Dominions by Sarah Davachi. Moto Perpetuo by Kilchhofer Anklin. Percussionist Michael Anklin meets modular synth wizard Kilchhofer for this fascinating record of atmospheric electroacoustic interplay. Explore music. David Walczyk. Camille A. Pascal Culot. Renaud Bajeux. Peter Warnier.inicinnis.ga/map2.php
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Ed Ecco Il Loco Larmes De Minos Abysse La Part Du Feu Oberland takes, as the starting point for his sophomore solo album, a vertiginous dive into George Bataille's 'Inner Experience' and the cave of Dante's 'Inferno'. The point of departure, the opening note, is the A, the lowest of the piano, from which we slide, almost imperceptibly, snapped up by a wave of sounds, rich in their instrumentation, sometimes rough electric guitars, console feedbacks, bursts of transformed drums and saxophone screams crackling in their dissonance and at other moments delicate hushed and scattered chords of piano, mellotron and distant synths in whispering voices.
- Labyrinth (film).
- Sonata in D Major, Op. 6.
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- The darkest parts of Labyrinth that nobody talks about;
In a continuous game of call and response between the intimate and the vast, 'Labyrinth' plays with the dynamics, the silence and the musical genres ambient, free-jazz, electronics, acousmatic , kneading and pulling the form and structure of the tracks in ever changing attempts towards transfiguring the chaos. Following its progress, I found that the bend continued for thirty feet before coming to a switchback.
Jim there took it upon himself to jump out of the truck and run for the fence. And so the shame of the fire gained purchase once again. You could live your whole life in the smallest town and never run out of an audience for a story like that. It was further comforting to trace the etched shapes, settling a fingernail in the arc of a scythe or the buttock, which on closer inspection could just as easily have been a winding river, so simply was it carved. As I turned another switch, it became apparent that I had lost some sense of direction. The corn walls rustled.
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On I walked, holding the trivet to my chest. I made a sincere promise to myself to start up again with my dumbbells in the garage. The sun had begun to set, and a cool breeze filtered through the leaves.
After another switch and twenty paces, the voices returned. The surprise I felt at this praise stopped me, and I held my breath to listen, but there was no sound until I started up walking again. I stopped again and waited longer this time, counting out the seconds until I reached a minute, then three minutes, five, hearing only silence as if they had all of them lost interest and left.
I took a step back in the direction I had come, but it felt as if I were pushing against a strong wind. The trivet was exerting a lateral pressure as if it were magnetized to the far horizon. Still I labored against it. The force nearly tipped me on my rear, causing me to experience a devastating vision of myself emerging from the labyrinth soaked down the back of my jeans, clocking in for another year of ridicule.
And so I turned and continued into the labyrinth, at which point the conversation began again.
Things about Labyrinth you only notice as an adult
It was a thrilling statement, but I knew better than to stop and try to hear more. The journey was providing an immediate reward, and though I was panting and making noise with my heavy footfalls, the conversation seemed to grow louder as I got closer to the center. The voices were the equivalent of a compass star in the dusking sky. Their voices buoyed me on, and I broke into a trot that carried me around the far side of the labyrinth, taking the turns without pause, drawn all the while by the trivet, which seemed towed on a wire.
The moon shone a straight beam into the clearing, which was about eight feet wide, with a depression in the dirt the size of a man. The trivet was straining toward the ditch. It took my whole strength to hold it back, and my strength was failing. But I had to keep it safe.
The Labyrinth Society: The Labyrinth Society: Learn about Labyrinths
Dale had given it to me with two hands, looking me in the eye. With the last of my power, I turned around, positioning myself between my burden and the hole. The trivet did its work from there, pushing me back and down, into the pit that seemed to have been dug to suit me, complete with a rise in the dirt for my neck and a uniform pile just below my feet. The trivet settled in the center of my sternum. It grew cold there and heavier than before, though I felt no desire to move from under its mass.
I saw now that it was a stone like any other. I found that once I stopped struggling and held very still, barely breathing against its mass, I could hear the crowd again. Eventually, I did try to stand, at which point I understood the trouble. They continued their talk, which grew even grander than before.
Someone brought out a guitar and began to improvise songs about my origin story. My lungs strained to fill against the weight of the stone.