#I AM. GOING TO EXPLODE. /NEU

[kelpermoosee]

Ohhhh babe you consumed that South Park episode so ethically, your media literacy is off the charts

[prettylittlelyres]

Inside the Writing Process - Part 4b

Bilingual Writing (Part 2):  Composition in German Zweisprächiges Schrieben (Teil 2): deustche Komposition

Violinen und Vwohltätigkeitsvereinläden - Kapitel Eins

Yes, yes, this is the worst and stupidest title I could possibly give to any book ever, and, no, no, that is not how you spell “Wohltätigkeitsvereinsladen”, but I’m determined to title all these books in the same way, so that’s the monstrosity attached to this one. Let me explain. I swear there’s a semi-decent reason.

It means “Violins and Charity Shops” (or “Vcharity Shops”, which is also not how you spell “charity shops”). Such fun. Why?

I’ve been working on the first ideas I’ve got for the dark academia novel based on the Violins and Violets series, inspired by the story of a Reading charity shop where 18th century manuscripts of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s compositions were found: read about it here, here and here!

The reports are quite contradictory, jumping between “a charity shop in Reading” and “a charity shop in Newbury”... they’re often referred to as “the same place”, but... they’re really not. Here’s a map.

Ja, ja, OK, ich weiß, das hier ist die schlechtste und doofste Titel ich könnte je jedem Roman geben, und, nein, nein, so schreibt man "Wohltätigkeitsvereinsladen" ja nicht, aber ich will alle diese Werken mit ähnlichen Titeln versehen, also trägt dieses Buch dieser Monstrosität. Lass mir das erklären, ich schwore, es gibt einem (halbwegs ordentliches) Grund dafür.

Es heißt "Violins and Charity Shops" (oder "Vcharity Shops", und was sich auch nicht so schreibt). Solches Spaß. Warum?

Ich arbeite auf die ersten Ideen, die ich für meinem "dark academia" (dunkle... Wissenschaft?) Roman habe, den von der Geschichte inspiriert wird, eines Wohltätigkeitsvereinsladen in Reading, wo man einige Mozart-Manus aus dem 18. Jahrhundert gefunden hat. Lies hier, hier und hier darüber!

Die Berichten verfangen sich in Widersprüchen; man kann sich nicht entscheiden, ob das Laden in Reading oder in Newbury war. Sie lesen sich oft so vor, als wären Reading und Newbury im gleiches Platz, aber... das sind die zwei Städte wirklich nicht. Hier, eine Landkarte.

Reading’s closer to Sandhurst (where I grew up) than it is to Newbury, and I wouldn’t at any point say “I grew up in Reading”. It’s where we went to buy fabric, and to do our Christmas shopping, because the shopping centre there was our nearest large one. I don’t know if I’d call Newbury part of Reading. The train ride between them is something like half an hour, so... while that’s not a really long way, it isn’t really close, either. Who knows?

Anyway, it’s not the only time Mozart’s been found in a charity shop, and as I love both Mozart and charity shops (all two things, I know, I know, such variety (sarc.)), I quite want to explore this idea in my stories. Obviously it’s not Mozart, here, it’s Hans Schmidt, but... ooh, I’m excited about it!

To quote this lovely blog (which has some very beautiful photos):

It’s slightly tatty, torn in places, held together with old peeling tape. It’s yellowed with age and there are pen marks in the margins. But it’s oh so beautiful and full of history, its obviously been well loved and well used before it was abandoned in the 50p box at the back of the charity shop. I wish it could tell it’s story….

Isn’t that just so intriguing? What am I meant to do with that? Not turn it into a book? Come on. I’m a musician and a sociolinguist. Old letters, old music manuscripts, these things are all rich in information about times long past. I want to write this book so much it hurts, so, without further ado, let’s introduce:

Inside the Writing Process - Part 4b

Bilingual Writing (Part 2):  Composition in German

Reading ist Sandhurst (wo ich groß geworden bin) viel näher als Newbury, und ich sägte nie, "Ich bin in Reading erwachst". Nach Reading sind wir gefahren, wann wir Bausubstanz oder Weihnachtsgeschenken kaufen wollten, weil es da einem großen Einkaufszentrum gab, und nichts näher, was so groß war. Ich weiß nicht, ob ich Newbury "Teil Readings" nennen würde. Mit dem Zug dazwischen zu fahren dauert eine halbe Stunde, also... obwohl das keinen langen Fahrt ist, sind die zwei sich nicht sehr nah. Wer weiß?

Das ist jedoch nicht der einzele Zeit gewesen, wo sich Mozart in einem Wohltätigkeitsvereinsladen gefunden hat. Da ich beide Mozart und Wohltätigkeitsvereinsläden liebe (ich weiß, ich weiß, alle zwei Sachen, die es gibt, solche Vielfalt ist wünderschön (Sarkasmus)) will ich durch meinen Geschichten dieses Idee erkunden. Klar wäre es keinen Mozart, sondern Hans Schmidt, Hans Schmidt, aber... hüüh, darüber bin ich so aufgeregt!

Ich zitiere jetzt dieses nettes Blog (was ganz schöne Bilder habe):

Leicht schmuddelig ist es, an einigen Stellen eingerissen, und es wird von altes, abplatzendes Klebestreifen zusammengehalten. Es vergilbt vor Alter, und es gibt in die Begrenzungen Schreibabdrücke. Es ist aber ganz schön, und volle Geschichte, und ist so klar gut geliebt und gut genutzt worden, bevor dem es in einem 50p-Kast hinter im Wohltätigkeitsvereinsladen verlassen wurde. Ich wünsche, es könnte seine Geschichte erzählen...

Ist das aber nicht faszienierend? Was sollte ich damit tun? Darüber keine Roman schreiben? Wirklich. Musiker bin ich, und Soziolinguist auch. Alte Briefen, alte Musikmanus, sind alle ganz informationsreich, besonders wenn es um frühere Zeitälter geht. Ich will dieses Buch so sehr schreiben, es tut mir weh, also, ohne weiter zu warten, lass uns das bekannt machen:

Inside the Writing Process - Part 4b

Zweisprächiges Schrieben (Teil 2): deustche Komposition

Im Wohltätigkeitsvereinsladen auf der Hauptstraße war es schrecklich heiß, die Luft ganz feucht und schwer. Es roch da nach Staub und Schweiß und, obwohl ich glücklich war, dass die Sommer lang endlich da war, wäre ich vielleicht auch glücklich gewesen, vierundzwanzig weitere Stunden zu warten, bevor dem der Thermometer zu platzen gewesen wäre.

Dann wäre am Sonntag die Sonne angekommen, und dann hätte ich nicht in der Arbeit gegangen sein müssen. Das Laden war Sonntags geschlossen. Samstag war ich tagelang da. Normalerweise wäre ich glücklich gewesen, meinen Tag da zu verbringen, alle die Kleidung zu waschen, die man zum Laden gebracht hatte, damit sie luftig und neu und frisch aussehen würden, aber an diesem sonnigen Tag war die polternde Klang der Waschmaschine die allerletzte Ton, die ich hören wollte.

It was dreadfully hot in the charity shop on the High Street, the air all damp and heavy. It smelled like dust and sweat, and, although I was glad that summer had arrived at long last, I might have been just as happy to wait twenty-four hours for the thermometer to start exploding.

Then the sun would have come out on Sunday, and then I wouldn’t have had to go to work. The shop was closed on Sundays. I was there all day on a Saturday. Normally I would’ve been happy to spend my day there, to wash all the clothes people brought in, so that they’d look airy and new and fresh, but, on this sunny day, the washing machine’s thumping was the last sound I wanted to hear.

Ich schreibe die erste Version dieses Romans auf Deutsch, und übersetze ihr danach ins Englische, fast genauso wie ich “Violinen und Violetten” geschrieben habe (hier diskutiert), weil ich Deutsch studiere, und gern auf Deutsch komponiere! Gerade lese ich (außer meinem Studium) “Die geheime Geschichte” von Donna Tartt, ins Deutsche übersetzt, und ich finde es ganz wünderschön und lustig.

Ich glaube, ich glaaaauuuube, ich werde dieses Roman schreiben, in Southampton statt zu finden, weil ich der Stadt ganz gut kenne, und weil es da so viele Wohltätigkeitsvereinsläden gibt, aber ich weiß nicht. Vielleicht werde ich das wiederholen, was ich mit “Sie hat keine Name” getan habe, und werde eine neue Stadt erfinden, damit ich alles machen kann, was ich will, ohne mich darum zukümmern, wie genau sich der Stadt gebaut hat. Weiß ich immer noch nicht.

Aber! Deutsch! Ins Englische! Vielleicht nochmal ins Deutsche, wenn ich eine gute Version fertig geschrieben habe. Man wird’s sehen. Es macht mir so viel Spaß, auf Deutsch zu schreiben.

I’m writing the first version of this novel in German, to be translated into English afterwards, almost exactly as I wrote “Violins and Violets” (discussed here), because I’m studying German, and like composing in German! I’m currently reading (outside my studies) “The Secret History” by Donna Tartt, in German translation, and it’s wonderful and funny.

I think, I thiiiiiiink, I’ll write this novel as taking place in Southampton, because I know the city very well, and because it has so many charity shops, but I don’t know. Maybe I’ll repeat what I did with “She Has No Name”, and invent a new city, so that I can do whatever I want, without worrying about how the city’s laid out. I still don’t know.

But! German! Into English! Maybe into German again, when I’ve finished writing a good version. We’ll see. It’s so much fun, writing in German.

[joneswilliam72]

Review: W.H. Lung play the nostalgia game without adding enough new life on Incidental Music

There is no doubt at all that the members of W.H. Lung have good musical taste. Their sound references the aural signatures of Neu!, Faust, Can, LCD Soundsystem, Future Islands, !!!, Liquid Liquid and many others. Unfortunately, if you are going to release a debut album that is so clearly indebted to the work of such musical luminaries then you need to pay homage whilst also progressing the ideas and well-worn templates. W.H. Lung fail to deliver a fresh take on the already established parameters and simply rehash what has gone before, possibly in the hope that their target audience will be unaware of the architects of the sounds that they are so deeply ensconced in and indebted to. Incidental Music, then, is a disappointingly safe album with regards the breadth of the musicality on offer as the listener is able to pre-empt the direction each song will take. Worse than that, though, is the whole other level of reaction reached on occasion when the lyrics are ludicrously simplistic and banal. More on that later.

The album begins well enough. The ten minutes long ‘Simpatico People’ is everything you would expect from a band with the range of influences that W.H. Lung have. Modular synths, reverbed guitar, swathes of keyboard washes and forceful tub-thumping combine effectively to create a tense intro before a more forceful rhythm is introduced with a chiming guitar motif that would have been welcomed in every indie disco up and down the land in 2005. There is a slight loss of focus when the vocals are brought into the mix as the voice seems too distant, too breathy and entirely unsure of its purpose. With such propulsive instrumentation the vocal lines seem almost redundant, and where the use of repetitive phrases should help build the track’s crescendo they merely serve to stifle the song in mediocrity. Less chk chk chk, more tut tut tut.

The album’s best tracks fuse the Berlin sounds of the early 1970s with post-punk, indie and prog influences. ‘Nothing Is’, the highlight of the album, is a song which takes its time before it explodes into life with a clattering rhythm and guitars which wander off in all sorts of direction – a refreshing change to some of the more methodical and overly precise musicianship on Incidental Music as a whole. Album closer ‘Overnight Phenomenon’ is another high point on the album as it feels unencumbered by the shadows of the bands that W.H. Lung regret being too young to have been in. There is a sense of earnest authenticity here which they would do well to delve into in future releases to establish their own sound which perhaps has a more pop sensibility than they feel comfortable with at this point in their career.

I had always thought that big brother Gallagher’s lyric “’Cause I’ve been standing at the station / In need of education in the rain” would always stand the test of time as the worst line in popular music ever, but W.H. Lung have managed to trump it with “Walking ‘round the cemetery feeling quite nice / Written on a tombstone is ‘Get a Life’” on fourth track ‘An Empty Room’. Salt is added to the wound when the lyrical refrain of ‘Can you feel it?’ like some 60s beatnik mantra leaves you staring blankly at the stereo at the lack of humanity in evidence as your only justified response is “Not really, mate”. Just when you settle for the words from ‘An Empty Room’ being the height of lyrical crassness, W.H. Lung pull out the pastiche ace up their sleeve in the form of “I’m late, I’m running for the last train (approaching) / Hoping that I’m insane” from the brilliantly titled ‘Second Death of my Face’. If you can manage to get through the album without wincing now and again at the lyrics then you are a much kinder, forgiving human than I am.

Overall, this is a decent enough album and for its many sins there is surely enough joy here to find a sizeable audience for the band. There is a pleasing directness of intention to the metronomic drumming and the arpeggiated keyboards that would be sufficient to keep a crowd dancing but look beyond the surface level and there is unfortunately plenty to make you cringe, too. There is a calculated, contrived aspect to some elements of this album which likely stems from W.H. Lung primarily being a studio project. There is a precision and a sense of cleanliness to the sound which is overtly wholesome and cold, the life of the guitar tones being subsumed by the machinery at the heart of the band’s sound. The songs very much feel as though they have been written via algorithms, a reflux rather than an organic process.

In their press blurb. W.H. Lung proudly declare that they want to erase the distinction between ‘high’ and ‘low’ culture, as if they are the first musicians to attempt an erosion of this type but acts such as Le Tigre, Stereolab and the late, great Scott Walker covered this ground many years before. Also, in a supposedly postmodern world where the destabilising of previous parameters has already taken place, perhaps the mission statement of the band needs to be reconsidered so as to more clearly focus on what they are good at – namely writing tunes that may get you up on your feet.

from The 405 http://bit.ly/2v4EAbb

[joneswilliam72]

Review: W.H. Lung play the nostalgia game without adding enough new life on Incidental Music

There is no doubt at all that the members of W.H. Lung have good musical taste. Their sound references the aural signatures of Neu!, Faust, Can, LCD Soundsystem, Future Islands, !!!, Liquid Liquid and many others. Unfortunately, if you are going to release a debut album that is so clearly indebted to the work of such musical luminaries then you need to pay homage whilst also progressing the ideas and well-worn templates. W.H. Lung fail to deliver a fresh take on the already established parameters and simply rehash what has gone before, possibly in the hope that their target audience will be unaware of the architects of the sounds that they are so deeply ensconced in and indebted to. Incidental Music, then, is a disappointingly safe album with regards the breadth of the musicality on offer as the listener is able to pre-empt the direction each song will take. Worse than that, though, is the whole other level of reaction reached on occasion when the lyrics are ludicrously simplistic and banal. More on that later.

The album begins well enough. The ten minutes long ‘Simpatico People’ is everything you would expect from a band with the range of influences that W.H. Lung have. Modular synths, reverbed guitar, swathes of keyboard washes and forceful tub-thumping combine effectively to create a tense intro before a more forceful rhythm is introduced with a chiming guitar motif that would have been welcomed in every indie disco up and down the land in 2005. There is a slight loss of focus when the vocals are brought into the mix as the voice seems too distant, too breathy and entirely unsure of its purpose. With such propulsive instrumentation the vocal lines seem almost redundant, and where the use of repetitive phrases should help build the track’s crescendo they merely serve to stifle the song in mediocrity. Less chk chk chk, more tut tut tut.

The album’s best tracks fuse the Berlin sounds of the early 1970s with post-punk, indie and prog influences. ‘Nothing Is’, the highlight of the album, is a song which takes its time before it explodes into life with a clattering rhythm and guitars which wander off in all sorts of direction – a refreshing change to some of the more methodical and overly precise musicianship on Incidental Music as a whole. Album closer ‘Overnight Phenomenon’ is another high point on the album as it feels unencumbered by the shadows of the bands that W.H. Lung regret being too young to have been in. There is a sense of earnest authenticity here which they would do well to delve into in future releases to establish their own sound which perhaps has a more pop sensibility than they feel comfortable with at this point in their career.

I had always thought that big brother Gallagher’s lyric “’Cause I’ve been standing at the station / In need of education in the rain” would always stand the test of time as the worst line in popular music ever, but W.H. Lung have managed to trump it with “Walking ‘round the cemetery feeling quite nice / Written on a tombstone is ‘Get a Life’” on fourth track ‘An Empty Room’. Salt is added to the wound when the lyrical refrain of ‘Can you feel it?’ like some 60s beatnik mantra leaves you staring blankly at the stereo at the lack of humanity in evidence as your only justified response is “Not really, mate”. Just when you settle for the words from ‘An Empty Room’ being the height of lyrical crassness, W.H. Lung pull out the pastiche ace up their sleeve in the form of “I’m late, I’m running for the last train (approaching) / Hoping that I’m insane” from the brilliantly titled ‘Second Death of my Face’. If you can manage to get through the album without wincing now and again at the lyrics then you are a much kinder, forgiving human than I am.

Overall, this is a decent enough album and for its many sins there is surely enough joy here to find a sizeable audience for the band. There is a pleasing directness of intention to the metronomic drumming and the arpeggiated keyboards that would be sufficient to keep a crowd dancing but look beyond the surface level and there is unfortunately plenty to make you cringe, too. There is a calculated, contrived aspect to some elements of this album which likely stems from W.H. Lung primarily being a studio project. There is a precision and a sense of cleanliness to the sound which is overtly wholesome and cold, the life of the guitar tones being subsumed by the machinery at the heart of the band’s sound. The songs very much feel as though they have been written via algorithms, a reflux rather than an organic process.

In their press blurb. W.H. Lung proudly declare that they want to erase the distinction between ‘high’ and ‘low’ culture, as if they are the first musicians to attempt an erosion of this type but acts such as Le Tigre, Stereolab and the late, great Scott Walker covered this ground many years before. Also, in a supposedly postmodern world where the destabilising of previous parameters has already taken place, perhaps the mission statement of the band needs to be reconsidered so as to more clearly focus on what they are good at – namely writing tunes that may get you up on your feet.

from The 405 http://bit.ly/2v4EAbb