LISM SURREA : Things

Things are not what they seem
when they are, whatever that means.

(This was written to promote Surrealism, Canned, my Fifth Floor Collective Carte Blanche showing on Tuesday, November 11th, 2014, 7pm at the Community Music Center in Boston, MA.  All information is available here.)

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ALISM SURRE : I’ve never

I’ve never felt quite this free leading up to a concert.

(This was written to promote Surrealism, Canned, my Fifth Floor Collective Carte Blanche showing on Tuesday, November 11th, 2014, 7pm at the Community Music Center in Boston, MA.  All information is available here.)

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EALISM CANNEDSURR : Kind of like Seinfeld

…Between me and my mother, after I recited to her Samuel Beckett’s Neither:
“There are a whole lot of contradictions in there.”
“The title of the poem is ‘Neither.’”
“What is it about then?”
“Nothing.”
[pause]
“…kind of like Seinfeld?”

(This was written to promote Surrealism, Canned, my Fifth Floor Collective Carte Blanche showing on Tuesday, November 11th, 2014, 7pm at the Community Music Center in Boston, MA.  All information is available here.)

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REALISM CANNEDSUR : Closest to a Manifesto

A manifesto says
nothing but one Breton
and who should care about
that one.
If not that, then
What?
What is this,
and what is this?

There is nothing above surreal, and there is also nothing below.  A word is a word, with a word, and one word more than if it was just simply a word.  Surrealism is a word, with a word, and one word more than if it was just simply a word.  Time changes words and the meanings of them.  There is no Graveyard for word, only Delivery Room.

This here, this here.  Tonight.  I am delivering to you words.  These words will change with time, and you will change with time.  Your words can not touch mine, and mine can not touch thine, but we do have thyme,

And that there
is beauty.

(This was written to promote Surrealism, Canned, my Fifth Floor Collective Carte Blanche showing on Tuesday, November 11th, 2014, 7pm at the Community Music Center in Boston, MA.  All information is available here.)

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Exactly ONE (1) Way to End Your Addiction to Viral Fads

#1) CONSOLIDATE YOUR MENTAL ENERGY.

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Sexiness in Feldman’s Three Voices, as expressed in the voice of a valley gurl.

So, like, how in the WORLD is this sexy?

Srsly guys.

There’s all this discourse (published and otherwise) around sensuality and seduction in Three Voices.  But, seriously guys, wut. And that’s who I’m talking to mainly, guys.  Is it sexy just because there are three voices? I don’t get it.

What is sexy about three female voices singing half steps for 20 minutes, then pronouncing in unison, “who’d have thought that snow falls.”

And those weird creepy little staccato notes from one of the voices in many of the patterns? Yea, def NOT sexy.

Seriously, is there a snow fetish here? Is there a synchronized-voice fetish? What is sexy about this?

The three voices permutate through patterns unpredictably yet consistently, in a super-and inhuman way.

Superhuman and inhuman qualities are NOT sexy, imo.

Maybe we should reconsider not only WHAT we consider sexy, but WHY.

Kthanksbi.*

~~~

*N.B.  I think that we have to not box ourselves into a certain way of thinking, when talking about such an important work for art, music, and beauty.  Sex isn’t everything.

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RREALISM, CANNEDSU : For Chopin

On 11/11, I am playing the Études opuses 10 and 25 complete, but only in very short excerpts. Instead of the entire étude, you will only hear one phrase, only one measure, and on occasion, a single note from each study.  The material is linked attacca into a single composition.

These études, of which I’ve practiced all, performed many, and taught a few, have inundated my subconscience – all that is needed is the first chord, the first gesture, the first note, to bring it all back again, years of my life, places I’ve lived, and the feelings I’ve felt along the way.

The potency of the 24 can overwhelm the Heart, if you have a good memory.

(I have a pretty good memory.)

Most of the excerpts are connected by pedal, and the resonance of the initial sound will accompany my memories of the sound that follows…

Following the 24, as an epilogue, I perform the entirety of one of the posthumous études, giving not living Chopin the resonant last word, but rather what we’ve constructed of him posthumously. In this sense, my performance of the 24 will reflect the unfulfilled messiness in the associative nature of working, living memory and imagination, while the epilogue represents the mirage-like completeness of death and our shared adoration for the post-mordem perspective of an oeuvre complète.

(This was written to promote Surrealism, Canned, my Fifth Floor Collective Carte Blanche showing on Tuesday, November 11th, 2014, 7pm at the Community Music Center in Boston, MA.  All information is available here.)

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so easy

so easy
Us versus Them
so hard
both Us versus Us
and verses versus verses
when that’s the final
test and the room closes
around you there
is not just a one way
but more.

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URREALISM CANNEDS : Being Unlucky

I can’t bring myself to go through with performing Lucky’s Monologue at this point in my life.  There is something so enticing, yet disturbing about the speech, and I am in a much too vulnerable, instable place to allow such a text to filter into my psyche.

I also do not like the idea of doing a monologue.  It can be that in the end, but I don’t like premeditating it as such.

Somewhere further down the road, I will perform it, I’m sure.  But, I think I must wait for a time when more stability is in my life, and I am able to welcome it as a source of balance, rather than a burden that may tip me off the deep end.

Here’s to controlling one’s mental health.

Instead, Beckett’s poem, Neither will be performed in its place.  Although the work will not be performed, the words and thoughts in Lucky’s monologue will ride with me as a ghost.

Neither, by Samuel Beckett:

to and fro in shadow from inner to outer shadow

from impenetrable self to impenetrable unself
by way of neither

as between two lit refuges whose doors once
neared gently close, once away turned from
gently part again

beckoned back and forth and turned away

heedless of the way, intent on the one gleam
or the other

unheard footfalls only sound

till at last halt for good, absent for good
from self and other

then no sound

then gently light unfading on that unheeded
neither

unspeakable home

(This was written to promote Surrealism, Canned, my Fifth Floor Collective Carte Blanche showing on Tuesday, November 11th, 2014, 7pm at the Community Music Center in Boston, MA.  All information is available here.)

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Lovers

Love
Is a word
With a word
And with a word
One word more than
If it was just simply love.

Isn’t she lovely?
Said Stevie
Or did he?

One more
Word for the
Lovers. And if there is
More to say than one word
There is more lovers than love.

Isn’t it simply?
Said Stacie
Or was it?

This is the last.
The last one for now
And more now than when
It was last seen and felt and herded
And grasped. Is it lovely?
Isn’t it lovely?
Isn’t it just simply
Lovely?

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