I just discovered a beautiful poetry about Taliesin. Taliesin was a welsh bard whose work has survived in the book of Taliesin. In the old times they were most times singing their poems, not telling like nowdays. It must have been fascinating listing to a bard, when he was singing about all the legends and myths.
The magic of words are still to feel and get deep in your heart, if you are reading ancient poems. I admire those old poets very much and they are still a great inspiration for me.
Here are a few sentences from the Song of Taliesin:

I have been from the beginning.
I have seen
all manner of things.
My voice has been heard
unraised in song.
In the halls of kings,
in the palaces of princes,
in the houses of people,
in the groves of the Druid.

Can you feel the magic? Getting back in time? Just so wonderful.

(In my now semi-regular posting schedule, Saturday seems to be the day for prose. Essays so far, but here’s an excerpt from my novel-in-progress Sunshine Civil War that’s also intended to stand mostly on its own.)

Jon’s eyes flashed open, then closed again and began the snail’s-pace process of moving to full alertness — but in that first blink he saw what had awakened him.

A ball of almost-blindingly brilliant red light hung in the air above his head, blinking urgently and buzzing in a tone that he thought could wake all but the dead. As soon as his eyes were open enough for him to function, Jon waved a hand to silence the thing and pried himself up into a sitting position.

One mental poke at the ball of light confirmed that it was from home. Whatever the message was must be frightfully important, since sending a self-sustaining working across two universes as nearly prohibitively expensive in terms of Power consumption — even the true mages, with their infinite power supply, could only handle so much at a time.

His curiosity was answered when the ball of light dimmed to reveal the face of his father and expanded to nearly life size. “We need you here, Jon,” the aged Vayna said. “Herald tried to dissolve Parliament retroactively this morning after we impeached him and removed him from office. He declared martial law, so we were forced to do the same, but we’re in a state of tense calm here while everyone sorts out where their loyalties lie. When things break open we won’t survive without you. I think this is my last war, son; the Master will likely declare me to have accomplished my last task when peace returns. Hurry back; I’ll brief you more fully when you arrive.” And where messages won’t be so expensive, Jon reflected.

“Taliesin?” a voice called from the hallway. “My lord?”

“I’m up,” he called back. “I’ll be ready ‘ere you’ve finished this round.”

He dressed carefully, choosing clothes that would be innocuous here but that would also fit in perfectly in the rural area of the Sunshine Kingdom where he would likely emerge when he went home. Once his boots were tied, he opened the door of his room, threw open the drapes covering his window to let in the sunlight, and began a letter on the parchment he always kept on top of the dresser that functioned as a desk.

My dearest Blanchefleur, he wrote,

This may be my last letter to you. I have been summoned home, where a civil war has begun. I dare not give you details, but pray for me. Merlin tells me that I shall see you again someday, and that we may have what we must now put off, but I do not know whether I shall return here.

He paused, quill suspended in the air, when the servant came round again and spoke.

“You’re to break your fast with the court today, my lord.”

“I thank you,” Jon said, rising to his feet.

* * *

When he reached the Great Hall, his eyes swept over the floor, identifying each face. At last his gaze settled on Blanchefleur, seated at the Queen’s elbow. He longed to run to her, catch her up in his arms, and kiss her, but he knew the prophecy as well as she did, and so he did not tempt disaster by considering these actions for a moment.

As he stepped into the hall, his boots clicking on the stone tiles, Blanchefleur looked up from her conversation. When she saw him, he saw the same feelings flicker over her face, but once she had masked them she rose and walked gracefully toward him. He saw her arms bending, like his, as she defeated the impulse to form an embrace, and then he thought he saw her shape the word “darling” on her lips. When she reached him, they did not touch, eschewing even the customary kiss of greeting on the cheek, as they had since they first decided to heed Merlin’s word.

“Is this wise?” he asked.

“We had this argument before, Sir Royal,” she said. Her choice of epithet shocked him — he had told her his truename, of course, but she usually preferred the use-name “Taliesin.” The rest of her statement was a summary of the argument they had waged the first time she came from her convent to visit him. “I am not usually given to prophecy,” she continued, “but this morning I found a letter from Merlin on my dresser telling me that my vision last night was true Sight. Therefore I know that you must leave. Your home needs you in its civil war — so much so, in fact, that they have a working prepared to pull you and your possessions home. When you arrive, burn the unfinished letter to me from the dresser, then wash your face; you must not be reminiscing about me when you meet a certain someone.”

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

“You will understand. Remember: This is true love, even if you must love another — though I never shall.”

“What?” he said, beginning to sputter.

“Vaynar only marry for love, but you will soon have to marry, before I see you next. I understand, and I love you forever. I will make your excuses in the court when you leave.” She let that stand a moment, then went on in a rush. “Now. I am assured by Merlin’s direct word that this is safe.” With that, she leaped into his suddenly open arms and kissed him soundly, but gradually she, along with the rest of the world, faded away to be replaced by a familiar mountain meadow at
dawn.

(I’m also posting this to Google Docs and WEbook. Feedback of any kind, whether critique, praise, interrogative, reply, or suggestion (especially of what to post next), or anything else, is eagerly requested and greatly appreciated.)

Tom & Frank, Two All American Architects

Though separated by 100 years and having grown up in divergent places and milieus, Thomas Jefferson and Frank Lloyd Wright had much in common.  Both enjoyed the good life, paying to live that life with borrowed money.  Both abhorred the city and preached a connection to the land as the only means of salvation.  And both designed the most significant American architecture of the 18th & 19th centuries.  And the similarity between their architectural designs, especially their homes, is all the more remarkable given that Jefferson approached architecture through the lens of the Enlightenment while Wright approached architecture within a romantic view of the Industrial Age. 

Jefferson’s Monticello and Wright’s Taliesin rest gently on their respective hillsides, the former in western Virginia and the later in south central Wisconsin.  Both places complement and complete their sites.  It’s hard to appreciate and understand each hilltop without the structures that are there.  And both homes took their architects’ adult lifetimes to build and rebuild.  Both structures stretch out from a center to embrace and take in their sites.  Both architects stretched out their respective structures to accommodate “dependencies” to make places that are both centered and dispersed.

While there are many similarities between Jefferson’s Monticello and Wright’s Taliesin, there are also differences.  Monticello is cerebral and ordered.  It stretches its arms out from its domed center and these arms gather in and embrace nature.  Monticello talks to us about the “head” and “heart” that comprise our makeup.  Taliesin, on the other hand, tells us that we have somehow lost something.  Rather than its arms reaching out to bring nature into our bosom, Taliesin puts us in places (cantilevered balconies, bridges and terraces) from where we can only view nature.  We get to contemplate rather than being a part of nature.

So if Jefferson’ Monticello is the America of the 18th & 19th centuries and Wright’s Taliesin is the America of the 19th & 20th centuries, who and what speaks to the America of the 20th & 21st centuries?

Farewell, O beautiful sight! May all roads
Lead me at last to your beautiful shores
And here to Arthur’s hall. Farewell, O king!
Hold fast to your faith, though an age half pass
Before I see you next on that dear shore,
The misty coast of the Isle of Apples,
In your own queen’s sweet company. Farewell!
Farewell, O Guinevere, this last the time
That I shall call you by that name again –
Hasten the longed-for day that next we meet
On farther shores. Farewell! And last, with tears,
Dear Blanchefleur, I bid you go with God,
That I may see you smiling yet once more
When, nearer still than vassal to your liege,
That lady to whose green-garbed arm you cling,
You shall be when we three shall lighten next
Each other’s eyes, and others — Oh, I pray:
May that ill curse, but just in time revealed
And thus prevented and deflected by
Our love’s postponement, welcomed not, have been
Long expired by that blest day’s new dawn.
Farewell, O love — my tears — O queen, O king,
O shore, which I may never see again:
I go, unwillingly, to seek my fame
In my erstwhile home country’s flowering fields.

(This is the second poem I’ve posted from my series on the Matter of Britain. I’ve also posted it on Google Docs and WEbook. This poem was written very late in the series, probably in my second or third year of college. My character who is called Taliesin while in Camelot is called home unexpectedly because a civil war is breaking out, as described in the first chapter of my novel-in-progress Sunshine Civil War. In the story-world, either this poem was composed later to memorialize what he felt at that time, or he was permitted to go back for a little while later during a lull in the fighting. I’m not sure which yet; probably the former. Feedback of any kind, whether critique, praise, interrogative, reply, or suggestion (especially of what to post next), or anything else, is eagerly requested and greatly appreciated.)

How long ago is it that I, like Taliesin,
Having suddenly (it seems) first heard your voice,
Laid upon my bed one night, weeping out in vain:
“I will not fall in love with her!”
For in but one night’s space my heart
Had tasted free flight, gull-like, on a warm spring wind
Though it was dark December, and then
The dreary melancholy of the newly lovesick.

While in the intervening months, then years,
First normalcy, then absence, laid at last
The flame of blossoming love to sleep within my breast,
And my heart learned to live and even love again,
Although reduced by one small part that you still hold:
I learned to bear the anguish of each meeting
Even as time lessened it, endure the longing thrill
When I would hear your laughing voice raised high
And ringing through the air like bells, but
Soon grew used to, then forgot the thing
That had endeared you to me first,
The special power your music still has over me.

But then today again I heard you singing
And saw the Spirit’s fire reflected in your face,
And all my heart’s defenses fell again before you,
All its makeshift bandages were swept away,
Reopening the sores where glory via you had burned.
Your voice and visage, like heaven’s scent,
Have caught me up again within your power.

(I wrote this in the last days of January and the first days of February 2008. While I submitted it to Dialogue that very month, it’s still so moving to me even now that I’m not sure I really want to post it. But since I am posting it here, I’m also posting it on WEbook and Google Docs. Feedback of any kind, including criticism, compliments, questions, suggestions (especially for a real title or what to post next), or anything else, is eagerly requested and greatly appreciated.)

“the shakespeare schools festival (SSF) charity is the largest youth drama festival in the UK. since its inception in 2000, with 8 schools, it has put 75,000 young people on the stage, giving 11-18 year olds the chance to perform half hour Shakespeare plays in professional theatres.”

this year maesteg school took part in the special occasion at the taliesin arts centre, situated at swansea university and i was lucky enough to capture the magic on camera! on the 30th of september, maesteg teamed up with Glan Y Mor school for the workshop run by the national Youth Theatres of Great Britain. the students learned to work with one another, performing in professional surroundings where they engaged in creative activities to inspire and help them with their performances. after hours of hard work, the students left the taliesin, remaining full of life and enthusiasm.. to my amazement!

the 7th of october was the big day, where dress rehearsals and maximum concentration was key to their success leading up to the performance. drama teacher vicky jordan was cool as a cumber, believing in her students to do their best – it was a moving experience. seeing the students on such a high that they probably could of floated away was definitely a treasured memory! well done kids, you did maesteg school proud!

www.ssf.uk.com

“I played in the twilight,
I slept in purple;
I was truly in the enchantment
With Dylan, the son of the wave.
In the circumference, in the middle,
Between the knees of kings,
Scattering spears not keen,
From heaven when came,
To the great deep, floods…”
- Taliesin, Llyfr Taliesein: VIII. The Battle of the Trees,
Peniarth MS 2 (ca. 13th century CE)

La châtaigne est un fruit d’automne, issue d’un arbre mythique le châtaignier, le « timide châtaignier » du Câd Goddeu, « le Combat des Arbres » de Taliésin. Autrefois on l’appelait« arbre à pain » car son fruit, très attendu, nourrissait aussi bien les humains que les animaux. Il palliait même aux famines, dans les temps les plus difficiles et la durée d’une saison. En Poitou, le fromage de chèvre frais est enroulé et séché dans des feuilles de châtaignier.

Les racines noueuses qui soulèvent le sol font de cet arbre un symbole de force virile, et la châtaigne a longtemps passé pour aphrodisiaque.

En isolé, marquant la croisée de chemins ou ombrageant une pâture, en alignement, le long d’un chemin ou en limite de parcelle, en verger, en limite de la forêt, ils apparaissent souvent comme de véritables monuments naturels venus du fond des âges.

—————————————————————————————–

I don’t know how to be a trans poet without being a TRANS POET. Half the things I write about have nothing to do with the trans thing… But then sometimes I DO write about it. Sometimes very deliberately.

Valzhyna Mort says, quoting someone else (probably Carolyn Forche?), that poets are the secretaries of the invisible. Which might mean that I have a moral imperative to be the voice for my people, because we have need for voices. I will not ever be our King or our Milk or our X, but I might possibly be our Taliesin.

Last night a poem of mine got slammed (by one person, not universally) for having trans issues in it, which apparently added “too much weight” to the poem. Is it a real criticism, or is it a reaction to me going on and on and on about trans things? I’m not sure. With some people I would be absolutely certain, one way or the other, but this time…? I think I will have a clearer idea next week, when another poem with the same issue will come up (and not one of mine, either). Will it be deemed too weighty?

In my poetry class, meanwhile, we are going to talk about the poetry of Patricia Smith, who is exactly the kind of secretary, and witness, that Forche describes. Her book Blood Dazzler about the murder of New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina and the Bush Administration is maybe the most beautiful, most painful, most wrenching book I have ever read. It is, in Friends terminology, a “freezer book.”

I don’t know if I can write a “freezer book” of poems about the trans experience. But I am pretty sure I should try. I thought I was going to be the voice of the Bay — write my region — all that good stuff — but it seems that in fact I may have a different task. And I don’t know what to do.

(this is cross-posted from my poetry blog, faunboy.wordpress.com)

I don’t know how to be a trans poet without being a TRANS POET. Half the things I write about have nothing to do with the trans thing… But then sometimes I DO write about it. Sometimes very deliberately.

Valzhyna Mort says, quoting someone else (probably Carolyn Forche?), that poets are the secretaries of the invisible. Which might mean that I have a moral imperative to be the voice for my people, because we have need for voices. I will not ever be our King or our Milk or our X, but I might possibly be our Taliesin.

Last night a poem of mine got slammed (by one person, not universally) for having trans issues in it, which apparently added “too much weight” to the poem. Is it a real criticism, or is it a reaction to me going on and on and on about trans things? I’m not sure. With some people I would be absolutely certain, one way or the other, but this time…? I think I will have a clearer idea next week, when another poem with the same issue will come up (and not one of mine, either). Will it be deemed too weighty?

In my poetry class, meanwhile, we are going to talk about the poetry of Patricia Smith, who is exactly the kind of secretary, and witness, that Forche describes. Her book Blood Dazzler about the murder of New Orleans by Hurricane Katrina and the Bush Administration is maybe the most beautiful, most painful, most wrenching book I have ever read. It is, in Friends terminology, a “freezer book.”

I don’t know if I can write a “freezer book” of poems about the trans experience. But I am pretty sure I should try. I thought I was going to be the voice of the Bay — write my region — all that good stuff — but it seems that in fact I may have a different task. And I don’t know what to do.

As I see it, the Arthurian legends, or the Matter of Britain, or whatever you want to call it–the great tree of tales that stands at the center of so much European and American literature–has five major branches.

First are the stories of Arthur himself and of his knights.  These may be epitomized by the Sword: Arthur’s Excalibur, the miraculous sword given him by the Lady of the Lake, the symbol of his sovereignty and of the ideals of knighthood.  The musical Camelot summed it up nicely: “Not might makes right, but might for right.”  Knighthood is usually seen as a masculine ideal; that didn’t stop me from having a succession of toy swords as a girl, or from haunting the Arms and Armor room at the museum, scenically located in a dimly but strategically lit basement.  I didn’t want to be the fair maiden, the damsel in distress (“Sorry, neither,” as Uhura said to Sulu); I wanted to be the rescuing knight, the shining hero with the sword.

Second are the stories of the Holy Grail.  The Grail is such a complex symbol that I can’t even begin to do it justice.  It is part of Arthur’s mythos but also stands on its own.  It is pagan and Christian, Celtic and Saracen, a symbol of healing and salvation that proves the undoing of Arthur’s kingship.  If the Sword is the masculine symbol of Might for Right, the Grail is at minimum the feminine symbol of Giving through Taking, “a condition of complete simplicity, costing not less than everything.”

Third come the stories of Merlin.  Merlin is part of Arthur’s story, yet he has stories of his own which may be older.  The most common image of Merlin is as the wise old eccentric advising Arthur the young hero; he is the template for Gandalf, Dumbledore, old Ben Kenobi.  But his first appearance in literature is as the magical youth who uncovers the fighting dragons beneath a hill and opens himself up to prophecy and vision.  Geoffrey of Monmouth, who introduced Merlin and recorded his prophecies in his History of the Kings of Britain, later wrote a Life of Merlin in which his relationship to Arthur does not appear.  R.J. Stewart has worked with and written about the stories and images of Merlin as a European magical system, culminating in a Tarot deck based on Geoffrey of Monmouth’s accounts.

Fourth are the stories of Taliesin. Taliesin, Primary Chief Bard of Britain, is a figure even more distant from Arthur in origin than Merlin, yet he has become attached to the Arthurian mythos; he is Arthur’s bard as Merlin is Arthur’s druid. Taliesin is a complex figure, partly a historical person who lived and wrote in the Old North of Britain in the sixth century C.E., partly a mythical figure who is, like Orpheus, a prototypical or archetypal bard with spiritual and magical powers.  The earliest Druids of the Druid Revival, the fraternal/spiritual movement of the eighteenth century, seized upon his poetry (and that attributed to him) as the product of a lost spiritual system, and while they were most likely wrong, they gave Taliesin a far greater fame and immortality than his own writings gave his patron Urien Rheged.  To Revival Druids today, Taliesin remains the examplar of spiritual and magical initiation.

Fifth and last are the stories of Avalon.  While mentions of Avalon in Arthurian and earlier Welsh literature go back well before Sir Thomas Malory wrote, the prominence of Avalon in recent Arthurian fiction is owed to the success of Marion Zimmer Bradley’s answer to Malory, The Mists of Avalon, and its sequels and prequels (now being carried on by Diana L. Paxson).  Bradley undertook to retell Malory’s saga from the point of view of its (occasional) villainess, Arthur’s sister Morgan le Fey, and made Morgaine and the Ladies of the Lake priestesses of the old pagan religion of Britain.  (Unfortunately for Guinevere, she becomes the prime representative of Christianity in Arthur’s life, and a largely unsympathetic character.)  Bradley’s inspiration most likely came from clairvoyant and magical work done by Dion Fortune and associates at Glastonbury in the first half of the twentieth century. Fortune, a former member of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn who founded her own magical working group, pioneered the association of the mythical Avalon with the historical Glastonbury, the concept of Avalon and Britain as a depository for the ancient wisdom of Atlantis, and the vision of a fusion of  Celtic pagan and Christian mysteries in the Matter of Britain as the spiritual health of Britain and its gift to the world.

The power and importance of these stories is demonstrated by the fact that people keep retelling them, in novels, in short stories, in films, in television programs, and probably in other formats I’m not aware of.  I intend to blog about the retellings that have meant the most to me as I go on.

(This is the first poem I’ve posted here from my series of poems around the Matter of Britain. More explanation here.)

I could write on
A hundred and ten identical reasons
Why I love her — but I won’t.
All it would do is give you a chance
To label me a lovesick fool and
To lecture me on the arbitrariness of love.
Love is arbitrary, obeying no human mind,
Yet each that I have loved, even loved in truth,
Has been as different from each other
As the twilight is from the dawn.
Besides, it would be silly — and
One of the most compelling proofs of
The truth of my love is that
I can see the silliness of it all
Even as I do it. I may be lovesick, but
I am no fool; while it may be true that
My sight is tinged by love,
I am not blind, for I see what I love.

I could write on the seeming-perfection of
My beloved’s physical form — but I won’t.
All it would do is give you a chance to
Discover her name by trickery, and in any case
It is not the physical beauty that I love,
But rather the lady herself.
While I know beauty when I see it –
After all, have I not spoken with
The most beautiful woman in the world? –
She who was Helen of Sparta was no prize
Until she became virtuous and kind
As the daughter of Hyfedd Hen.
The beauty that does not fade, that
Comes from a fear of the Lord and
In many cases from meticulous virtue,
Can be more attractive than
Literally superlative beauty.

(Crossposted to Google Docs and WEbook. This poem was written either in my senior year of high school or during Spring Break of one of my first two years of college; from this my high school classmates could probably deduce whom I had in mind as the real “critic.” As always, comments, complaints, criticisms, compliments, or any other form of feedback is most welcome.)

Color canvas, lolo filter…FLW’s red square signature

UPDATE:Party was great until the storm practically blew the boat away (hand in hand with the bassboxes!). But for those who weren’t there to shake it, here we have blnd!’s set from da night , exactly 50 songs in not even two hours!

Ghetto Bazaar – Blnd! Set

The Ghetto Bazaar party in Budapest with Blnd!, Taliesin and Anima Sound System members is on next thursday, on A38 in Budapest and blnd! from Budapest just dropped a new mix. GhettoBazaar in a very global style! Furthermore Taliesin has been compiling new stuff as well and is making rumors with his Heavy Sick Mix.

Download: GhettoBazaar – blnd!

Playlist here

Download: Heavy Sick Mix – Taliesin

Playlist here

taliesin has completed a trifecta of sick mixes in the past month. i’ve basically linked to all of the mixes that i could get my hands on this year in our “mixes we’re feeling” blogroll because there is something about the heavy, dubbed out, crunktastic, hauntingly romantic mixes that take me to an expansive inward-looking place. he doesn’t seem as consumed with hot, new hits or showboating mixing as other mixtape djs. they just take you through moments like a sticky 5am subway ride in the summer, an impromptu drive through the south at midnight… ok it’s definitely night music!

the best news is that his batture mix is the first of a new mix series curated by blogbro, dave quam. soooooo looking forward to the forthcoming mixes/podcasts!!!

after an early summer music lull, i feel mucho invigorated!

andres, miss you! can’t wait to hear more news from india. the first few emails have been epic!

alexis

It’s been a busy few weeks with stops at many airports, transferring from one plane to another, then repeating the process a bit too much, although, yes I am grateful that promoters have the faith and requested some Ear Conditioning via dj sets and the Fun-da-mental live thang.  

Conveniently, with  all this coming and going, a couple fresh arrivals in the inbox and conventional mail-box.  It gives me a chane to get a breather.   Mixes from Dutty Artz bass loving conspirator Taliesin, who is currently in the midst of a European tour, and a mix from the DJ Rodrigo and folks at Indigenous Resistance, who are no strangers to Ear Conditioning listeners if you’ve been following the program for awhile.  Shout out to  Ghetto Bazaar blog in Hungary, who are spreading the joy of  bass an’ trouble, treble where they reside, here, in the internet kingdom.

• El Gunicho- Antillas
• Dev79 – Live n Die 4 tha Street Bass
• Schlachthofbronx – Too High Feat Slush Puppy Kids
• Octa Push – Kolokani
• Timberlee – Gunny Gunny (Schlachthofbronx RMX)
• The Brick Bandits- The Chase
• Movado – Inna Di Carback
• Movado – So Special (DJ Yonny Baltimore ClubRMX)
• Rod Lee – Let Me See What You Workin With (Rustie RMX)
• The Dream – Let me See The Booty
• Pirate Sound System – Rush Around
• Villa Diamante – Daleduro vs Lady Tigra
• Eymnd – It’s Hot Down Here
• Buraka Som Sistema – IC19 (NGUZUNGUZU RMX)

A musical journey through various musical styles and with the participation of indigenous performers from various parts of the world. You will hear people like Assatta Shakur,Micheal Franti, Augustus Pablo, Mikey Dread, Mad Mike, Underground Resistance ,Soy Sos, Christiane D,Tohununo, Saevo, Dr Das, Ramjac, Tapedave, Jimmy Dick, The Ghost, Freshmint and Benjamin Zephaniah among many others.  Check the above link for details on how to cop the whole mix tape via iTunes and other digital music outlets.

This week’s program, goes on via the following stations:

• Tuesday 20h30 (GMT) / Saturday 22h00 Radio Norte, 89.4 FM Tenerife  [Note:  The program goes out a week later at this station]
• Tuesday 22h00 (GMT) Sunhole Radio  (and repeated weekday mornings at 11h00)
• Thursday 23h00 (GMT) Planet Radio

MySpace. Mix <—hot link.

This 2009 mix has been getting posted on a lot of music blogs lately and for good reason. It is 38 minutes of heavy, neurotic dubshizz at a stony tempo. Plus, some recognizable flows dropped every here an thur.

Definately bumpy, heady music that is kind of hardcase chill music. I’m definately gonna check out dude’s other mixes now.

Content rating: 7.5/10

Style rating: 8.5/10

In the dim alley of CAF (Chicago Architecture Foundation) the instructors Alex and Krisann meet the five out of the six Newhouse Scholars: Tamanna, Brenda, Sharika, Salman and myself Aldair. The sixth Newhouse Scholar, Andrea was soon picked up after and thus began our adventure to Madison, Wisconsin and Frank Lloyd Wright’s School of Architecture in Spring Green. I was really anxious to get there and everyone was really quiet during the drive but we all seemed like nice, sane people. When we arrived in Madison we had a delicious lunch at Uno Chicago Style Pizza and had some amazing ice cream. At that point we started conversing and opening up to everyone. After our lunch, Alex explained to us how architecture styles and proportions affect the way people interact with their environment and surroundings and how color, light, size, and detail of buildings invoke feelings in people while being in a certain space. During his explanations he asked us our opinion of the space and what we feel while being in this space and the questions made us really think about why architects design things in certain ways and how it affects the way we react to it. When we finally arrived to Taliesin we got acquainted with our rooms which were decent and we also meet the dean and some of the students attending the school. After exploring the area around the school we took a 5 minute drive to Colver’s and ate some really juicy burgers. At 7:30 we returned back to the school and became the audience for Alex’s presentation he had prepared for us. His presentation really allowed me to see everything in a whole new perspective. He made me rethink about what is a space in terms of how space can be used and what it could possible become. I was really intrigued hearing his various examples on how people use a space for various activities where it is not meant to be. For example using the entrance way of a subway system as a soccer field or having a pillow fight in the middle of a busy intersection. One question that really made me think was, should people share a space or should each person have a space of their own and how does this affect society and city structure. Does a shared space accomplish more than a space that is private? To what extent should a space be private? All these questions made me rethink about how should structures be designed and in what ways can design solve these issues of private and shared space. When his lecture was finished we explored the area and drew thumbnail sketches and recorded sounds and feelings we had as we drew these small sketches while we walked. After a long day we sat and discussed what we drew and why and we were given the assignment of drawing a mental map using descriptive words and sketches for the next day. About twenty minutes into discussions Salman, Alex and I decided to head home through a dark scary path and get some rest for the next day. Before going to bed the ideas and concepts Alex explained to us ran through my head and one thing that Alex said stuck to me which was, “After college most architects do not know how to communicate design to their clients by using simple everyday vocabulary.”

Have been in contact with Fritz Catlin recently,  He be one of the founders of the legendary 23Skidoo.  

Legendary, a word that many say has been overused when applied to contemporary music.  I’ve checked, it’s definitely okay to use on this occasion.

Fritz sent two cd’s, one of his recent project with bassman Mike Joseph, called The Skintologists.  It’s pure straight-up dub.  The other cd, loaded with 147 tracks of all shapes, blends, and sizes.  The accompanying note read  ”How to devalue music?  Give enormous amounts away at once.”  Reefer tunes, classic dub, dancehaul (sic), hip hop, Indo-jazz fusion, Alice Coltrane, Mutabaruka, Roland Alphonso, phew!

For this week’s program, some of Fritz’ selection is intertwined with the following –  Taslit – Laârbi Ihini from the Manouâat Amazighia Vol.2 that I copped in Agadir a couple weeks back.  Also joining in, we have  ’lectro-synth bass frequency newness from the Hyderdub label, ‘Wind It Up’ from Mark Pritchard & Om’mas Keith;  Hackman, new on the scene from our friends at Studio Rockers, who will be releasing a three track EP from this 19 year-old producer.  

Cessa, of whom very little is known, except they produce music that embraces the goodness, roots and electronica. Listening to it now, the 4/4 beat reminds me of a tune by The Drum Club that I used to rinse.  That makes sense now, as music from 15-20 years past always seems to have a certain influence on a percentage of current producers.

Back to now, stepping up  is the sound recordist / mini-documentary maker,  the Sao Paolo based producer  Maga Bo.  His second album on Soot, Archipelagos is out now.  By the way, Maga is now booking dates for a European tour in November, and he’ll be doing his thing at Womex in Copenhagen, so any promoters reading this,  check him out, give him a shout if you need some of that Transnational Bass to warm up your cockles before winter sets in.

Anybody remember Culture Club’s ‘Murder Rap Trap‘? it’s on the b-side of ‘I’m Afraid of Me’ featuring Captain Crucial on the MIC. Love that tune yes, had to drop it last week at Txola.  When a guy asked me “What tune is this?” (in spanish of course) I produced the sleeve, and he thought I was taking the piss.  It happens every time.

This week’s program can be heard from tonight at 22h00 at Sunhole Radio, (then repeated weekday mornings at 11h00).

Thursday it’s the turn of Planet Radio, at 23h00, and next week Tuesday 20h30 at Radio Norte 89.4FM.  Radio Norte are a week behind when broadcasting the program, which means you can catch Taliesin vs. DJ Rodrigo tonight, if you missed it last week.

Thanks to all singers, players, listeners, readers, promoters, visitors, people dem in the crowd.