Orang lain sibuk dengan raya haji, aku tak tido lagi. Baru lepas layan Naruto shippuuden episode 137; ni ler satu-satunya anime yang aku follow selepas Gundam OO series. Tapi aku bukan mau meraban pasal naruto ke atau anime ka. Aku cuma mau kongsi ngan lu orang rasa happy aku sebab aku dah jumpa dah download dah dengar dan dah pun upload Album Saturnine – Grey. Aku pernah dok meraban sikit-sikit pasal Saturnine ni sebelum ni… tapi tarak dapat buboh sebijik pun album saturnine dalam blog meraban ni; so sekarang aku dah jumpa dan aku mau kongsi sama lu orang lah; aapa guna aku upload kan, kalau tak buboh dalam blog ni.

Kepada yang kata Butterfingers start scene grunge di tanah melayu ni; aku berani kata lu orang salah sikit; sebab pada aku scene grunge di tanah melayu ni, di gerakkan oleh Saturnine sebelum menerima ledakan dari Butterfingers; seingat aku, sebaik saje Butterfinger mula meledak, Saturnine terus menyepi; ada lagi satu band yang seangkatan dengan Saturnine iaitu Lost souls; Lost souls juga menyepi ketika butterfingers mula naik; tapi dah tentulah godfather scene grunge di tanah melayu ni tetap milik Butterfingers tapi pada aku, the one who open the cookie jar adalah tetap Saturnine, walaupun saturnine lebih mirip kepada genre band Soul Asylum yang popular dengan lagu runaway train. And after that the whole grunge scene explode dan beberapa band grunge mula muncul yang ketika itu merupakan pasca era Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain.

Aku malas nak meraban panjang…

Saturnine – Grey

Half
Break The Silence
Only Hurts
Closing Act
No Way Out
Liquid Love (Acoustic)
Relief
Surrender
Dreams
Stake
The Red
Liquid Love (Original)

<<< Download >>>

Akhirnya selepas hampir 15 tahun, aku dapat layan semula lagu-lagu Saturnine seperti Half, Liquid Love, No Way Out dan lagu pilihan aku … Break The Silence.

Apa khabar Reza agaknya sekarang ni… miss you bro!

Oh yea sebelum aku terlupa ayat klise time-time raya macam ni… selamat hari menyambut aidil adha dan selamat menunaikan ibadah korban kepada semua pembaca blog meraban aku ni

salud!

What the art Press says:

“A picture paints a thousand words. This longstanding adage is epitomized by the eloquent photographs of avant-garde lenswoman Wawi Navarroza. Each of her beautifully composed pieces, her early black-and-white works in particular, seemingly divulge stanzas and verses to poems that talk liberally about the meaning of life and its alluring and sinister mysteries. It seems that each of them call to mind passages from a well-written book philosophizing and musing about darkness, isolation, shadows, the surreal, the rare, the tragic, the shocking, and the impossibly beautiful. Immortalized in archival paper, her anthology of pictures emerges like an appropriate visual paean of her heart and soul….

“But Navarroza has stepped rather boldly into the light. Eschewing her darkroom experiments, the artist is now exploring the fundamental appointed meaning of photography—documentation, as in picture-taking rather than picture-making….”

“…Before, Navarroza’s imagery comes forth from poetry and music, making them narratives and tableaus reflecting the mapping out of the ‘self.’ Now, Navarroza explains that she doesn’t “feel obliged with the weight of photography to tell a story, a report, and an expression. I’m more prone to deny the camera now. I’ve worked with the medium for many years and I’ve developed a relationship with it that I started to question what I’ve been doing and what I’ve been perpetuating with my works.”

“…Aesthetically speaking, her latest pieces are leaning towards the minimal and bare—qualities that people probably would have never thought possible to manifest in Navarroza’s opuses. Some, especially those who are so fond of the artist’s photographic metaphors, may altogether snub or reject this change but to Navarroza’s credit, the 180-degree turn just proved how she continuously defy notions, how she is still able to shock us and make us think—this time—with her colored pictures.”

“Navarroza’s artistic sensibilities and representations may have drastically changed but her fiery passion to see the world through a camera’s lens has remained. “But [as] always, there’s love,” Navarroza concludes. “How can it be possible for me to photograph something that I have not loved even at least for a fraction of a second? I thought of it, it must be love.””, Manila Bulletin

(excerpts/quoted from an interview feature in Manila Bulletin in September 2009 by writer Pam Brooke A. Casin)

(click on image to enlarge+details)

Links:
Wawi Navarroza at Silverlens Gallery
Wawi Navarroza: The Renegade Visual Poetess – Manila Bulletin

                             Va a pasar casi 10 años desde que escuché por primera vez esta canción, me resultó un poco insulsa, y lo mismo de siempre unos “góticos” con una chica que podría romper los vasos de la nocilla gritando, y acabé repudiando la canción, de tanto escucharla en el trabajo. Hace unos años retomé la canción, por fin la pude disfrutar, ya que la escuchaba cuando me apetecía y al final me acabo entrando fenomenalmente, tanto su melodía como la voz de Anneke que es realmente impresionante.

THE GATHERING

 
                             Mandylon (2005) fue el disco del cambio, el tercer disco de The Gathering la banda de los hermanos holandeses Hans y René Rutten. El primer disco donde cantaría la que será su cantante principal, Anneke Van Giersbergen. Tras 6 discos de estudio más otros cuantos entre rarezas, directos y una reedición de Mandylon abandonará el grupo, para dedicarse a sus planes profesionales y personales. En 2009, The Gathering confirmaron como sustituta de Anneke a Silje Wergeland con la que han editado su último álbum The West Pole. A lo largo de todos estos años, The Gathering ha conseguido dos cosas, una es la difícil explicación de su sonido, para ellos denominada trip-rock y la otra, la consagración de una voz como es la de Anneke.

LETRA THE GATHERING – SATURNINE

The day you went away you had to screw me over I guess you didn’t know
All the stuff you left me with is way too much to handle but I guess you don’t care

You don’t need to preach you don’t have to love me, all the time

Whatever on earth possessed you to make this bold decision
I guess you don’t need me while whispering those words I cried like a baby hoping you would care

You don’t need to preach you don’t have to love me, all the time
You don’t have to preach all the time

LETRA TRADUCIDA THE GATHERING – SATURNINE

El día que te fuiste tenías que joderme supongo que no lo sabías
Todo lo que me dejaste es demasiado para soportar, pero supongo que no te importa

No necesitas predicar no tienes que amarme, todo el tiempo

Lo que sea en la tierra que te poseyó para tomar esta valiente decisión
Supongo que no me necesitas mientras susurras esas palabras lloré como un bebé esperando que te importara
No necesitas predicar no tienes que amarme, todo el tiempo…
No necesitas predicar todo el tiempo

The first in a series of prime examples of planetary types from not only the greatest sci-fi tv show ever made, but probably one of the best dramas ever made: Battlestar Galactica. Starting off with the Saturnines: Helo/Karl Agathon and Number Six.

Helo as a character was pure Saturnine: tall, with high forehead, always pointed to the moral true north, did the right thing, honest, upright and a leader of men.

And obviously, actor Tahmo Penikett without the BSG uniform, still a prime Saturnine type:

Number Six, also a great Saturnine role, though thoroughly evil, which is rare for this type. Even as an evil alien despot, she is imposing, spiritual, and commander of the bigger picture of the fate of the galaxy.

Actress Tricia Helfer, one of the most gorgeous Saturnines around:

And ponder I did.  While most of the day was sunny, there were moments of overcast and gloom during the 12-hour drive as I headed out of town to attend a funeral.  And, due to a short turnaround, I’ll be back on the road for the return trip in about 24 hours. The benefit to such exhaustive behavior: I should sleep exceptionally well on Wednesday night.

1.Born under or being under the astrological influence of the planet Saturn.
2.Gloomy or sullen in disposition.
3.Having a sardonic or bitter aspect.

Ironically enough, I own and drive a Saturn (it is only my 3rd Saturn [Saturnthree?], not my Saturn-”nine”th [ha] ).  Hmm, perhaps irony has nothing to do with it at all.

Anna Gunn, prime example of the classic Saturnine type: tall, long bones, high cheekbones, commanding presence.

Io sono un appassionato di frutta. Non ne mangio mai perché sono pigro, si deve lavare, sbucciare, si macchia la tovaglia. Anzi no, più che di frutta sono un appassionato di ricordi di frutta. Quella che mangiavamo da bambini, soprattutto d’estate, a metà pomeriggio, magari fresca di frigo e succosa, profumata. Lo sapete, non è solo che invecchiando i ricordi di infanzia si arricchiscono di sensazioni che magari allora non c’erano proprio, lo sapete, la frutta di oggi non è la frutta di allora.

Quand’ero piccolo andavamo in vacanza al Villaggio Marzotto di Jesolo. In un’area che le suore raccontavano era “infestata di tartarughe e di vipere fino a pochi anni fa”. Lì mio padre faceva il pediatra per tutti i bambini ospiti della colonia estiva e noi, la famiglia, eravamo ospitati al seguito. La sera si dormiva in stanzoni poveri coi letti di ferro verniciati di verde pastello. Nel piccolo bagno un piccolo cartello dietro la porta ammoniva “Ogni cosa al suo posto, ogni posto per sua cosa”. Le suore imperavano, però la domenica ci portavano una pallina di gelato alla nocciola a fine pranzo. In spiaggia il megafono ogni tanto chiamava mio papà: “Il dottor Drago è desiderato in infermeria!”, lo ripeteva più volte finché mio padre si infilava i pantaloni sopra al boxer di lana nera gocciolante che era il suo costume da bagno e correva.
Di solito per punture di pesce ragno, nel piede di qualche sfortunato bambino. Piede gonfio, piede gigantemente gonfio, dolori fortissimi, raccontava mio padre (Wikipedia: “si dice che i pescatori che si pungevano in antichità venissero legati per evitare che si uccidessero buttandosi a mare“). Io, noi di famiglia, mai stati punti dal pesce ragno (Trachinus araneus, la tracìna).

La sera si andava a letto prestissimo, l’altoparlante suonava il coprifuoco, alle 21.30 tutti in camera, alle 20 tutto spento. L’afa era opprimente e l’acqua del rubinetto era imbevibile non so se perché “scarsamente potabile” o perché era troppo calda. Allora la mamma dava ad ognuno di noi cinque fratelli una pesca bianca. Una meravigliosa, succulenta, gocciolante, dolce, profumata, ENORME pesca bianca. Mi tramortiva, il primo psicofarmaco della mia vita, se ci penso.

Il Villaggio Marzotto esiste ancora anche se è molto cambiato, scopro in Google, ha anche un sito http://www.villaggiomarzotto.it/. Beh, bene.

Poi è successo quello che tutti noi conosciamo bene. Sono arrivate le pesche gialle (dall’America, dicono) “Che bella questa pesca. È giallissima!”, poi pesche senza pelo, le nettarine, ma all’inizio si chiamavano pesche-noci – i fruttivendoli, che giurano sempre sugli incroci più abominevoli, giuravano che fossero un incrocio tra le pesche e le noci, ma in città le noci non le mai viste nessuno col mallo allora il nome non funzionava, “nettarine” hanno decretato, “nettarine, si venderanno meglio”. E poi le nettarine sono diventate perfettamente sferiche o addirittura un po’ oblunghe, mai più come prima, monocromatiche e sovraccolorate, in pratica con la buccia completamente rossa. Le nettarine, e le pesche gialle in generale, si conservano molto più a lungo delle pesche bianche, così arrivano al supermercato ancora crude, dure come se fossero peri crudi. Dicono che la potatura delle piante sia molto più rapida, “non più basata sulla spuntatura, bensì sul diradamento dei rami misti, rendendo tale operazione più rapida e meno costosa rispetto agli impianti tradizionali”. La gente apprezza e se non apprezza si adegua a mangiare pesche insapori, senza succo, senza forma, aspre, dure, inodori. Quando marciscono non fanno la muffa, raggrinziscono in silenzio, si restringono diventando come gomma.

E allora da dove spuntano le platicarpe (“saturnine”, “tabacchiere”) che sto mangiando stasera? Perché delle pesche morbide, pelose, piatte, deformi, fragili e deteriorabili, bianche, dolci e profumate sul mercato padovano? La rivolta del consumatore?

Corre voce che siano frutto del diavolo: organismi geneticamente modificati. Qualcuno dice che si tratti di antiche varietà cinesi acclimatate sulle pendici dell’Etna. Propendo di più per questa seconda ipotesi.
Chi mi sa dire qualcosa? Gineve, ne sai qualcosa?

Desdemona: Ah, my love my love!  You are gone, and I am trapped in a world now empty of joyous things.  I should die from the lack of you were it not for my everlasting bond to life.

In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the George Washington Bridge.

For the past ___ years, I’ve been neglecting my guitars and amplifiers; for example, I stored my ‘blackface’ 1960s Fender Princeton Reverb at my friend John’s house, and everything else sat in the forgotten recesses of closets, which is not exactly the best thing for intonation (in the case of the guitars) and — for some reason in the case of the amps — reverb, which was shot on both. After the long, slow and oddly painful (via ‘learning to be an adult’) denoument of my old band Saturnine, I wasn’t sure that I would ever really want to play any of them again; they seemed to represent a feckless quality to my youth that had left me careening from one pursuit to the next, without ever really considering whether I had sufficient skill/talent/devotion to ‘make a living’ at any of them; at the same time, the idea of doing anything ‘as a hobby’ seemed ‘too mainstream,’ and so I ended up taking jobs that in most cases could not qualify as the foundation to any kind of traditional career, e.g., I sold lens-cleaning fluid, I watered plants, I worked at a record store, and — most humiliating — I ‘temped’ at law firms where my former classmates were a$$ociate$.

In retrospect, of course, all of this can be understood to represent a desire to fuck/buck/rebel against tradition without acknowledging the most obvious way in which I would never be traditional, i.e., the state of being gay/vext/non-heterosexual. This is also why when I see movies about wayward youths who have trouble ’settling down,’ I tend to project my own past and conclude that he/she must be gay/vext/non-heterosexual, although I’ve learned to be somewhat more delicate in phrasing this opinion (if I phrase it at all) via all sorts of disclaimers, after being told quite vehemently on numerous occasions that ‘not every1 is geigh, u know.’ (To which I always respond with a smile and a nod and an unstated mental rebuttal: ‘that’s what u think.’)

But since subsequently working in a corporate office for almost 1000 years (via the evaporating publishing biz) and experiencing the true weight of ‘fiscal responsibily’ (via lawsuits and Manhattan real estate); I not only became more resigned to the idea that I would never be ‘Steve Malkmus,’ it was a thought that seemed vaguely disturbing and repellent to me, not unlike the way I think of myself as having ‘tried to date girls.’ But as much as I once tended to disavow the past completely, it has more recently occurred to me — via iTunes — that it was not a complete lie; I still genuinely love/admire much of the music from that period of my life — even if it’s not ‘geigh’ like Britney/Madonna/Cher/Coldplay — and moreover there was still a certain satisfaction to be found in writing/recording songs — via Apple Macbook — even if I no longer have a band with which to take them ‘on tour’ and play them to a thousand ghosts in as many empty rooms.

So I took a few months and gathered my gear; I drove to John’s house ‘in Yonkers’ and picked up the Princeton, I threw out ten bags of garbage that had accumulated in the closets on top of the guitars. I plugged them in and like any neglected child, each one had issues — there was hissing/crackling/moaning/howling — and I gradually set about finding repair shops, which due to the ‘vintage’ status of this gear is never an easy (or at least obvious) task in New York City. In the past I had used some stoner in the East Village for my guitars and a toothless genius/punk rocker in Brooklyn for my amps, but nobody seemed to know what had happened to either one of these guys, though everyone agreed it was unlikely that either had endured the most recent decade, which may/may not go down as one of the worst of all time (via Dick Cheney/Alan Greenspan/the Donald/Tumblr).

But eventually for the guitars I found a guy who (miraculously) lives/works on the Upper West Side, so that wasn’t too difficult, while amp guy was in the middle of Queens, where the grid system breaks down and Google Maps will torture you by say, directing you to take an exit from the Grand Central Parkway that doesn’t exist. But luck was with me, and both were technical savants, which you can tell pretty much instantly from the decor of an apartment/workshop, i.e., are there amps/guitars/wires/soldering irons/blowtorches everywhere and no art on the walls, except for perhaps an autographed shot of Stevie Ray Vaughan? (In short, these guys are never geigh.)

Today I picked everyone up and was informed that — after some minor repair$ and adjustment$ — they were all in excellent shape.

This has been a post in which ‘repairing your vintage guitars and amplifiers’ is a metaphor for ‘coming to terms’ with your past. (These guitars/amps are part of me, now.)

I have some vacation days coming up, and can’t wait to spend a few hours playing, even if nobody ever hears them sing but me.

Alone

The smoke still burns
little wisps floating
through the air
fascinate each other
dancing vibrant streams
melting through time.

Cordially uncoordinated
avatar daze
hazes beyond cardinal
melancholic aftermath.

This Saturnine relation
of fiberglass integration
speaks arias searing
pure crystal clear
hopes and unrepugnant dreams.

In which The Gay Recluse records and tumbles.

Hey fans of the British Invasion (by which we mean the one with Spacemen 3 and My Bloody Valentine)! Why not tumble on over to the latest in Saturnine Death Culture at Sea — recorded by us like five seconds ago on this very laptop — where we pretend we’re tripping and high (i.e., like we used to be).

“The Same Day, The Same Feeling” (MP3) by Saturnine Death Culture at Sea

This is just the same feeling
You have seen the worst in people
I can see you
Somewhere laughing
Somewhere distant
Somewhere this won’t find a way to you

In which The Gay Recluse writes a song for Saturday morning.

Oh hai! So apparently WordPress.com (on which The Gay Recluse is hosted) doesn’t allow you to upload MP3s, but for those souls interested in hearing our first musical composition since like forever, why not tumble on over to our Tumblr blog and have a listen? If you need additional incentive, we’ll confess that the effect on the vocal track is called “Epic Diva.” Lol.

“Song for a Saturday Morning“

You are not with me
I wasted this worry
On places I’ve already been

If hope is your offer
I’m getting too weary
To have you haunt me again

In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the George Washington Bridge.

Summer was a waste.

“I, too am obsessed with the George Washington Bridge, and have been ever since as stoned youths me and my friends cavorted in the park on the New Jersey side that is directly below the place where the roadway meets the land. We were convinced that the Bridge is the largest thing in the world. For a true enthusiast such as yourself, I strongly recommend a stroll across the span, and then a picnic lunch along the walking paths underneath. Disclaimer: individual results may vary; inebriants are recommended to enhance the forcefulness of the desired optical effects.”

– The Blind Architect, 2008.

In which The Gay Recluse relives his past as an indie rocker. 

Hey everyone,  Saturnine is the WMBR “Breakfast of Champions” band of the week, which means you should tune into the legendary MIT station and rock out to some classic Saturnine!

For more info: http://wmbr.org/shows/boc/BotW.php

In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the George Washington Bridge.

Date of Photographs: April 13, 2008

The clouds over the bridge were riveting today.

It made us remember: once we were in Vermont, on tour with the band.

We were eating dinner at a restaurant overlooking Lake Champlain.

(The sixth great lake.)

There was a beautiful sunset.

Some of the guys at the next table were from Burlington.

They were meatheads.

They made fun of some dorky people from the city taking photographs of the sunset.

(They did look pretty stupid!)

We all laughed.

Even though in our heart we wanted to take a picture, too!

We didn’t want to seem gay. (Even though we totally were!)

It might be possible to get used to the sunsets in Burlington.

But we would rather die than lose faith in the bridge.

Because we see it every day.

I, too, have an obsession with the George Washington Bridge. However, mine involves a nagging compulsion to complete a football pass from the deck of the bridge to a buddy on the ground below.

–Ryan Pissed and Petty (March 31, 2008)