Faut-il relâcher le requin-guitare ? – – Informations Réunion – LINFO.re

Faut-il relâcher le requin-guitare ?

Mariko died this Thursday at 9:20 am of lung cancer. She was at her home in Königsstraße in company with her brother, her parents who had flown in from Japan four weeks ago, and her husband Marco.

And here’s some of Jeremy’s earlier work:

What a giggle it was to perform at Schaubudensommer! We even got groovy laminated backstage passes.

Ron made an audio recording of the show, but only starting after the first two songs. It’s badly clipped, but the magic of home studio technology made it somewhat listenable. Here’s Wasting Away, a crowd pleaser for some reason.

Dude Dude Chick will be playing at Schaubudensommer on July 18th at 11:59 pm.

Next, we are playing on Thurday, August 12 at Zille.

It’s a pygmy jerboa, dum-dum.

Gesualdo composed beautiful madrigals. He is also the perpetual outsider.

I’ll leave that to you to find out why, but here’s one of his pieces. Note his use of chromaticism (you can read along, look for the accidentals). Keep in mind that chromatic scales were relatively new in his time. Nobody — and I mean no-frickin-body — was writing like this in his time. It didn’t catch on for another 400 years. Stravinsky took pilgrimages to Gesualdo’s castle, and even erected a statue to him.

(I’ll come back to continue my earlier post soon when I’ve finished my essay)

I first read Heinrich Heine, a German Romantic poet, in college and was immediately knocked over. This is my favorite from him:

Der Asra

Täglich ging die wunderschöne
Sultanstochter auf und nieder
Um die Abendzeit am Springbrunn,
Wo die weißen Wasser plätschern.

Täglich stand der junge Sklave
Um die Abendzeit am Springbrunn,
Wo die weißen Wasser plätschern;
Täglich ward er bleich und bleicher.

Eines Abends trat die Fürstin
Auf ihn zu mit raschen Worten:
“Deinen Namen will ich wissen,
Deine Heimat, deine Sippschaft!”

Und der Sklave sprach: “Ich heiße
Mohamet, ich bin aus Yemen,
Und mein Stamm sind jene Asra,
Welche sterben, wenn sie lieben.”

How bout that? Here’s a translation:

Every day so lovely, shining,
up and down, the Sultan’s daughter
walked at evening by the water,
where the white fountain splashes.

Every day the young slave stood
by the water, in the evening,
where the white fountain splashes,
each day growing pale and paler.

Then the princess came one evening,
quickly speaking to him, softly,
‘Your true name – I wish to know it,
your true homeland and your nation.’

And the slave said, ‘I am called
Mahomet, I am from Yemen,
and my tribe, it is the Asra,
who die, when they love.’

The exotic theme itself is typical of the era but also note the strength of the rhythm yet the easy, natural way the words form the phrases through his word choice. It’s as if the poet slowly opened his hand to let stones fall and form a beautiful structure. All of his poems have this remarkable quality.

Heine’s skill with meter, rhythm and phrasing make him much akin to songwriters like Chuck Berry. Yes, I said it: Heine was the Chuck Berry of his time. Or vice-versa.