Qué necesario es el peligro para hacernos mover de sitio. Si no sentimos un cuchillo presionando nuestra costilla, somos capaces de quedarnos quietos mirando un resplandor artificial para siempre. Que una canción nos provoque incomodarnos, revolvernos en nuestro asiento, levantarnos, sacudir los hombros, es ahora mismo un lujo. Protomartyr es la punta de un picahielos que te obliga a moverte nerviosamente mientras una corriente eléctrica te atraviesa la espalda. Cualquiera puede hacer bailar. Los beats baratos son la norma. Esto es diferente. Esto es un hombre apresurado de respiración incólume ordenándote que salgas de donde estás, porque si no, simplemente te mata. Y no te lo dice. Más que con los ojos. Es un sentimiento silente, como el remordimiento. Y vaya que mata. El lenguaje mata. Aquí hay dos minutos y medio de impotencia, miedo, belleza, violencia. Este es el espíritu de la humanidad en 2014. 

Protomartyr-Scum, rise!

3 weeks ago 5 notes #Protomartyr

People are living in things that have happened. The 60’s have happened, your parents have taken all the drugs they can take, you’ve had the 70’s, you had heavy metal —Get with it, it’s over with, wake up. 

Kids are living re-runs, the same crap over and over and their minds get closed tighter and tighter, it’s such a waste. The same political crap, the radio is dead. I think the whole thing is gonna fall down to this lower level, cause I know kids are getting into it, they don’t have anything else. What we have at these shows, and with these records —this is our battlefield. This is where we’ll be fighting about what we’re for. We don’t have access to all the things people in the 60’s had, we have to do it all ourselves, which means we have to get happening, we have to get with it.

Guy Picciotto. Flipside # 47 (1985). ‘Our band could be your life’, de Michael Azerrad.

Heard 115 Times

Escuché esta pieza de Philip Glass, interpretada por el Kronos Quartet, mientras volvía del doctor, a bordo de un auto. Me sumí en el dolor espasmódico provocado por los baches constantes de la ciudad que se vuelven tan presentes si uno tiene una rajada de trece centímetros en la región pélvica. Y entonces al minuto tres, cada espasmo cobró cierto sentido. Vivir es doler y gozar en el dolor. Estremecerse con lo poco que se tiene cuando se transita por el dolor. Juntar la poquita beldad que se puede percibir y abrir la herida, exponerla a la belleza doliente. Concluir, como concluye esta pieza, que después de la belleza cegadora el dolor también vuelve, misterioso, subrepticio. Siempre queda la huella de que en él se coló ese pedazo de cielo, gozoso, fértil. 

-Kronos Quartet performs Philip Glass - String Quartet No. 5 - 5

People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.
Jim Morrison (via atmosfare)

(Source: cosmic-rebirth, via koggi)

2 months ago 417 notes

Escribo desde la extraña calma de los minutos en tregua. El enemigo es mi cuerpo. Sentir el terror de la traición corporal te orilla a la humildad. Cualquier minuto de bienestar se convierte en un tesoro. Los momentos que suceden a la náusea, a la sangre revuelta por todo el cuerpo, al violento escalofrío, a la sábana empapada en sudor, a las manos entumidas y el corazón atrabancado. Me invade una sensación de pequeñez y me siento minúscula ante el embate de mi propia carne.

La tiranía de las hormonas es verdaderamente apabullante. Es uno el títere. Retomar el control es una labor tortuosa y compleja. Mantenerse ecuánime es más complicado que subir una montaña. Luego viene el llanto impostergable e incontrolable. Este parece ser el peor castigo. Jamás me ha gustado llorar en público. Y ahora lo debo asumir, esperando que quienes lo presencien no se angustien ni cuestionen. Imposible. El llanto impone y no permite la indiferencia necesaria para que el colapso ceda. Cualquier cosa conmueve, cualquier cosa rompe. 

Nunca antes me he sentido tan mujer. Nunca antes he respetado tanto a mis compañeras de género. No me explico cómo es que funcionan con la menopausia a cuestas. O con la quimioterapia. Nuestro cuerpo nos traiciona constantemente y somos capaces de funcionar a pesar de él, a través de él. Un torcido milagro. 

2 months ago 14 notes

There is nothing up my sleeve. I’ve ran out of bullshit. There’s no ulterior motive no more. 

El viento que debes sentir cuando un piano pasa rozándote a toda velocidad es el escalofrío de la vida pasando always next to you. Es la muerte passing by, and not hitting you. ‘Cause it’s not your time yet. But you get to feel her pass right next to you. 

I’m looking to the stars. I’m looking to the moon.
Over my shoulder a piano falls (why doesn’t it hit me) 
crashing to the ground. 

-R.E.M.-The Great Beyond

3 months ago 3 notes #R.E.M. #way beyond

Wait here, go there
Come in, stay out
Be yourself, be someone else
Obey the law, break the law

Be ambitious, be modest
Plan ahead, be spontaneous
Decide for yourself, listen to others
Save money, spend money

Be good, be evil
Be wise, be foolish
Be safe, be dangerous
Be satisfied, be envious

Be honest, be deceitful
Be faithful, be perfidious
Be sane, be mad
Be strong, be weak

Be enigmatic, be plain
Be aggressive, be peaceful
Be brave, be timid
Be humane, be cruel

Be critical, be appreciative
Be temperamental, calm
Be sad, be happy
Be normal, be unusual

Stop, go, live, die
Yes, no, rebel, submit
Right, wrong, sit down, stand up
Create, destroy, accept, reject

Talk, silence, speed up, slow down
This way, that way, right, left
Present, absent, open, closed
Entrance, exit, believe, doubt

Truth, lies, escape, meet
Love, hate, thank you, flunk
Clarify, pollute, simple, complex
Nothing, something, stop, go

Live, die, yes, no
Rebel, submit, right, wrong
Sit down, stand up, create, destroy
Accept, reject, talk, silence


La vida es esto. Lo descubrió Pete Shelley una madrugada de 1979.

-Buzzcocks. A different kind of tension.

4 months ago 8 notes #Buzzccocks #vida

Buscando algo me encontré sumida en el pantano de mi adolescencia y primeros años de adultez. En mi antiguo blog/diario. 

Es terrible.

Lo peor que he encontrado, aunque aseguro que no será lo peor contenido allí, es esto: 

"A veces me gustaría tener suerte de perro para el amor, sentir lo que es sufrir mucho por alguien, que te hagan pedacitos, nada más para curarte el corazón con canciones como esta que sabiamente dice es una tristeza tan linda”. 

Tenía 23 años. Cuidado con lo que deseas. Claro que se volvió realidad. Claro que entendí lo que era sufrir mucho por alguien. Me hacían falta tantas cosas. Vivir, por ejemplo. 

5 months ago 6 notes #Growing pains

image

A propósito de la alegre noticia del regreso de Kraftwerk a México, recupero algunos de mis extractos favoritos de Paul Morley (mi escritor consentido de música, casi un filósofo, un libre pensador como pocos) sobre el cuarteto alemán. En estos párrafos Morley atina a explicar con claridad la enorme importancia cultural y emocional de Kraftwerk, su aportación inigualable a la historia de la música y sobre todo, plantea por qué son uno de los grupos más cálidos y humanos del mundo, a pesar de ser The Man Machine. 

Kraftwerk are sad. Sad about some things. Sad about other things. It is the sadness of life, the sadness that life goes, in ways that are beyond reason, very much more nowhere than somewhere. It is the sadness of knowing that you must try hard to head somewhere knowing that really we are nowhere. The sadness of doing something knowing that it all comes to nothing. The sadness that the excitement of experience dissolves into an eternity beyond experience.

They click and crackle with sadness. There is a strict sadness in Kraftwerk’s music. This comes from the way their music was based around a poignant pointless longing for a new version of the past that would never be brutalised by the Nazis, for a past that looked forward to a utopian future and tried to make it happen, for a past that was a perfect mid-way point between a history that moved life and society forward and a future that accepted this history with smart, thoughtful grace. The sadness was also because Kraftwerk believed in this utopian future and they knew it could never come true - ruined by historical pressure, and political corruption, and the failure of dreams to come anywhere near true. Their music was an echo from an unsullied past and a shadow of a dreamlike future - an echo and a shadow placed so deliberately and so bravely between the melancholy drum rhythm of a present that disappeared instantly the drum was synthetically hit. Their music was lost in the spaces between the past, the present and the future, spaces that show us that we are adrift, we are not fixed, we are constantly rootless, never settled. We float through space. 

Kraftwerk attached this flotation and this space to a rhythm of such cracking fragility, a rhythm that steadily represented a muted longing for truth, for stability, for certainty. They used machinery to mark out space and time amidst awesome chaos, they used eerie, empathic electronic noises to mark out minute human territory amidst the monstrous drama of the universe. The electronic noises symbolized the chemical impulses that make us human. 

Kraftwerk are sad because we cannot remain innocent for long. Kraftwerk are sad, in the end, because their music, as active, composed, definite as it was, as it is, as complete as it seems, is lacking something. Something is missing. Something like, the answers to all the questions we ask ourselves about life, love, death and what is happening at this moment. Kraftwerk create a kind of perfection that hints, extravagantly, that there are answers to all the most difficult questions, and they might yet come because of the relationship between man and machine, but actually, we don’t know what they are, not quite, they are outside of our thinking, of our feeling, just beyond. The sadness in their music comes from the way that they reduce everything to a combination of heartbeat and absence, of meaning and the ghost of meaning, of belonging and not belonging. 

And then there was the way they used the human voice - voices that sounded like the recently departed heard on an answer machine, voices that reminded us how strange it was that we more and more hear each other across space, over phones, through screens, at an electronic distance. The new world looked truly fantastic, above our wildest dreams, but it sounded fantastic as well, human but ghostly, separated from our natural ways. They used voices that sounded somewhere between the way we talk and the way we think. 

If you cut Kraftwerk, they pretty serenely bled the words - music is careful attention paid to on going experience. 

The source of their pop, then, was not blues, soul, America, beat, sex, love, cliché - it was art, noise, technology, ideas. Their music was a completely new model, based on a fantasy of what pop music might have sounded like if it had not begun in the blues, in wood, in anger, in lust, in sexual frenzy, in poverty. What if it began in the avant-garde, in metal, in celebration, in abstract art, in universal awe, in modern comfort laced with psychological anxiety?  

Extracto de ‘Words and music’. Paul Morley, 2003.