I’ve been very busy for the past weeks working on my Music, also working with a few other live projects. On the top of that my regular job also requested more time, so I haven’t had the chance to upload something new. In exchange, I am uploading something old . This is from 2002 (if I am not mislead by the files dates) when I joined efforts with Frenchman Lionel Gibaudan, working together on a set of transcriptions of Chris’ basslines, to which I added an mp3 audio file with bass only. This happened after an invitation from Chris’ former site webmaster. Eventually I was told that Chris himself suggested him to include the mp3 files along with the transcriptions online. I was really overwhelmed with that gesture of kindness from Chris. I am sure he must be an incredible person, beyond the little I know, and before the musician he is.

So, I am making a video out of the transcription really… no special effects this time But I will put the transcription soon available for you at miguelbass.com. The bass used was my Fiesta Red Fender Jazz – originally, Chris didn’t use the Rickenbacker, he played the song on his white MPC Electra which had the Flanger effect incorporated on the bass itself. I used my old Boss ME-6B multi-effect pedal-board. IIRC, the bass was plugged into the ME-6B, onto the Sansamp. The strings were Rotosounds and they were new – that was good cause the tone has got plenty of harmonics and it makes the Flanger shine as it should.

The transcription – Again, it’s impossible to transcribe everything – it never is enough to replace the actual hearing of the bassline, but I still think it’s the notation that works best for me. I understand a lot of you may prefer tablature. This is just me playing the bass and no original recording at all. I can try to upload the song mixed-in later, if you think it’s a good idea! I haven’t re-checked the notes all these years later, so maybe I would hear (and play) something else, so there you go… I tried to adapt the bass pedal notation using the notation for piano pedals. I know that this, formally, doesn’t exist. This with other “improvisations” doesn’t make this transcription absolutely compliant with the standard notation, so please bare with it

My friends, I hope you enjoy the material, that’s what I came up with for now. As I said, I’ve been busy somewhere else and you know how the title of the song says…

Tempus fugit

Después de unos cuantos meses de espera Tempus Fugit, libro bajo el que la editoria IndexBook agrupa los mejores calendarios presentados, ha salido a la calle.

En el recién estrenado blog de àreavisual podemos verlo. ¡Esperamos que lo disfruteis!

I seem to be overly preoccupied with this subject lately. This is one of my favorite pieces of writing.

If it looks goofy it’s because I scanned it into the computer and cropped it so you could read it clearly.

Becoming your own time 'lord'

Where did the year go?

If you’ve found yourself uttering this, you’ve recognised that time speeds up as you get older. The main reason is that as we age, each new year becomes  an ever diminishing proportion of our total time on the planet. Between the age of one and two that year represents living half of your life again. Whereas by the age of ten, another year means living a tenth of your life. And on it goes, the incredibly shrinking year. When you were a child and you were told ‘we’re going out in a hour’, you’d think ‘No! Do I have to wait a whole hour?’ Now if someone says you’ll be going out in an hour you’d complain ‘An hour? I’ll never be ready in time’.

So the question is, can we do anything about it? Can we slow time?

Slowing It Down, Spicy Style
In Making Time,  Steve Taylor sets out the psychological laws of time and how we can change our perception of time. One law follows the theme of ‘variety is the spice of life’ or ‘a change is as good as a rest’.  So to slow down time you need to seek out new experiences and new environments. Do you have any secret goes or ambitions that you forego for a few hours in front of the television? Just breaking up your routine can help. Have you ever noticed that the first time you go somewhere no, the journey seems longer than the next time? That’s because the second time you go your brain has mapped out the journey and it’s already started to become familiar and for some of the decision you react automatically. So mix things up a little. Take different routes on familiar journeys, try a new food every week, go shopping at different places, read a type of book or newspaper different to your normal choices, try out some classes and so on. Try some personal experiments doing different things to see if you can slow time. Also, write down some short-term, medium term and long term goals and act on them.

Speeding It Up (but being happier)
Another psychological law of time is something of a paradox. When we are absorbed in something we love doing then time seems to go more quickly. However to balance this, time spent in these states of total absorption is one definition of happiness. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (Chick-sent-me-high) calls this state of absorption being in ‘flow’. At the heart of his philosophy is also goal-setting. I remember a conversation with my granddad when I was about 14 years old. I asked him if he had any regrets. He had two: getting a tattoo and not planning for his retirement. I never understood the significance of ‘planning for retirement’ until I read Flow. We can set goals for just about anything, they are promises to ourselves – something to get out of bed, or off the couch  for.

The Alternative
Now there is an alternative ways to slow down time. Just sit there and do nothing just staring blankly into space. Paradoxically, each day will drag interminably but years will seem to fly by.

It’s Your Life So Take It Personally
As a teacher and a coach I subscribe to the philosophy  ‘It’s your life so take it personally‘. So don’t ‘kill time’ and don’t complain about having too much time on your hands or not enough time to do the things you like. Many of us waste time by choosing to do nothing else instead. You don’t have to look back over another year and ask ‘where the hell did the year go and what have I done with it?’ Okay, so you may not become a time ‘lord’ in the sense that you can travel across the universe but by using the psychological laws of time you can take charge of your destiny. So take a deep breath and get started. Time flies – seize the day.

Links:

Self-Help Videos

Time Flies. There’s only one way to make it stop. No, thanks.

Ok per me il basket era una cosa di famiglia, non ci voleva molto;  alcuni degli allenatori e dei commentatori di basket più famosi in Italia mi han tenuto sulle ginocchia da poppante, ed è per questo che non appena l’NBA è apparsa nei palinsesti italiani, ad orari improbabili e col commento dell’inimitabile “numero unoooo” Dan Peterson, io stavo lì con gli occhi sgranati a cercare di capire come potessero fare Julius Erving, Kareem Abdul Jabbar, Larry Bird e gli altri a fare dei numeri così tanto extraterrestri.

Senza far finta, io tenevo per Doctor J,  con tanto di maglietta di allenamento dei 76ers che oggi sarebbe un cimelio, usata fino alla consunzione.

Però quando la palla andava al 32 giallo gli occhi di tutti, anche i miei, si aprivano in contemporanea con la voce di Peterson, che esclamava: Maaaaaaagic!

Prima di Michael “Air” Jordan, prima di Pat Ewing, prima di Akeem… prima di tutti c’era Magic Johnson: così, Magic di nome, senza domande – il nome vero l’ho scoperto forse quindici anni dopo. Quando Magic annunciò al mondo di essere sieropositivo all’HIV, lasciando a bocca aperta mezzo pianeta, tra cui anche me ovviamente.

Gli anni son passati, la maglia gialla numero 32 sta nella galleria delle maglie ritirate dai Lakers, e io di Magic avevo un po’ perso di vista le vicende, fino ad oggi.

Oggi Magic Johnson compie 50 anni.

E’ ancora in salute, del resto può permettersi le migliore cure possibili, ed è anche impegnatissimo in campagne di prevenzione del contagio HIV e di informazione sull’AIDS, soprattutto tra gli afroamericani.

Tanti auguri Magic.  Di cuore.

Avrei un diario online, da riempire di foto e video fatti da me a cui dedicare ore e ore e ore, rifinire, ritagliare, cambiare i layout e le foto. Un tumblr, probabilmente – come questo, ma vuoi mettere? molto più vivo e pieno di cose e di contatti.

Avrei un ipod stracarico di musiche nuove e stravecchie, in ogni caso tendenzialmente molto incazzate, da sentire a volume alto in mezzo alla gente facendo lo slalom e risalendo la corrente al contrario senza farsi toccare – che dopo anni di esercizio sono diventato anche bravo, alla fine.

Avrei un twitter surriscaldato dalla quantità di messaggi in arrivo e partenza, foto e links anche solo per dire, io sono qui tu dove sei? come le oche di Lorenz.

Avrei pomeriggi sconfinati in bici, prati del parco su cui sdraiarsi a farsi accarezzare dal sole, in mancanza di meglio – una montagna di tempo da sprecare con soddisfazione, ore che durano giorni e giorni fino ad arrivare all’ora di cena. Questo non cambia, è il succo vero della faccenda, alla fine.

Me la giocherei diversamente – ma forse, eh – e vivrei meglio e di più, come è giusto, storie e storielle di ragazze invece di inseguire il grande amore che con gli occhi grandi ti fa grandi discorsi, mentre si scopa il suo coetaneo più grande e te lo viene pure a raccontare – però in lacrime, eh, perchè è sensibile.

Eppure anche se è stato doloroso e difficile, una fatica in salita – per chi non è così? Quindi non rimpiango niente, e poi lo sai, in ogni caso nessun rimorso.

I had a terrible realisation in the wee small hours.  We are in August.  Yes, I know this realisation dawned 5 days into the month, but how the merry hell did we end up in August?  I’ve still got mince pies and advocaat  in the cupboard from Christmas!  (I’m such a nostalgic fool, I buy a bottle every year – even though no fecker drinks it!)

I must be getting old, there is no other explanation for this apparent acceleration of time, is there?  I used to roll my eyes when sage and kindly old aunts would advise me  ‘make the most of your youth, my girl’ or wistfully inform me ‘time just gallops by once you pass 21′.  I used to think, what are you on about you mad old fool?  That’s the thing about time, it’s pretty constant, you could virtually set your watch by it… like durrr….

Yet I fear one day in the not too distant future I might inadvertently trot out those same those same well-worn phrases to a bunch of teenagers lolling about, minding their own business on the seafront, or dossing about at a bus stop.

Anyway, there was a reason why the dawning that we are in August gave me that horrid, poopy feeling in the middle of the night and that was the vague recollection that I have a French assignment due in.  I had no idea what the assignment was, what I should have studied in order to complete it or even which half of the month it was due in, but I knew it was August.  Arrghh.

I’ve been studying with the OU for a couple of years.  At the moment I’m counting my courses towards a BA (Hons) in Modern Language Studies, but this could change, oh yes, I’m prone to a bit of change!  I used to have the nickname ‘Mr Benn’ on account of my ever-changing ambitions, and quite frankly, I’ve still no idea what I want to be when I grow up!   The degree will take me about 10 years to complete, but that’s fine, I have no immediate use for it.  When the bambini have all flown the nest (no rush boys, you’re only eight!) I’d like to travel and possibly teach some English along the way.

So, really what I ought to be doing is condensing six weeks of study into the next week in order to pull a rabbit out of the hat and turn in a half decent assignment.  And yet, here I am blogging, checking emails, looking for fabric online,

tempus fugit

surfing Amazon, doodling about with a bit or writing…anything and everything bar studying.  Maybe when the clock is down to two or three days I’ll feel sufficiently challenged to knuckle down to it!

Uuuund Action!

Nachdem die bewegte Geschichte eines weißen Pferdchens eher melancholisch und nachdenklich daherkam und zum dokumentarischen Genre zählt, folgt nun eine im wahrsten Sinne des Wortes bewegte Geschichte aus dem Bereich der Fiktion.

Die kurze Erzählung steht unter dem Motto ‘Die Uhr läuft ab’ und sie spielt größtenteils in einem Fortbewegungsmittel, nach dem man der Sage nach sogar einmal selbige stellen konnte.

“Tempus fugit …” handelt von einem Menschen, der an einem schönen Sommernachmittag nichtsahnend mit diesem Transportvehikel den Weg zur Arbeit antritt, zu der er unter allen Umständen pünktlich erscheinen muss … Wird er es schaffen?

Wer es erfahren möchte, der kann sich jetzt gerne noch ein Getränk seiner Wahl holen und mir dann in die Schmökerecke folgen.

Bis gleich!

Hace unos meses, desde areavisual estudi, se enviaron los calendarios de autopromoción 2007 y 2008 para la selección del libro Tempus Fugit, de la editorial IndexBook.

Finalmente nos informaron que ambos calendarios serían incluidos en la publicación.

Y los días fueron pasando. Hasta hoy. El libro ya esta fuera del horno, y saldrá a la venta el próximo més de septiembre.

Nosotras todavía no hemos podido ver más que las páginas que lo promocionan, pero esperamos ver su contenido pronto.

Can y’all believe it’s November already?

The nasturtiums seem to realize that their time is short.  Certainly, their performances in just the last two weeks outshine everything they did for the entire months of July and August.  Either they like this cold weather — or they’re determined to make flowers while there’s still time.  Maybe a little of both.

As for me, if I were a flower, I’d be one of those already drawing inward, not expending every last bit of energy on new blossoms.  I suppose that’s because I’m a perennial species.

In fact, I’m — it’s a little embarassing, but no other way to describe it — nesting:  asking F. to hang a painting I’ve long wanted up but never made time for; cleaning the fridge; baking banana nut bread, pound cake, oatmeal cookies and a green tomato/apple pie all in one week; bringing out the extra blankets and giving the flannel sheets a good airing; starting a new crochet project that will eventually be big enough to drape over my lap and keep me warm while I’m working… you get the idea.

I don’t remember ever noticing myself doing this before.  Either I’m more self-aware — or living beneath the tree canopy, rather isolated from everything on this little one-way lane, gives Nature the opportunity to make a more dramatic impact on the psyche so that I’m more attuned to the rythms of the seasons.  Maybe a little of both.

I only had a little candy, but I’ve got that Halloween Haze that kids get every year after they gorge themselves on candy.  Their bodies retaliate at the excessive amounts of sugar and their minds go fuzzy and they mumble random things.  That’s how I feel right now, and though my body feels disgusting and abused, my mind is happy and only a little fuzzy.    Oh…I guess I always mumble random things, but tonight they’re particularly random. 

How time flies….it’s already practically November.  How can this be?  D:  And my sister is eleven…that in and of itself is odd. 

Tomorrow is Sunday.  For the first time in a while, I’m actually nervous to get up there and play because we’ve got this crazy-weird song with A# minor seven chords and D# chords and all this deceptive theory and key-change stuff that has me completely weirded out.  And I’m expected to play it solo-ish.  Mmm…we’ll see.  Between Ed and God I might be able to do it. 

Hmmm…I should go to bed before the battle between my mind and the sugar plays itself out in the guise of a blog post.  Oh – we got to turn our clocks back tonight, too, so we get an extra hour.  Time is a wonderful thing.

"Boo" in sign language - both a scary phrase or a commonly-used alternative for my name

Succede che da quando ho cambiato casa, riesco a svegliarmi.

Alzarsi non è più una impresa titanica che lascia strascichi di rincoglionimento per ore e ore; direi che mediamente, adesso ce la faccio. Tranne stamattina, naturalmente – ma è proprio per questo che ho potuto notare la differenza.

Sarà che la mia vita sociale è scomparsa, le mie performance notturne ridotte ai minimi (non pensate male, sto parlando dei dj set…) e si sa che invecchiando si dorme meno. Ah ecco, mi dovrei accorgere di stare invecchiando – e questo è un sintomo?

Non lo so, ma comunque è piacevole fare colazione chiacchierando, fare un paio di commissioni prima di andare a lavorare, leggersi qualche pagina di libro prima di scendere in garage e tirar fuori la macchina.

(ti rendi conto?)

Avevo libri di fiabe, e vari dischi di fiabe sonore: su 45giri (anzi, 7pollici, come direi adesso con l’esperienza del dj… ), erano quelle con la sigla A mille ce n’è… che è uno dei ricordi più lontani e preziosi, almeno per me.

Su un libro di fiabe illustrato, c’era la storia di Abdallah di terra e Abdallah di mare.

Troppo difficile da leggere, quel nome, per uno che a leggere sta imparando, una lettera alla volta: suona sbagliato, non assomiglia a nessuna parola conosciuta – e infatti anche chi l’ha scritto, oggi quel nome lo scriverebbe diversamente, con la u (Abdullah) che rende meglio il suono che fanno gli arabi quando lo pronunciano.
Ma il suono che fanno gli arabi quando lo pronunciano, in quel tempo lontano non è che l’avessero poi sentito in tanti.

Le illustrazioni me le ricordo: questo Abdallah di terra che era un povero pescatore, e Abdallah di mare che esaudiva i suoi desideri portandogli una dotazione di ogni ben di dio, tra cui mi ricordo di aver fotografato in modo indelebile, con i miei occhi di allora, anche delle perle lucenti.

Della fiaba non so dire più niente, già è strano che in quei tempi di Grimm e Perrault e Andersen, due omonimi arabi si siano infilati tra le pagine di un libro per bambini.

Però oggi so dire un sacco di cose sulla terra e sul mare, sugli arabi che lo attraversano, il mare, sperando disperatamente di raggiungere questa terra – e sulle ricchezze, sui ben di dio che qui ingrassano l’ego di gente che, voglio credere, quella fiaba da bambini non l’ha mai letta, e si vede. E so misurare la distanza in anni luce, da quella fiaba coi nomi strani, da quel disegno con le perle, fino a questo tempo povero, senza fiabe e con un nodo di cose che stanno per succedere e chissà quando scopriremo.

Però sto sulla rete, che è il regno del possibile, e quindi bastano tre parole su google per scoprire che quel libro di fiabe viene venduto, su ebay, e che la versione audio è anche lei in vedita, ma naturalmente e per fortuna anche in condivisione sui circuiti torrent… e che c’è chi l’ha ripresa, la fiaba, illustrandola di nuovo per farmela rileggere. E allora adesso ci vado.

Je crois que j’ai peur de glander.

Comme je le disais, ça fait trois mois que mon activité est réduite à néant. Toute l’année, j’ai passé mon temps à courir, entre la fac, mon logement, l’école d’un gosse que je devais récupérer, son cours de capoeira, son cours de hip-hop, son cours d’escrime.. une vraie mère de famille, quoi. A 9h du mat je me retrouvais à lire Direct Matin au Luxembourg parce que j’avais une heure à tuer avant que mes cours commencent mais que c’était trop juste pour rentrer chez moi. Probablement un des seuls moments où je soufflais dans la journée (avec mes 2h30 de trajets quotidiens mais ça c’est différent).

Le pire, je me rappelle, c’était le lundi. A peine sortie des cours, je me speedais pour finir à faire le poireau devant le très privé et laïque Collège Sévigné, en servant de bouc émissaires aux mamans en béret qui vantaient les mérites de leur progéniture en cartable en cuir. Puis j’avais honte d’être la seule qui récupérait un gosse mal habillé, sale (prendre un bain par semaine, ça l’aidait pas), grossier. On commençait les leçons dans le bus, pour que ça aille plus vite, sous les yeux écarquillés des autres mamans qui commençaient à douter de l’efficacité de leurs propres jeunes filles au pair.

Une demi-heure de métro et de goûter plus tard, j’attaquais les leçons de deux gamines de onze ans en parallèle de la lecture de l’autre mioche de CP, parfois en mangeant un bout puisque le lundi, j’avais pas le temps d’aller au RU le midi, et que les sandwiches de la cafèt, ils sont chers. Après que les gamines ont bien pleuré parce que je suis méchante de leur dire que leurs exercices sont faux et que le gosse a fait sa crise parce que “c’est à moi d’abord qu’on doit faire les leçons parce que moi d’abord c’est plus rapide que les filles”, j’avais pas vraiment le droit de prendre congé, alors je faisais semblant de préparer à manger pour la smala (en vérité, je regardais l’étalage de boîtes de converse et hésitant entre petits pois ou petits pois carottes), en gardant la télécommande de la TV bien au chaud sur moi pour éviter les fratricides. Quand je voyais la tête de Pujadas, je la regardais pendant quelques minutes avant de décider de fuir dans ma chambre, en croisant la mère de tous mes ennuis qui pensait très fort “elle a encore rien fait pour m’aider aujourd’hui”.

Mais cette année, tout ça, c’est fini (normalement).

La fac, la belle vie, les 15h de cours par semaine, tout ça. En fait non. J’ai trouvé le moyen d’avoir 29h/semaine. Et puis après tout, maintenant que je suis libérée de cet affreux job de bobonne et que mon temps de transport a réduit de moitié, j’ai encore du temps ! Alors pourquoi pas me rajouter 8h de boulot, toutes les deux semaines, c’est rien d’aller chercher une gamine à l’école, en plus c’est à 5mn de chez moi ! Voilà qui est fait. Mais aussi, ce monsieur qui m’envoie des e-mails pour que je donne des cours d’anglais à sa fille, c’est tentant.. Je prends aussi, ce n’est que 2h/semaine. Oh ! Et la fac propose des cours de sport pour 30€ l’année, moi qui voulais m’y remettre, c’est parfait, en plus les horaires me conviennent, un cours d’une heure et demi par semaine dans un trou de mon EDT.

Il manquerait plus que je tombe sur des tarifs avantageux pour des cours de photo argentique et je signe mon arrêt de mort pour l’année…