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leforbusier

A study in sound dislocation

By Marion Forbes

contrafact-forbes

Contrafact

finland-murray

Were the heights by great men reached and kept

not attained by sudden flight,

but by they while their companions slept,

toiling upward in the night?

Perhaps.But do not forget those few

explorers of Atemis’ twin, who,

on a summer’s flight, flew up up up

into the night.

— adaptations of a work by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Amerighi Neht

leforbusier

Thanks friend.

[from the reception] film credit_r. murray

#marion forbes #1010 gallery #contrafact

[testing, Casablanca.] images from the 1010 film credit_r. murray

#marion forbes #1010 gallery #casablanca #sound tests

[Thanks Richard, 1010.] film still credit_r. murray

#marion forbes #video still #contrafact-forbes

leforbusier

[testing 1…2…3]

image credit_m. forbes

audiovision

Acoustic listening devices developed for the Dutch army as part of air defense systems research between WWI and WWII.

via butdoesitfloat.com

inferno

The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space.

[Italo Calvino | Invisible Cities]

#Italo Calvino #Invisible Cities #inferno

music

When faced with musical conservatism at the beginning of the last century, the composer Edgar Varese responded by proposing to broaden the definition of music to include all organized sound. John Cage went further and included silence.

[Max Neuhaus | Sound Art: Beyond music, Between categories]

#Max Neuhaus #Sound art

rhythm

My heartbeat keeps a steady rhythm as melodies weave beneath layers of instrumental harmonies. These instruments woven loosely beneath structure and cadence break rank behind waves of free verse—laughter and conversation. A slow cadenza coming from a man in a dark jacket causes my attention to shift elsewhere. Sounds of a whispering piano enter my ears’ periphery. I didn’t want to speak with anyone, so I followed. My heartbeat continues to move my steps forward, toward the pressed keys of the piano. Red pedals bleed through the structure… [Debussy is bleeding over keys untouched for weeks, new hands that welcome the absence.] A five chord progression, in a 12 chord cadence sits along the East wall of the room. The second chord sits in anticipation, never resolving to the emptiness of the stall next to it. The third note of the chord slips, lowering into a minor key as my eyes begin to shift from left to right. My heartbeat slows as the keys roll to a halt.

tempo

progression, forward.

rhythm

finland-forbes

summer nights

My commute home is not a lavish as it once was. Bike rides surrounded by dark waters between rows of birch and silver pine wander off into dreams, providing scenery for melodic resemblances of what I have now convinced myself of as past. Only last summer was I fixed in the Nordic city of Helsinki; lost somewhere between ice and fantasy.

I cannot complain, however, of the sunny bike rides home through this musky town in which I have found myself presently. As May turns to June life begins to envelope the streets of downtown, entertainment in which my eyes welcome. Skirts walk in arm with Jeans in baseball caps; Straw Hats tend to walk alone or with Stilettos lost in years of wealth and worn leather. Conversations pass quickly as I avoid the pothole on the right side of the road. Mary-Is-Going-To-The-Beach passed an argumentative Well-You-Should-Have-Told-Me and How-Many-Times-Do-I-Have-To-Meet-Your-Mother; the voices’ crescendo, only lasting brief moments amidst the bustle of cars and garbage trucks.

It’s hot here, and the days only seem to get hotter. But what I love most about summer present is what I seemed to miss the most in Helsinki…night. I longed for the kind of night that darkened everything more than two feet away and the night where fire flies were just as bright as stars. These are the nights that take both hands off the handle bars, leaving me to coast though the empty streets of North Knoxville. These nights, even mosquitos seem to sleep away the heat and all I can hear are the blasting drones of summer bugs.

I spent last summer lost in memories, regaining glimpses of childhood; trying to remember who and why I am. But these nights, warm and whimsical, are where I lose grasp of the impending doom of adulthood.