Múm

I haven't done an electronica post in a while so why not drop some good old Múm on this seldom perused and somewhat delinquent (or senile or delusional) attic of the internet where I talk to myself. Múm has for five years been my favorite band which is to say my favorite project that is the unified work of several minds rather than one... for the solitary mind crafting music the going gets a lot rougher for the coveted 'favorite' status. I just dug up a video by Múm that I hadn't seen before. It's for their song "The Island of Children's Children" from the album Summer Make Good. If you haven't enjoyed Múm before, start at the beginning of their impressive discography and work your way through. Their first record was the staggering Finally We Are No One, released in 1999. It is fair to say that it changed my life. And no post about Múm would be complete without mentioning the beautiful fact that(white people pay attention, i know you'll love this) they are from Iceland, home of natural majesty, the world's sixth largest gnp per capita, and many of the greatest bands known to ethereal music.

Daniel Johnston

Daniel Johnston is prolific. There are a lot of Daniel Johnston albums I find no merit in but some of them have become my favorites. I especially recommend Songs of Shame and The What of Whom. This song comes from his 1981 tape, recorded in his bedroom, Songs of Shame. Daniel Johnston is a very interesting character. He is manic depressive, obsessed with the devil, and a song writing genius. There is no way I could summarize him in a blog post. Look into him if you find this music suits you as well as it suits myself. There is an excellent and somewhat recent documentary on him called The Devil and Daniel Johnston that may be easily procured from the library or any fine independent record store. This album, Songs of Shame, has no relation to the Woods album I mentioned in my a recent post although their having referenced Daniel Johnston in their album title is highly probable. I'm not sure.

WOODS

I'm getting a guitar because of this song. Definitely pick up this album, Songs of Shame, by the most marvelous Woods or Woods Family Creeps.

Gregory and Trisha Orr

What a marvel!

I was digging through a bookshop in Sackville and came across a book of poetry called Burning The Empty Nests. I cracked it open and the first poem I read went like this:

Making Beasts

When I was about ten

I glued together an old

white turtle skull,

a woodchuck's skull,

and a red squirrel's tail

to make my first

mythical beast.

What has been created

is never lost. It crawls

up through my thoughts now

on the feet I never gave it.

Needless to say, I bought this book. And the poems, each and every one, changes the way I read poems. Their perspective and approach are so bright. The book doesn't say anything about Gregory Orr, it's author, so I did some research. He is considered by many to be a master of short, lyric free verse. Much of his early work is concerned with seminal events from his childhood, including a hunting accident when he was twelve in which he accidentally shot and killed his younger brother, followed shortly by his mother's unexpected death, and his father's later addiction to amphetamines.He teaches at the University of Virginia, where he founded the MFA Program in Writing in 1975, and served from 1978 to 2003 as Poetry Editor of the Virginia Quarterly Review. He lives with his wife, the painter Trisha Orr, and their two daughters in Charlottesville, Virginia.

Naturally, this lead me to research Trisha Orr. As it turned out, she is a talent unto herself. Seeing as this blog is for poetry, music, and painting, this marriage of talents hits on two cylinders. Here are a few of Trisha Orr's paintings and a few more of Gregory Orr's poems from Burning The Empty Nests. He has nine other collections that I will eagerly hunt out for myself.

When We Are Lost

Darkness surrounds the dead tree. Gathering around it,

we set a torch to the trunk.

High in the branches sits an old man

made of wax. He wears a garland of wounds;

each one glows like a white leaf with its own light.

Flames rise toward him, and as they touch his feet

he explodes, scattering insects made of black glass.

A moth lands on the toe of my boot.

Picking it up, I discover a map on its wings.

The Wooden Dancer

She wears a necklace of light.

Each bead is a deserted room

you enter: bare light bulb, a white

glove on a table. You walk to the window

and stare out at the snowfields.

A flock of sparrows is eating your footprints.

A Stone's Poem of Pain

In the dark hollow between your lungs, an apple

is growing; a white apple the size of her breasts,

but no one can see it. Only you

feel it pressing out against your ribs,

but the pain is distant, hovers over you

like your mother's hand about to strike.

In A Jar

Dinosaur Jr. - In A Jar

off of their second album, You're Living All Over Me, released in 1987.



I'll be grazing by your window
Please come pat me on the head
I just want to find out what you're nice to me for
When I look up, don't think I don't know
about all the scabs you dread
It's hard to stomach the gore
I know you don't have the patience
To peel them off no more
In a jar where you believe
All I could do was lick your hand
In a jar the scars are plain to see
I hope somehow you'll know I understand
I'll be grazing by your window
Please come pat me on the head
I just want to find out what you're nice to me for
Then you smile and decide to take me in
'Cause I look you by your bed
But I can feel it just a little more
I'll watch you fall apart, babe you know it
You know I'm young and stuff, babe don't blow it
Just unscrew the top, yeah
Pick me up now just can't stop
In a jar where you believe
All I could do was lick your hand
In a jar where scars are plain to see
I hope somehow you'll know I understand
Scabs collect beneath your bureau
From the knife wounds you got

Andy Goldsworthy

Andy Goldsworthy has captured my heart. If the Earth was God's garment, Mr. Goldsworthy would be His fashionable assistant, His humble and serene fashionista.

important note: He only implements nature in his work:

Mighty Mos