Showing posts with label Samuel Beckett. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Samuel Beckett. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Recent notes

8/18
“Leerheit mit Munterkeit” — attempted un-translation of x quoting Müller quoting Brecht… His comments that the Giacometti room at the Pompidou was a “temple of deep-breathing” where one could escape from the “emptiness with alacrity” of bourgeois society.

Müller:
"What counts is the example, death means nothing."
"Optimismus ist nur ein Mangel an Information"

Brecht’s definition of the special nature of the book-- “Die geheiligte Ware Buch”, a sacred commodity
Beckett quoted by Unseld:”I have the feeling that there is nothing to express, nothing with which one could express it. No force of expression either, no desire to express anything along with the obligation to express it.”

8/19
Where in the world does wisdom reign over vanity?
How is it possible that music and movies have become so, so bad?

8/29
Ponge: Monde muet, ma seule patrie. Silent world, my only fatherland.

“In die Natur hinauszugehen ist das Höchste.”

K. Bayer:
“Meine Damen und Herren, verehrte Anwesende, lieber Herr Präsident.
Rauchen verboten.”

8/30
Kolleritsch’s dissertation: “Eigentlichkeit und Uneigentlichkeit in der Philosophie Martin Heideggers”

9/4
John Ford: “He always had music played on the set and would routinely break for tea (Earl Grey) at mid-afternoon every day during filming. He discouraged chatter and disliked bad language on set; its use—especially in front of a woman—would typically result in the offender being thrown off the production. He rarely drank during the making of a film, but when a production wrapped he would often lock himself in his study, wrapped only in a sheet, and go on a solitary drinking binge for several days, followed by routine contrition and a vow never to drink again.”

“One famous event, witnessed by Ford's friend actor Frank Baker, strikingly illustrates the tension between the public persona and the private man. During the Depression, Ford—by then a very wealthy man—was accosted outside his office by a former Universal actor who was destitute and needed $200 for an operation for his wife. As the man related his misfortunes, Ford appeared to become enraged and then, to the horror of onlookers, he launched himself at the man, knocked him to the floor and shouted "How dare you come here like this? Who do think you are to talk to me this way?" before storming out of the room. However, as the shaken old man left the building, Frank Baker saw Ford's business manager Fred Totman meet him at the door, where he handed the man a cheque for $1,000 and instructed Ford's chauffeur to drive him home. There, an ambulance was waiting to take the man's wife to the hospital where a specialist, flown in from San Francisco at Ford's expense, performed the operation. Some time later, Ford purchased a house for the couple and pensioned them for life. When Baker related the story to Francis Ford, he declared it the key to his brother's personality.”

O. Wiener:
"die welt ein sirup aus der sprache unsrer väter"

9/13 
Proust: “I do my intellectual work within myself, and once with other people, it's more or less irrelevant to me that they're intelligent, as long as they are kind, sincere, etc."

9/17
Debord, Panegyrique:  “It is understood that all this has left me very little time for writing, and that is exactly as it should be: writing should remain a rare thing, since one must have drunk for a long time before finding excellence.”
“‘Beautiful as the trembling of the hands in alcoholism,’ said Lautréamont. There are mornings that are stirring but difficult.”

11/8
Maybe now that I’m thirty everyone will finally leave me the hell alone.
Progression: from demand for true name, to realization that every name is false.
Being successful means being able to not give a damn what anyone else thinks about you.
"Oh, the fault’s in me, yes."

from Pierre Étaix, Le Soupirant (1962)

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Room Sound Marienleben

>>>Hindemith's Das Marienleben @ Squirrel's Nest


This 1950 recording of Hindemith's song-cycle Das Marienleben has reminded me of how much I treasure a good, vintage "room sound." By room sound I mean that it sounds as though it were recorded in a small room—judging by the reverb in this recording, I would guess it was recorded in a room measuring about 14'x18' with a ceiling no higher than 10', perhaps with a window open and several listeners smoking pensively on plush chairs. This, for me, is chamber music sounding its best. Why would you record chamber music in a church or a large concert hall? The music is written for 'room sound'—it is delicate music, with changes in dynamic which require the subtlety of close reverb to be heard. The extended reverb of a great hall drowns such nuances, demanding to be filled with the sonic might of an orchestra. Chamber music is private music: living room, salon, or even bedroom music.
This recording is of the second version of Das Marienleben from 1947, Hindemith's "final word", going against that of Schoenberg, who preferred the 1927 version (which I assume is somewhat less neoclassical, though I have not heard it). The music is classic Hindemith, confidently straddling the gap between atonal formalism and neoclassical impressionism. Hindemith works best as chamber music, where his understated experimentalism is allowed to blossom comfortably within a similarly demure aural sphere.
I haven't yet paid much attention to Rilke's text here, although if Beckett is right, that Rilke, like Klopstock, suffers from "the fidgets"—and has the "childishness to which German writers seem specially prone" to "call the fidgets God, Ego, Orpheus and the rest"—we should be grateful to have such fidgeting transformed into bold, semi-tonal Lyrik. (Poetry can be useful). "The mystic heart, geared to the blaue Blume, petrified!" Hindemith thankfully escapes fidgeting mysticism (perhaps thanks to the ever-steadying close reverb of a small room), producing instead a set of modernist devotional Lieder for the listening pleasure and sober meditations of the refined Christian atheist-aestheticist.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Against the charitable gesture there is no defense, that I know of. You sink your head, you put out your hands all trembling and twined together and you say, Thank you, thank you lady, thank you kind lady. To him who has nothing it is forbidden not to relish filth.

[from Molloy]