On December and his golden table

I was trying to make a small video for the song "December 10th". And my few ideas came on gray wings. Reading has gotten an ironic dimension among other: once I accomplished it with the imperfections of a beginner amateur and still under the recurrent shock of last year's December, I read Yalom's remark to one of his patients that Hypnos and Thanatos are twin brothers; something I had noticed while studying the crater depicting Sarpedon's funerary procession.

Again with Dionysus.

after a good day's work or a day's good work? how does it go?

Νάνι Μερθέντες

Mercedes Sosa- "La Negra" or "The Voice of the Voiceless"- has been an emblematic figure in many aspects.
She had set her firm foundation on the folk musical tradition of her country (Argentina) and became a voice of innovation. She stood by the youth, she supported new artists.
She was politically conscious and a fighter against oppression during the gloomy years of successive dictatorships. She got arrested in 1979 on stage along with people from the audience. Nueva Cancion represented a disturbance: most of genuine art becomes a disturbance.
She died last night in Buenos Aires.
I will miss her face behind her big glasses.
Here is a sample of her collaboration with Maria Farantouri, a lullaby by Manos Hadjidakis and Nikos Gatsos (a translated poem of F.G. Lorca). Her accent is great and the tone is superb.

Φωνή

Πίσω και ψηλότερα το Κάστρο. Πιο κάτω και δεξιά η Παναγία, με τον τουριστικό φωτισμό.
Εφαπτόμενο το Εθνικό Κολυμβητήριο, όπου πριν λίγο ολοκληρώθηκαν αγώνες και απονομές μεταλλίων σε παίδες κι εφήβους. Εγώ δε με φίλους που δεν αξιώνομαι να βλέπω συχνά.
Υπεράνω όλων, ζώντων και αιωνίων, όμως στέκονται η φωνή και η μουσική: Χτες το βράδυ, ως μέρος των εκδηλώσεων του 9ου Φεστιβάλ Παπαϊωάννου, ήταν η σειρά της Σαβίνας Γιαννάτου και των εξαίρετων μουσικών των Primavera En Salonico- Κώστας Βόμβολος (ακορντεόν, κανονάκι, kalimba), Γιάννης Αλεξανδρής (ταμπουρά, ούτι, κιθάρα), Μιχάλης Σιγανίδης (κοντραμπάσο), Κυριάκος Γκουβέντας (βιολί, βιόλα), Χάρης Λαμπράκης (νέι) και Κώστας Θεοδώρου (κρουστά). Καθώς τραγουδούσε η Σαβίνα Γιαννάτου κι έβλεπα πώς η μορφή της μπήκε σε μια άλλη ηλικία και πώς η φωνή ήταν η ίδια, ίσως δυνατότερη, τη θυμήθηκα την πρώτη φορά που την άκουσα από κοντά, το 1986, κι άλλες. Όπως εκείνο το βράδυ που είχε εμφανιστεί μετά τη Nina Simone και την ηλεκτρική σομπίτσα της μέσα στο πνίγος του καλοκαιριού στο λιμάνι της Θεσσαλονίκης. Τα τραγούδια τα ήξερα, τα Ισπανοεβραίικα, τα της Μεσογείου. Όμως μου έκανε εντύπωση πόσο όμορφα εξελίχθηκαν οι μουσικοί, τι ωραία που τζαμάριζαν σχεδόν στο ύφος της Τζαζ, όλοι.

Τα νάι και το κανονάκι ως τζαζ όργανα... Έξοχα. Μου άρεσε επίσης το κλείσιμο της Σαβίνας που ερχόταν ως εφτάζυμο αντίδωρο στη ρητορική του Δημάρχου και κάθε τοπικού παράγοντα. Ερμήνευσε ένα σλαβόφωνο τραγούδι από την περιοχή της Φλώρινας. Ελπίζω να μη βγάλουν σήμερα πρωτοσέλιδο το άστρο της Βεργίνας σε μαύρο φόντο.

Honoris causa

Honored with a trouble: As it tends to happen with/to inspired artists. Yesterday evening Daniel Barenboim, the famous music conductor, received at the conclusion of a concert in Ramallah his honorary passport offered by the Palestinian Authority, for his ceaseless efforts to produce hope in the West Bank, by means of his mixed arabo-jewish band. The project is known as "West-Eastern Divan Workshop",and these days it hosts 80 young and talented musicians. Barenboim, an Argentinian breed of jewish descent is not allowed to perform in Israel as the word goes: the reason might be that he once presented work of Richard Wagner, Hitler's favorite composer, but this is just nonsense for massive consumption, because it was a mixed Judo-Germanic public that made Wagner a big name during the late 19th early 20th century. And how could the father of a whole musical tradition be cast away? I guess it is his collaboration with Edward Said and his pro-palestinian credo that made him persona non grata in the halls of Israel.
I just hope that he will not try to cross the borders using his honorary passport or, perhaps, I hope he will try to do it, and that this experience will appear at some turn of his baguette during a concert. Somewhere await for us the images that embittered us.

I like how it is presented in his official website the concept of the mixed orchestra. Because, no matter what we say, both nations are capable of producing some of the best music and misconceptions.

In the early 1990s, a chance meeting between Mr. Barenboim and the late Palestinian-born writer and Columbia University professor Edward Said in a London hotel lobby led to an intensive friendship that has had both political and musical repercussions. These two men, who should have been poles apart politically, discovered in that first meeting, which lasted for hours, that they had similar visions of Israeli/Palestinian possible future cooperation. They decided to continue their dialogue and to collaborate on musical events to further their shared vision of peaceful co-existence in the Middle East. This led to Mr. Barenboim's first concert on the West Bank, a piano recital at the Palestinian Birzeit University in February 1999, and to a workshop for young musicians from the Middle East that took place in Weimar, Germany, in August 1999.

The West-Eastern Divan Workshop took two years to organize and involved talented young musicians between the ages of 14 and 25 from Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Tunisia and Israel. The idea was that they would come together to make music on neutral ground with the guidance of some of the world's best musicians. Weimar was chosen as the site for the workshop because of its rich cultural tradition of writers, poets, musicians and creative artists and because it was the 1999 European cultural capital. Mr. Barenboim wisely chose two concertmasters for the orchestra, an Israeli and a Lebanese. There were some tense moments among the young players at first but, coached by members of the Berlin Philharmonic, the Chicago Symphony and the Staatskapelle Berlin, and following master classes with the cellist Yo-Yo Ma and nightly cultural discussions with Mr. Said and Mr. Barenboim, the young musicians worked and played in increasing harmony. The West-Eastern Divan Workshop was held again in Weimar in the summer of 2000 and in Chicago in the summer of 2001. It has since found a permanent home in Seville, Spain, where it has been based since 2002. Each summer, following their workshop, the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra gives public concerts; to date they have performed in Europe and North and South America, including at the BBC Proms, the Edinburgh Festival and the Lucerne Festival. In 2004, they performed a historic concert in Ramallah, the Orchestra's first concert in an Arab country. In 2006, the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra performs in Madrid, Seville, Peralada, Santander, Cádiz, Brussels, Paris, Cologne, Cairo, Berlin, Weimar and Milan.

Edward Said passed away in 2003 but his partnership with Daniel Barenboim lives on through the West-Eastern Divan Workshop and Orchestra and through the Barenboim-Said Foundation, which promotes music and co-operation through projects targeted at young Arabs and Israelis. In January 2005, Daniel Barenboim delivered the first Edward Said Lecture at Columbia University in New York City.

And I believe that E.Said last night received the news with a smile behind his glasses, in the crystal realms of memory/forgetfulness.

Electrophone

Summertime in Prague
You do a simple action: you connect to www.radiofono.gr/live -because you suddenly missed the sound of your own language- and you choose Μελωδία fm among several options, but then it is the demon of the random melancholy who takes the steering wheel from your hands, with the decisive motion of a youthful apprentice. And it is the night, it is the hour, it is the specific four, four and a half minutes that Elli Paspala is singing, and it is the moment that your ears are open to comprehend the words, which on other occasions just come as blocks of cemented sensation. You set your adventure just for the sake of language, but the sentences come in english:

Summertime in Prague
When blood was warm, when blood was young
After all those tears
After all those years I long for...

Summertime in Prague
We were so rich without a dime
When I was your queen
And you were my king
Without a palace

We would sleep in cheap hotels
And wake up from the sound
Of bells on Sundays
We would only drink cheap wine
But I was yours and you were mine

Summertime in Prague
I was a fool I could not see
That you were meant to be
The only one for me
Now I long for...

We would sleep in cheap hotels
And wake up from the sound
Of bells on Sundays
We would only drink cheap wine
But I was yours and you were mine

Summertime in Prague
When blood was warm, when blood was young
After all those tears
After all those years I long for...
Summertime in Prague...

and there is a special breaking of the beautiful voice at that "I was yours and you weeeeeeere miii--ne". Then you are left behind, on the stopped carriage of the comments of the radio-producer: "in simple things, truth and deep emotion are to be found..." and then you do not listen anymore. You go back to the Summertime in Prague (last year) which was fine, but your steps take you even to other more meaningful "Pragues", with Maria and Leonidas on Skopelos, on the rock, with your long hair and the dozens of cigarettes. Walking for many kilometers, pausing under the tree (eating plums and drinking from the public fountain), Maria in a black blouse (how did she get this idea in mid July?) Leonidas in his honey coloured gaze. On the train, back to our Thessaloniki, I think we were tearful. For no specific reason. For all good reasons.

Light saving

Sometimes, many times, everything is about a morning impression. That treasure under your pillow; some treasures are gold, some treasures are sun-dried iris, some are the bitter salts of a poisonous portion. What have you reaped courageous peasant in your basket all night long? I cannot conclude, I cannot argue, I may only guess from the mood, this crystal which bears many fingerprints. I may only guess from the music you ask as a companion for your caffeine remedy.

AND NO MORE SHALL WE PART (Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds)
And no more shall we part
It will no longer be necessary
And no more will I say,
"dear heart"
I am alone and she has left me
And no more shall we part
The contracts are drawn up,
the ring is locked upon the finger
And never again will my letters start
"Sadly", or "in the depths of winter"

And no more shall we part
All the hatchets have been buried now
And all of birds will sing to your beautiful heart
Upon the bough

And no more shall we part
Your chain of command has been silenced now
And all of those birds would've sung to your beautiful heart
Anyhow Lord,
stay by me
Don't go down
I will never be free
If I'm not free now Lord,
stay by me
Don't go down
I never was free
What are you talking about?
For no more shall we part
And no more shall we part

Ποτέ ελεύθερος δεν υπήρξα
Τι κάθεσαι και λες;
Γιατί δεν θα χωριστούμε πια
Και πια δε θ'αποχωριζόμαστε.

Tonight they moved time one hour ahead. I had completely forgotten about it. Suddenly I was reminded and I went all around the flat pushing time one hour ahead. Many clocks, alarms, my three watches, my mobile. Wondering where this hour has been stored for me, in my life, in the lives of others. And if its refund in October, will be of the same face-value, or whether the Economy of Life will be distorted in inflation rates. It goes arbitrary this Central Institution of Standards.

Joyce Hatto as a Heroine

I have the ingredients, let me cook (originally from http://www.wowe.it/)

When I first read Denis Dutton's article on Joyce Hatto (IHT, Febr.26. 07) I thought this is it: The Granny is a heroine and a symbol for much of the cultural production of our era. I tried to make a link to the original article but it does not really work,(oh thanks Denis Dutton, he sent me the link :) That was kind) because they have a policy of 7 days only access. So let me summarize it: Born in 1928 to a music-loving London antique dealer, Joyce Hatto was a mediocre pianist throughtout her career. She had few moments of glory, but then, when in 1972 she was diagnosed with cancer, she retired with her recording engineer husband to a village not far from Cambridge. In 1989, she surprised the critics for the CDs she started releasing through the small record label run by her husband. Nobody would have expected so much passion and late talent from her. The phenomenon continued growing and the CDs became numerous, restless granny. Everybody was touched by the astonishing burst of musical energy that the old pianist was experiencing once her health got undermined by cancer. Articles and notes started appearing. Her last recording was supposedly done in 2006, from a wheelchair, few days before her death, at the age 77. Of course the last opus could not but be exceptional: it was "Les Adieux" (Farewell) of Beethoven.
She was said to set an example concerning the magical and slippery notion of talent and how it proceeds in an unexpected way. Middling-grade in her maturity, she became a superb pianist, with a message, in her late years. "Do not give up, talent may shower you with grace just two step before the tombstone". It is a positive message, for sure.

Now, for her bad luck (and her husband's) somebody noticed the similarity of her interpretation with the one of a Hungarian virtuoso (Lazlo Simon). And indeed when they checked it through the iTunes library, they found it identical. It was stolen then, and the recording engineer husband just modified it a bit. This way, from one check to the other, they found out that she had not recorded a tiny single piece, but everything was a "copy and paste" achievement. What was her trick? She chose not very well known to the West interpretations, delivered by semi-unknown but very talented musicians. Then she mixed them with recorded world famous orchestras, so that it would give the perfect result. Of course the critics got humiliated and reacted with exaggerated anger and disgust against the plagiarist couple.

Plagiarism (the action of copying some one's work and claiming it to be your own) is very well known in art, science and humanities. It is so common, that the artists and researchers spend considerable amount of time in proving that they did not steal from anybody (take a look at the ridiculously lengthy bibliography and annotation part of a PhD and you will know what I mean. Out of them all, the researcher was benefited from the 15%- maximum).

What are the foundations for this practice? The considerable ignorance of the general and specialized public. The urge to deliver, for practical reasons, while the person has no real interest at this stage to work with his/her heart/mind. The power of melodrama: "wow, look at her! she is terminally ill and God gives her immense power to accomplish her mission". But on the other hand, I do not believe that much of what we do is genuine, something of our own. Like the cows in the green fields, we ruminate, we ruminate, we ruminate.

Not the cherry blossom

A contradiction: the counterpoint, if I may use a musical term over culture. Always I look forward to the posters of our Japanese Section, announcing the annual poetry and speech competition (this time on March, the 3rd) for their delicate patterns. But...

Αυτά δεν είναι της κερασιάς τα άνθη που τα περιμένουν με ιερή αγωνία κάθε Άνοιξη οι Ιάπωνες.

Δεν είναι του Σκαμάνδρου τα νερά μετά από μια μέρα που έφερε πλούσια καρποφορία στον Κάτω Κόσμο.

Δεν είναι ούτε τα λουτρά εκείνων των στρατιωτών στα Όνειρα του Κουροσάβα, που περνούσαν λασπωμένοι, εν-δυο, εν-δυό, το τούνελ να φτάσουν στο αχώρητο πειθαρχικοί.

Ούτε η λεκάνη που ξέβαφε η Φρύνη τα μάγουλά της.

Είναι το αίμα των δελφινιών έξω από το Ταϊζί, με την έναρξη της θηρευτικής περιόδου, στο θαλασσινό νερό, στα ρηχά. Δεκαέξι χιλιάδες δελφινια σκοτώνονται κάθε χρόνο στην Ιαπωνία. Είναι κομμάτι της παραδοσιακής μας δίαιτας, λένε. Είναι εισόδημα για τους φτωχούς ψαράδες, λένε. Μα έπειτα λένε ότι τα δελφίνια δεν είναι εύκολο να σκοτωθούν γρήγορα κι αναίμακτα, όπως συμβαίνει με θηλαστικά της στεριάς. Οι ψαράδες διαβεβαιώνουν ότι κάνουν ό,τι μπορούν ώστε τα θύματα να υποφέρουν όσο το δυνατόν λιγότερο.

Παράξενο. Δεν είναι λίγοι όσοι υποστηρίζουν (με βάσιμες μετρήσεις και πειράματα) ότι τα κήτη έχουν νοημοσύνη παιδιών επτάχρονων. Πόσοι θα εξεγείρονταν και θα έτρεχαν σε τηλεοπτικούς μαραθώνιους για τα μακελευμένα παιδιά. Να χτιστούν μνημεία, να ιδρυθούν κληροδοτήματα, να δοθούν ονόματα σε δρόμους, να απασχοληθούν οι δικαστές στο Δικαστήριο της Χάγης. Ο ΟΗΕ ψηφίσματα. Ο αρχιεπίσκοπος δεκάρικους για τον ξεπεσμό της ανθρωπότητας και την απομάκρυνση από το ελληνοχριστιανικό δέον. Η ηθική που προχωράει μόνο με το καθρεφτάκι στο παχουλό χεράκι της "τι μου μοιάζει", "τι αξίζει", "τι υπάρχει", δηλαδή, πάλι, "τι μου μοιάζει".

In these bloody waters I was swimming, when we decided suddenly to go to the Turkish concert at the Royal Cultural Centre, featuring the Anatolian Sun Quartet plus a tenor, plus Fatih Erenler, playing nay. As always, community cultural events are funny, people forget themselves for a while, a forced displacement. But being an outsider, I enjoyed the music (I love the sound of nay so much, and two of the pieces reminded me of traditional music from Mytilene, the island of mom, and the series we were watching 30 years ago in black and white, on TV). It is bad finishing with/in a parenthesis.

Λέων γεγραμμένος

The Friday effect has been mild, lighter than expected, after all. The Amlak edition along with Al Waseet and Al Momtaz brought normality and the regular rhythm of breathing back to me- everything: food, suits, furniture, tanks, training benches, maids, apartments and tiles are precisely encoded in photos, so I felt the World turns round again and around its magnetic axis. Events were minimal and regular.

I wake up early; this is a shortcoming since ever, which made me a caffeine and nicotine addict. What is now needed for such a freak? Music. Today I was in the mood for Henry Purcell and, since I do not have Dido and Aeneas in compact disc, I found its cousin, King Arthur, a very weird semi opera, typical for british baroque and the atmospere of the Court. I find it amazing the construction of national identity by means of music. Arhtur, pious Britons, heathen Saxons, a blind princess, Merlin, mixing of the visible and invisible worlds (like in Shakespeare sometimes) and a story that would trouble even Spielberg. The music goes at some parts identical like in Dido, the cold song for example. One of the few things I kept listening to in Thessaloniki this time was the Cold Song with the unbelievable voice of Klaus Nomi. (Strange, both Henry and Klaus died relatively young, like wild anemones.) Then I was rushing to the bus stop and from there to the clinic. But, as the story deals with a national identity affirmation, it does not take me very high, and I think it is better this way, this very morning. Lots of paperwork.

And here are the good news I found in the Greek news: In 2008 the museum of Nikos Hadjikyriakos-Ghika will be ready. Six storeys: the galerry on the fourth, and they will display his correspondance with Seferis, Sikelianos, Elytis, Pentzikis, etc. oh Generous God! and his manuscripts. This is a good motivation to keep it up till 2008 :)). I do not recall exactly how many exhibitions of his I have attended. Some while he was still creating, and other, posthumous ones.

Three encounters influenced me deeply: two of his paintings I saw while I was 17, a big thematic exhibition at the Old Archaelogical Museum in Thessaloniki (a nice rococco mosque of the late ottoman years), in which I realized how good he was in scetching, and last summer on Hydra, a small one, like a revision, at his place of origins, in a house like his, with the landscapes he painted just appearing from the windows. It was like a revision in general for more than one thing: His art, his austere choices, my youth, my conclusions. Then we stood with Voula and Pelagia, by the canons watching the night and the dark waves in silence. Never trust lovers who give lectures from the podium of their pillow:)).