If There Is Much In The Window There Should Be More In The Room

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Bach Played on Giant Forest Xylophone

This video of a Rube Goldberg musical device in a forest that is spectacularly large will both astound and give you a sense of serenity and bliss as you watch and listen. The music kicks in at about 35 seconds into the clip.

Okay, so it is technically a commercial for a unique wooden cellphone case, but they only flash that element at the very end for a few secs. The beginning of the video shows some of the setup and process, but once you see the ball start rolling down this device and the music begins - WOW! The Feed would like to take a moment to honor the creators of this amazing video - we salute your genius!

This is an incredible ad for the Touch Wood SH-08C, a limited edition wooden phone byDOCOMO. Although it is not a great ad from a branding perspective, it is a pretty phenomenal achievement, not to mention visually stunning.
The ad was created by using an insane quantity of wooden pieces to build a long downhill track/Xylophone that was able to reproduce Bach’s Cantata 147, Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.

Concept by Invisible Designs Lab’s Kenjiro Matsuo.


Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Samuel Beckett - Malone Dies

Malone Dies is a novel by Samuel Beckett. It was first published in 1951, in French, as Malone Meurt, and later translated into English by the author.
The second novel in Beckett's "Trilogy" (beginning with Molloy and ending with The Unnamable), it can be described as the space between wholeness and disintegration, action and total inertia.
Along with the other two novels that compose the trilogy, it marked the beginning of Beckett's most significant writing, where the questions of language and the fundamentals of constructing a non-traditional narrative became a central idea in his work. One does not get a sense of plot, character development, or even setting in this novel, as with most of his subsequent writing (e.g., Texts for Nothing, Fizzles, and How It Is). Malone Dies can be seen as the point in which Beckett took another direction with his writing, where the bareness of consciousness played a huge part in all his subsequent writings.
Malone Dies contains the famous line, "Nothing is more real than nothing",

Samuel Beckett - Malone Dies - Extract - Read by Sean Barrett
Malone Dies
by Samuel Beckett (1906-1989)

I shall soon be quite dead at last in spite of all. Perhaps next month. Then it will be the month of April or of May. For the year is still young, a thousand little signs tell me so. Perhaps I am wrong, perhaps I shall survive Saint John the Baptist's Day and even the Fourteenth of July, festival of freedom. Indeed I would not put it past me to pant on to the Transfiguration, not to speak of the Assumption. But I do not think so, I do not think I am wrong in saying that these rejoicings will take place in my absence, this year. I have that feeling, I have had it now for some days, and I credit it. But in what does it differ from those that have abused me ever since I was born? No, that is the kind of bait I do not rise to any more, my need for prettiness is gone. I could die today, if I wished, merely by making a little effort, if I could wish, if I could make an effort. But it is just as well to let myself die, quietly, without rushing things. Something must have changed. I will not weigh upon the balance any more, one way or other. I shall be neutral and inert. No difficulty there. Throes are the only trouble, I must be on my guard against throes. But I am less given to them now, since coming here. Of course I still have my little fits of impatience, from time to time, I must be on my guard against them, for the next fortnight or three weeks. Without exaggeration to be sure, quietly crying and laughing, without working myself up into a state. Yes, I shall be natural at last, I shall suffer more, then less, without drawing any conclusions, I shall pay less heed to myself, I shall be neither hot nor cold any more, I shall be tepid, I shall die tepid, without enthusiasm. I shall not watch myself die, that would spoil everything. Have I watched myself live? Have I ever complained? Then why rejoice now? I am content, necessarily, but not to the point of clapping my hands. I was always content, knowing I would be repaid. There he is now, my old debtor. Shall I then fall on his neck? I shall not answer any more questions. I shall even try not to ask myself any more. While waiting I shall tell myself stories, if I can. They will not be the same kind of stories as hitherto, that is all. They will be neither beautiful nor ugly, they will be calm, there will be no ugliness or beauty or fever in them any more, they will be almost lifeless, like the teller. What was that I said? It does not matter. I look forward to their giving me great satisfaction, some satisfaction. I am satisfied, there, I have enough, I am repaid, I need nothing more. Let me say before I go any further that I forgive nobody. I wish them all an atrocious life and then the fires and ice of hell and in the execrable generations to come an honoured name. Enough for this evening.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Sylvia Plath - Daddy

Reading Plath's poetry is always a gut-wrenching experience, but it's
rewarding, too, in its own way. 'Graphically macabre, hallucinatory in their
imagery, but full of ironic wit, technical brilliance, and tremendous emotional
power', 'poetry of this order is a murderous art'.

Today's offering is all the above and more. As a poem it's astonishingly vivid
and powerful: the single, insistent rhyme, the almost hysterical repetitions of
phrase, the multiple layers of meaning and metaphor, and above all, the passion
driving each and every word - all of these combine to make it an emotional

Sylvia Plath reads her poem Daddy

by Sylvia Plath (1932-1963)

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time —
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one grey toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You —

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two —
The vampire who said he was you
and drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat, black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Kingdom of the Shades

La Bayadère (The Temple Dancer) (Russian: Баядерка - Bayaderka) is a ballet, originally staged in four acts and seven tableaux by the Ballet Master Marius Petipa to the music of Ludwig Minkus. It was first performed by the Imperial Ballet at the Imperial Bolshoi Kamenny Theatre in St. Petersburg, Russia, on February 4 [O.S. January 23] 1877.

A scene from the ballet, known as The Kingdom of the Shades, is one of the most celebrated excerpts in all of classical ballet, and it is often extracted from the full-length work to be performed independently.

La Bayadere is most famous for its "white act," commonly known as the Kingdom of the Shades. It is one of the most celebrated excerpts in all of classical ballet. The dance begins with 32 women in white, all making their way down a ramp in unison. The dance is exquisite, and often performed by itself.

As is the case for most of Marius Petipa’s ballets, La Bayadère remained unknown in the West because the 1950 s’ «Iron Curtain» put a halt to all cultural exchanges.
The revelation came about in 1961, when the Kirov Ballet was on tour in Paris and London..

It was at the Palais Garnier that Act III of La Bayadère (The Kingdom of the Shades) unfolded its hypnotic procession of 32 bayadères in white tutus and veils – turned into ghosts (Shades) - as they slowly descend - one by one in a series of arabesques penchées - a slope that symbolizes their appearance from the netherworld.
« The procession deploys its sinuous line across the stage before ending in four parallel rows, an impressive effect achieved with very little means. This scene marked the beginning of the symphonic ballet », wrote Vera Krassovskaya, a Russian Dance Historian.


Kingdom of the Shades
La Bayadere
Paris Opera Ballet
Choreography by Rudolph Nureyev after Marius Petipa

Sunday, April 10, 2011

La Bayadère: Marianela Nuñez

La Bayadere (The Temple Dancer) is a ballet in four acts and seven scenes, choreographed by Marius Petipa. It was first performed by the Imperial Ballet in St. Petersburg in 1877.

Plot Summary of La Bayadere:

La Bayadere takes place in the Royal India of long ago. As the ballet begins, we learn that Nikiya, a beautiful temple dancer, is in love with a young warrior named Solor. However, Solor is engaged to the Rajah's daughter. During the betrothal, Nikiya is forced to dance, after which she receives a basket of flowers from the Rajah's daughter. The basket contains a deadly snake and Nikiya dies.

Solor dreams of reuniting with Nikiya in the Kingdom of the Shades. He then awakens, remembering that he's still engaged. At his wedding, however, he sees a vision of Nikiya. He mistakenly says his vows to her, instead of his bride-to-be. The gods become infuriated and destroy the palace. Solor and Nikiya reunite in spirit, in the Kingdom of the Shades.

Marianela Núñez (born in San Martín, Buenos Aires 1982) is an Argentine dancer. She is a principal dancer with the Royal Ballet, London. Of her performance one leading critic commented “every gesture sings, every step is luminous with emotion. The result is sublime“.

Marianela Nuñez as Gamzatti - La Bayadere