkness, you turn to some stabile and everlasting pillar of faith, hope, wisdom and deep spiritual life.
Frana Drtikol has been and is one of the ones.
He aimed far, and he reached it.
Almost undiscovered even by his closest people, he lived in the deepest depths of wisdom, knowledge and experience. In his case, you cannot talk about a faith. A faith in God.. how can a wave on an ocean have a faith that the ocean exists, when it realizes the pure existence of the ocean and nothing else?
How can a wave believe in the sea?
How can a sunbeam believe in the Sun?
Well, how simple..and how hard to get to this point..
I'll be proud to share some of the thoughts and remarks of this once famous photographer and artist with you.
I know that it may be too proud of me, for I am so so far from his thoughts right now, being 'stuck in a place where nothing awaits for me', but I am sticking to this guy who almost 80 years ago laid down thoughts that are so true like true are sunbeams that come to heat our cheeks every morning. I am sorry Frana, but I feel relief and hope in your words, I have nothing to say myself, I let the word to you, for you can tell better everything I feel, everything I hope for, everything I trust.
I hope you won't be upset with me.. you help me so much ;o)
And I know that my dark friends won't give me peace for sharing this, but the war's already started, and I won't give up easily ;)
"If you see the light, this great light, it's not it. That's duality. Just when you see the steady bright shine, such a shimmer, upon which everything is lighten up, without shadow, this is it. You find in the end, that you yourself are that light, that lightens up everything."
"Silence: by body, tongue, thoughts, imagination, feelings, being, consciousness, in the end silence by Silence. That is - I become Silence."
"Giving is life, accepting is death."
Frantisek Drtikol, taken from the book "Frantisek Drtikol, The Mystic and the Teacher" by Karel Funk, Fontana 2001
Thanx Janne
Frana Drtikol has been and is one of the ones.
He aimed far, and he reached it.
Almost undiscovered even by his closest people, he lived in the deepest depths of wisdom, knowledge and experience. In his case, you cannot talk about a faith. A faith in God.. how can a wave on an ocean have a faith that the ocean exists, when it realizes the pure existence of the ocean and nothing else?
How can a wave believe in the sea?
How can a sunbeam believe in the Sun?
Well, how simple..and how hard to get to this point..
I'll be proud to share some of the thoughts and remarks of this once famous photographer and artist with you.
I know that it may be too proud of me, for I am so so far from his thoughts right now, being 'stuck in a place where nothing awaits for me', but I am sticking to this guy who almost 80 years ago laid down thoughts that are so true like true are sunbeams that come to heat our cheeks every morning. I am sorry Frana, but I feel relief and hope in your words, I have nothing to say myself, I let the word to you, for you can tell better everything I feel, everything I hope for, everything I trust.
I hope you won't be upset with me.. you help me so much ;o)
And I know that my dark friends won't give me peace for sharing this, but the war's already started, and I won't give up easily ;)
"If you see the light, this great light, it's not it. That's duality. Just when you see the steady bright shine, such a shimmer, upon which everything is lighten up, without shadow, this is it. You find in the end, that you yourself are that light, that lightens up everything."
"Silence: by body, tongue, thoughts, imagination, feelings, being, consciousness, in the end silence by Silence. That is - I become Silence."
"Giving is life, accepting is death."
Frantisek Drtikol, taken from the book "Frantisek Drtikol, The Mystic and the Teacher" by Karel Funk, Fontana 2001
Thanx Janne
Monday, April 17, 2006
Edvard Munch - SCREAM
Didn't write anything for a long time, but this will be worth it. I ran into this newspaper article a week ago and I decided to translate it for you, because it is simply great. For the picture and the artist is great. And it is, believe it or not, somehow close to my present state about now..thinking about some very loud scream, that could break the dead-end situation I am..we are..by the way, did you like the film about running and screaming Lola? ;o)
Don't be scared that the article is too long, it is really worth to read it. It is written by PAVEL SAFR and it was published in MF DNES Prague's newspaper on 8th March. I allowed myself to translate it and share it with you.
One version of this painting you might have seen in Munch museum in Oslo, just if the armed robbers didn’t steal it in August 2004, namely in broad daylight. It was just like in a movie. One was holding the museum’s attendant with the gun at her head and the other one took the two paintings – Scream and Madonna. Then they jumped into a car and ran away. Everything took just one minute. Pictures were hanging not far from the museum’s exit door and were not secured. The value of the painting is 450 million norwegian crowns (about 70 million USD).
Version you are able to see now here is held in a National Gallery in Oslo. Together with few more is considered to be main one. As a whole, Edvard Munch made about fifty versions, though. He kept returning to the screaming person theme again and again. The reason is clearly to be found in his inner world, in his thinking about the world and as a reaction on a modern art development.
The art theorists are subsuming Munch to a symbolism. For us is more important, that he was a painter of human soul, of its suffering and crisis. He said himself: “The same as Leonardo was dissecting a human body and corpses, I’m trying to dissect a human soul.”
So there is no surprise, that the newspapers’ reactions on Munch’s first big exhibition in Berlin were derisive. The exhibition was closed, in the end, but Munch set it again by himself.
The posh dandelion in Berlin of William II was loving a romantic landscapes and uncomplicated scenes. Munch’s paintings, whose quick, inflammatory and dark colourness was corresponding with the author’s inner life, surely must have appeared much like a provocation. People in the rolling street crowd have staring eyes. The figures on the painting “Storm” almost tear their hair. Names of another paintings tell their story in themselves: “Sick Child”, “Anxiety”, “By the Death Bed”, “Separation”.
Edvard Munch was born into a family, which was coursed by an usual tragedy of those times. Tuberculosis. When he was five years old , his mother died, than his brother and at the end, even his sorrowful, but deeply believing father, who was working as a doctor of the soldiers and poor people. In addition, Munch had a liquorishness and his nervous crises led him repeatedly into sanatorium. In one of them he was even cured by the electro-shocks. It is said that after that his paintings lost some of his previous sensitive passion.
Neverending Scream
Munch’s output was also influenced by a complicated relation to women. The paintings “Madonna” and “Kiss” are pointing on some sort of fascination by women. Though, it was accompanied by frustrations. Hard times he’s been through mainly during his relationship to a rich businessman’s daughter, Tulla Larsen. Several times they split up and got together again. Tulla was longing for wedding, Munch not as much. In 1902 she attempted to commit suicide and when Munch tried to whip a gun out of her hand, a shot occured and the painter lost a part of his finger.
His perhaps the most famous picture, “Scream” he made in 1893 for the first time. It is said, that he was inspired by a mummy in a museum, which has an open mouth as it was in scream. But it’s not just an open mouth on the painting. It’s a picture of disaffected being closed in his own despair. And the picture of a landscape, that is ruled by a anonymous impersonal energy. The colours of the sky remind the sound waves, like the scream filled the surroundings and moved on. Loneliness is pointed out by two figures behind, that are leaving the scene showing no interest.
Munch himself said about the birth of a Scream: “I went in an alley with my two friends. The sun was setting behind the mountain beneath the city and the fiord – I felt strong impact of sadness – the sky suddenly turned into bloody red. I stopped, proped against the railing, been dead beat – friends just looked back after me and went on – I watched the burning clouds over the fiord. They were like blood and sword – red and blue fiord and the city – my friends were going on and I stood there still and shaking from fear – and felt as though neverending scream.”
Credits: Author>Pavel Safr, MF Dnes, Prague, 8.03.2006
Don't be scared that the article is too long, it is really worth to read it. It is written by PAVEL SAFR and it was published in MF DNES Prague's newspaper on 8th March. I allowed myself to translate it and share it with you.
One version of this painting you might have seen in Munch museum in Oslo, just if the armed robbers didn’t steal it in August 2004, namely in broad daylight. It was just like in a movie. One was holding the museum’s attendant with the gun at her head and the other one took the two paintings – Scream and Madonna. Then they jumped into a car and ran away. Everything took just one minute. Pictures were hanging not far from the museum’s exit door and were not secured. The value of the painting is 450 million norwegian crowns (about 70 million USD).
Version you are able to see now here is held in a National Gallery in Oslo. Together with few more is considered to be main one. As a whole, Edvard Munch made about fifty versions, though. He kept returning to the screaming person theme again and again. The reason is clearly to be found in his inner world, in his thinking about the world and as a reaction on a modern art development.
The art theorists are subsuming Munch to a symbolism. For us is more important, that he was a painter of human soul, of its suffering and crisis. He said himself: “The same as Leonardo was dissecting a human body and corpses, I’m trying to dissect a human soul.”
So there is no surprise, that the newspapers’ reactions on Munch’s first big exhibition in Berlin were derisive. The exhibition was closed, in the end, but Munch set it again by himself.
The posh dandelion in Berlin of William II was loving a romantic landscapes and uncomplicated scenes. Munch’s paintings, whose quick, inflammatory and dark colourness was corresponding with the author’s inner life, surely must have appeared much like a provocation. People in the rolling street crowd have staring eyes. The figures on the painting “Storm” almost tear their hair. Names of another paintings tell their story in themselves: “Sick Child”, “Anxiety”, “By the Death Bed”, “Separation”.
Edvard Munch was born into a family, which was coursed by an usual tragedy of those times. Tuberculosis. When he was five years old , his mother died, than his brother and at the end, even his sorrowful, but deeply believing father, who was working as a doctor of the soldiers and poor people. In addition, Munch had a liquorishness and his nervous crises led him repeatedly into sanatorium. In one of them he was even cured by the electro-shocks. It is said that after that his paintings lost some of his previous sensitive passion.
Neverending Scream
Munch’s output was also influenced by a complicated relation to women. The paintings “Madonna” and “Kiss” are pointing on some sort of fascination by women. Though, it was accompanied by frustrations. Hard times he’s been through mainly during his relationship to a rich businessman’s daughter, Tulla Larsen. Several times they split up and got together again. Tulla was longing for wedding, Munch not as much. In 1902 she attempted to commit suicide and when Munch tried to whip a gun out of her hand, a shot occured and the painter lost a part of his finger.
His perhaps the most famous picture, “Scream” he made in 1893 for the first time. It is said, that he was inspired by a mummy in a museum, which has an open mouth as it was in scream. But it’s not just an open mouth on the painting. It’s a picture of disaffected being closed in his own despair. And the picture of a landscape, that is ruled by a anonymous impersonal energy. The colours of the sky remind the sound waves, like the scream filled the surroundings and moved on. Loneliness is pointed out by two figures behind, that are leaving the scene showing no interest.
Munch himself said about the birth of a Scream: “I went in an alley with my two friends. The sun was setting behind the mountain beneath the city and the fiord – I felt strong impact of sadness – the sky suddenly turned into bloody red. I stopped, proped against the railing, been dead beat – friends just looked back after me and went on – I watched the burning clouds over the fiord. They were like blood and sword – red and blue fiord and the city – my friends were going on and I stood there still and shaking from fear – and felt as though neverending scream.”
Credits: Author>Pavel Safr, MF Dnes, Prague, 8.03.2006
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