Flowers

Music Chronicles 7: Drip Drip & Fan

Jean-PascalLeave a comment

I wanted, at the beginning, to sound like English New Wave from the eighties, but I added some percs, and a piano, and I lost everything about this, so there.

I tried many ways to sing the words, then the “Watch it drip, wait for it”, and failed. This is why I whispered all of it.

Really, I like to destroy the usual structure of a song. This is why it doesn’t verse/chorus. This is why I changed the beat in 1’44”, mutation, towards a “walking thing”.

It’s again about “modulation in the 4th bar”, and I think the reason this song exists is in the two guitars in the end.

I used old picture of my mom’s garden in the rain.

Eventail means “fan”, it’s a very complex poem from Mallarmé, which is really funny to interpret. Again, the usual song structure is melted. I added some tunnels with rockets of sound, which lead to this synth sound I love.

I tripled my voice I had to sing very low. The end brings a sweet chaos.

Same garden, another year: rain, birds, insects.

Eventail

De frigides roses pour vivre
Toutes la même interrompront
Avec un blanc calice prompt
Votre souffle devenu givre

Mais que mon battement délivre
La touffe par un choc profond
Cette frigidité se fond
En du rire de fleurir ivre

A jeter le ciel en détail
Voilà comme bon éventail
Tu conviens mieux qu’une fiole

Nul n’enfermant à l’émeri
Sans qu’il y perde ou le viole
L’arôme émané de Méry.

Google translates:

Fan

Frigid roses to live

All the same will interrupt

With a white prompt chalice

Your breath turned to frost

But let my beat deliver

The tuft by a deep shock

This frigidity melts

In the laughter of blooming drunk

To throw the sky in detail

Here is a good fan

You are better suited than a vial

No one enclosing with emery

Without losing or violating it

The aroma emanating from Méry.

Someone tries this:

Fan
Belonging to Méry Laurent

Frigid roses to exist
all alike will interrupt
your frosted breath
with a quick white calyx
but should my fluttering liberate
the whole bunch with a profound shock
that frigidity will melt into the laughter
of a rapturous blossoming
see how like a good fan
you are better than a phial
at carving the sky into fragments
no flask could be stoppered
without losing or violating
the fragrance of Méry.

Soil Festivities (or taming)

Jean-PascalLeave a comment

That’s an old tale : watch inside a home, or even a bedroom, and you’ll guess a lot about the owner.

Then the contrary : hear the “judge” know-it-alling about it, and you’ll guess a lot about his mind…

  1. If it’s a mess, you too much easily could tell about a messy brain – maybe the owner’s mind is not completely orderly. Maybe he suffers, or maybe he’s a genius artist, maybe he’s silly. See? You can say everything thus nothing, in fact.
  2. If the bed’s done like a funeral one, and the pajamas are perfectly daily folded on “this” chair (and not another one), THEN you can tell…

Today with you, my reader, let’s gossip the same way about a garden.

When I think about a garden, I think about peace and silence, butterflies and dragonflies, about the grass I could walk on post commuting evenings. I think flowers, curiosity, trying to plant and take care about unknown species, watering, welcoming birds, combining these green/colored friends together for harmony, I think breathing little winds and smelling roses (and the earth, the soil).

Soil Festivities is the title of a great album of Vangelis.

Then I hear some people about their garden. All they talk about is invasion of spiders and nasty caterpillars, chaos to be contained, trimming everything around and cutting/pruning trees. Everything’s a enemy. They want order, taming, obedience, snapping scissors on short grass.

Tonight I realized they maybe want to repair, to fix, to contain nature, instead of repairing, fixing, containing events of their now life or past life, probably… right?

 

(Crummy psychology, I know. I’m sorry. I wish I had a garden to wander in. I’m jealous, that’s it!)

 

Today I took this picture. I offer it to you. Thank you for reading!

IMG_3977.jpg

 

Roses for a day

Jean-PascalLeave a comment

All roses are open to the elements. They bud, bloom and fade. The rose grows entirely unaware, changing naturally from one state to another, and although the elements may treat her cruelly, she knows nothing of it and continues to her end without judgment on her beauty. Alas, it is not the same for us. If such a rose could speak, she would say: “Yes, I am here, and gave service under nature’s eye. And after me my children will be. Is there any greater contribution or more graceful end? The protection that the gardener can afford this rose from the harsh elements of change is patience, care and a little warmth from the sun”.

A Little Chaos

 

IMG_2283IMG_1989IMG_2585IMG_3051IMG_2576

Your Garden is like your Spirit

Jean-PascalLeave a comment

This summer I watched and visited some gardens. I talked with owners. I tried to find my entrance : flowers, grass, trees & garden, maintenance, house & garden, proportions, harmony…

I came to this : a garden looks like the gardener’s spirit. It can be crazy, or multifaceted, or free, or clean, ordered, surprising, eccentric…

If your mind tends towards order, your life as a gardener becomes a fight, a struggle, a taming game.

Because your house is smooth and clean, but nature is growing, inventing, nature is funny, blossoming, changing. The garden lives, invites the sun, the trees, the leaves and the feathers, nature moves, casts shadows, and will always win…

So what? If I had a garden, I imagine I would consider my work as a dance with the forces I’m seeing. Offer flowers to the bees, shelters and water to the birds, some wild free places for the little ones like ladybugs and grasshoppers. Some pruning, but not to much. Tame it a little, the necessary only. Let it breathe in the wind…

In the end, rosebud throws up its little arms, right?

Thanks for reading!