#but i think I will force myself to have restraint. need to read tyranny of faith to prepare for trials of empire next month

[explosionshark]

First book of the year down! City of Songs by Anthony Ryan. The third book in the Seven Swords novella series. Every Anthony Ryan book I read makes me like him more and more - this one went in a very Perpetual Oratorio of Davia Pledge direction - iykyk

[one-engine-gone]

Against this loss of over 30,000 men, we can set a far heavier loss certainly inflicted upon the enemy. But our losses in material are enormous. We have perhaps lost one-third of the men we lost in the opening days of the battle of 21st March, 1918, but we have lost nearly as many guns — nearly one thousand-and all our transport, all the armored vehicles that were with the Army in the north. This loss will impose a further delay on the expansion of our military strength. That expansion had not been proceeding as far as we had hoped. The best of all we had to give had gone to the British Expeditionary Force, and although they had not the numbers of tanks and some articles of equipment which were desirable, they were a very well and finely equipped Army. They had the first-fruits of all that our industry had to give, and that is gone. And now here is this further delay. How long it will be, how long it will last, depends upon the exertions which we make in this Island. An effort the like of which has never been seen in our records is now being made. Work is proceeding everywhere, night and day, Sundays and week days. Capital and Labor have cast aside their interests, rights, and customs and put them into the common stock. Already the flow of munitions has leaped forward. There is no reason why we should not in a few months overtake the sudden and serious loss that has come upon us, without retarding the development of our general program. Nevertheless, our thankfulness at the escape of our Army and so many men, whose loved ones have passed through an agonizing week, must not blind us to the fact that what has happened in France and Belgium is a colossal military disaster. The French Army has been weakened, the Belgian Army has been lost, a large part of those fortified lines upon which so much faith had been reposed is gone, many valuable mining districts and factories have passed into the enemy’s possession, the whole of the Channel ports are in his hands, with all the tragic consequences that follow from that, and we must expect another blow to be struck almost immediately at us or at France. We are told that Herr Hitler has a plan for invading the British Isles. This has often been thought of before. When Napoleon lay at Boulogne for a year with his flat-bottomed boats and his Grand Army, he was told by someone. “There are bitter weeds in England.” There are certainly a great many more of them since the British Expeditionary Force returned. The whole question of home defense against invasion is, of course, powerfully affected by the fact that we have for the time being in this Island incomparably more powerful military forces than we have ever had at any moment in this war or the last. But this will not continue. We shall not be content with a defensive war. We have our duty to our Ally. We have to reconstitute and build up the British Expeditionary Force once again, under its gallant Commander-in-Chief, Lord Gort. All this is in train; but in the interval we must put our defenses in this Island into such a high state of organization that the fewest possible numbers will be required to give effective security and that the largest possible potential of offensive effort may be realized. On this we are now engaged. It will be very convenient, if it be the desire of the House, to enter upon this subject in a secret Session. Not that the government would necessarily be able to reveal in very great detail military secrets, but we like to have our discussions free, without the restraint imposed by the fact that they will be read the next day by the enemy; and the Government would benefit by views freely expressed in all parts of the House by Members with their knowledge of so many different parts of the country. I understand that some request is to be made upon this subject, which will be readily acceded to by His Majesty’s Government. We have found it necessary to take measures of increasing stringency, not only against enemy aliens and suspicious characters of other nationalities, but also against British subjects who may become a danger or a nuisance should the war be transported to the United Kingdom. I know there are a great many people affected by the orders which we have made who are the passionate enemies of Nazi Germany. I am very sorry for them, but we cannot, at the present time and under the present stress, draw all the distinctions which we should like to do. If parachute landings were attempted and fierce fighting attendant upon them followed, these unfortunate people would be far better out of the way, for their own sakes as well as for ours. There is, however, another class, for which I feel not the slightest sympathy. Parliament has given us the powers to put down Fifth Column activities with a strong hand, and we shall use those powers subject to the supervision and correction of the House, without the slightest hesitation until we are satisfied, and more than satisfied, that this malignancy in our midst has been effectively stamped out. Turning once again, and this time more generally, to the question of invasion, I would observe that there has never been a period in all these long centuries of which we boast when an absolute guarantee against invasion, still less against serious raids, could have been given to our people. In the days of Napoleon the same wind which would have carried his transports across the Channel might have driven away the blockading fleet. There was always the chance, and it is that chance which has excited and befooled the imaginations of many Continental tyrants. Many are the tales that are told. We are assured that novel methods will be adopted, and when we see the originality of malice, the ingenuity of aggression, which our enemy displays, we may certainly prepare ourselves for every kind of novel stratagem and every kind of brutal and treacherous maneuver. I think that no idea is so outlandish that it should not be considered and viewed with a searching, but at the same time, I hope, with a steady eye. We must never forget the solid assurances of sea power and those which belong to air power if it can be locally exercised. I have, myself, full confidence that if all do their duty, if nothing is neglected, and if the best arrangements are made, as they are being made, we shall prove ourselves once again able to defend our Island home, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone. At any rate, that is what we are going to try to do. That is the resolve of His Majesty’s Government-every man of them. That is the will of Parliament and the nation. The British Empire and the French Republic, linked together in their cause and in their need, will defend to the death their native soil, aiding each other like good comrades to the utmost of their strength. Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this Island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God’s good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.

Winston Churchill

[screemagazine]

The Saddest Joy

On the release of Viktor’s Joy “I used to be clean”, a few words about the album, and a few more words with guitarist and songwriter Kaarel Malken… Having been tipped off by a musician friend from Herefordshire, I went to see Viktor’s Joy play in a pop up bar in some nondescript corner of Berlin when I was there last year.  The walls were scoured and mottled with patches of paint over bare plaster, the lighting dim.  Viktor’s Joy are led by Kaarel Malken (guitar, vocals).  He played fingerpicked guitar with a gentle but technical drummer (Jim Good) on a stripped down kit.  As we waited for them to come on music from Leonard Cohen’s first album set up the ambience, an obvious precedent.  I think it is probably lazy journalism to write soundbites like “Viktor’s Joy are Estonia’s answer to Leonard Cohen”, but the restraint of the music and depth of the lyrics encourage such behaviour.  Another comparison is Elliott Smith, particularly evident on the poetic and wearily lilting Parade Song #2, which even the title appears to be a conscious nod to the dear, departed American singer, sounding reminiscent of something off Either/or. The gig was beautiful, and swept us away.  At the end of the gig I spoke to Kaarel about his music, and he was kind enough to give me a pre-release of the album in a handmade cover for review in SCree.  I looked forward to playing it at home, and have played it sporadically since.  The album is out now, and I recommend you hear it, particularly if you are keen on melancholy folky singer songwriter stuff as I am.  Some music you hear seems to pose with miserable depth as a kind of sad expression forced to convince of profundity.  This music speaks of genuine experience, and seems to talk of growing up in Estonia and life experiences that transcend the specifics of their birth.  All the Promises Ever Made talk of the perils of addiction and how easily we fall into smoking, drinking, drugging.  There is a nostalgia to it as well as regret.  The refrain “never again” speaks of our brief determination to avoid destructive behaviour that is so easily forgotten.  The music sits in a rolling groove that has something of the Velvet Underground in the swooping electric guitar part.  There is variety on this record as well as coherence, in the instrumentation as in the arrangements.  The following track The Taste I remember, She Became a Ghost, is woven through with fast picking and tells a story effectively and evocatively.  It is haunting, ethereal and worn with a weary strength.  The guitar playing is almost Spanish classical style, particularly in the interludes.  He makes use of repetition to effectively show the tide of passing time.   Even more Spanish is the virtuosic opening lick to Lake Ontario, which is a short flourish before the cyclical picking comes in.  Again, there is an anecdotal narrative to it which is poetic and evocative.  Characters are introduced alongside the places they live.  Glacial vocals echo between verses.  The production is reverb-heavy and deep.  It sounds like it was recorded in an empty building.  The closing track Sisters ends on a slightly different note.  There is a warmth in the recording that offsets the wistfulness.  Like the bittersweet end to an eventful journey.  

A few questions: When did you first pick up the guitar? Growing up in a small town, surrounded by nothing but Soviet block houses, derelict playgrounds and seemingly endless  fields of peat, there were really not that many options. Either you take to kicking around a ball  or you take to kicking around other kids, most seemed to prefer the latter. Luckily my sisters, being ten years older than me,  saw the last of MTV and VH1 . By the time I got there the funeral procession was over  and the burial was about to end - the music industry, wearing shorts, was filming the open grave for a new reality TV show. I was the social experiment, the kid brother, the one who had to wear  "Guns n’ Roses" T-shirts and grow his hair long - during a time of shaved heads and garbage disco music. In the late nineties my father got offered a job, in Moscow, as a warehouse keeper. A few times a year he’d  return with a trunk full of  shovels, power drills, hammers, saws  and other tools he had managed to steal from the warehouse. Everything  spray painted red to fool the Russian customs into believing they were used. There had been a snowstorm the night before my dad arrived. An endless carpet of pure white. I was leaning over the sill, looking out from the kitchen window. My eyes were watery from the cold, but my excitement got the best of me. He parked his Lada and from the backseat he would lift out a large cardboard box, with the words “Dolby Surround” printed on its side. Little did I know that the content of that very box would affect my day to day existence to an almost unhealthy degree. During the following  years our collection of pirated cassette tapes and compact discs grew with  albums from Nirvana, Offspring, Dire Straits, Korn, Kino etc. Anything the shopkeeper in Moscow could copy on a CD-R and send to my sisters. Perhaps it was the sub-woofer that ignited my obsession to become a drummer, perhaps not, but by the time I turned ten I had begun taking lessons in the  local music school. My teacher was a middle aged marching band percussionist with a serious boozing problem. The four years under his tyranny taught me more about the side effects of binge drinking rather than drums. “For Christ sake boy, you keep missing the  f*ing beat train!” : something I’ll remember for the rest of my life. I called it quits after failing to perform  to a handful of  Sunday afternoon pensioners, my mother and my teacher,  in the city hall. Years  later, on my way to university, I walked past a plate glass window of a small music shop. The sign said : “20% off all instruments!!!” in big bright letters. With the little  I had saved,  working night shifts as a receptionist in a hotel,  and with the help of my parents, I scraped together enough to buy a blue XS plywood guitar. I composed my first song three days later. A two chord, short lived disaster. Last time I saw the guitar, hung by its neck, behind a plate glass window of a pawn shop - once more, discounted. What have you been doing up until now? Do you have any other interests beyond music? I’ve worked as a dishwasher, pastry chef, phone agent, engineer, as an extra in low budget German TV-movies. In other words, you name it - I’ve done it. Right now I’m sitting in a cafeteria a few blocks down the street from my house. I’ve been coming here for years to read and write. The bohemian life…. you know.  These days the place is full of prams and crying toddlers. One of them is drooling on my pants sleeve, as we speak. I find this drone of life calming. How did you find recording the album? Although the process started off in a proper studio, under the  guidance of a fantastic sound engineer, Martin Fiedler, I decided to continue by myself in the comfort of my bedroom - for the larger part. I suppose I felt intimidated by the expensive Neumann’s and the professional approach, deeming myself unworthy. In the long run, the positives outweighed the negatives and I learned how to use the equipment I had bought or borrowed from my friends ( mainly from my good buddy and band member Jim Good), during the years I’ve lived in Berlin. I guess the hardest part was recording the drums.  I used an old Russian Oktava that Jim brought back from Estonia a few summers ago - the only one that seemed to yield results. Jim is a subtle player , not a 4/4 rock drummer, and getting the sound I was looking for wasn’t as easy as I expected. It all worked out thanks to Jim’s infinite patience. Along the way Michael Brinkworth came to my aid with his beautiful 70’s Fender (I’m sorry if it wasn’t a Fender, Michael) and his ideas. Always a few hours late and out of breath - always passionate. He’s the most prolific  songwriter I  know and his input was more than welcomed. Some of my guitar tracks and vocal takes were done in a rehearsal room that used to belong to  Nina Hagen (something the locals seemed to take a lot of pride in). A damp basement full of old carpets and stale air. I spent a few weeks locked behind that massive metal door singing the same lines, over and over again. It was the following Autumn when I met Mauno Meesit from Grainy Records.  He was in the midst of recording his own album and was in need of a classical guitar. Our  mutual friend, who knew I had one,  got him to come to one of my shows. We barely spoke after the gig but in a couple of days I received an E-mail and from there on we got to speaking. Turned out he liked the show and was enthusiastic about the album I had been recording.  Soon enough he proposed me to join his label and I accepted without hesitation. I saw how serious he was about his own music and my mind was made up even before he asked. I’m not the easiest person to work with but Mauno’s, Buddha like, calmness bridged our way. The result is on my table, boxes full of it. Who could have imagined… What was the inspiration for the songs? I consider “I used to be clean”  a concept album. A retroperspective glimpse into my  childhood and how it was to grow up in the East during a time of despair and poverty as well as unity and love. I’m sure these themes will carry on into the future of my lyrics. Inspiration is an entity. Some sort of an astral being that enters and exits one’s body whenever and wherever. During these times I’m nothing but a medium in a state of unconscious effortlessness. Many of my songs are not born out of inspiration. These are the ones I’m never fully satisfied with, the conscious ones, the ones I labor over. The beauty of these songs lies in their ability to grow and change as I do. I’m learning how to work without inspiration yet remain open to it - it’s not that easy. How do you go about writing? My day kick-starts in the afternoon after a few cups of coffee. I try to write something in my diary every day. Sometimes it’s a poem or a short story, but mostly it amounts to nothing more but  everyday uneventfulness. It takes me weeks, months,  at times even years, to finish a song. Lately I feel as If I’m in  dire need of a break. Someplace quiet, outside this metropolitan cesspool. Someplace small where people go to sleep when the sun sets. Someplace where people talk about ordinary things, sit by a card table, eat canned sausages and drink clear spirits. Any place  considered “culturally inactive” according to metropolitan standards. Where can we hear it? www.bandcamp.com/viktorsjoy  or www.grainyrecords.com Where can we hear you play? The album release show, in Berlin,  will take place in Neue Nachbarn on the 5th of April. https://www.facebook.com/events/1879058472306213/1879252808953446/?notif_t=like&notif_id=1490094469947888 What are your plans for the future? Organize a couple of shows in Estonia and focus on writing and recording new tracks.

[gravityzine]

The Saddest Joy

On the release of Viktor’s Joy “I used to be clean”, a few words about the album, and a few more words with song writer Kaarel Malken...

Having been tipped off by a musician friend from Herefordshire, I went to see Viktor's Joy play in a pop up bar in some nondescript corner of Berlin when I was there last year.  The walls were scoured and mottled with patches of paint over bare plaster, the lighting dim.  Viktor's Joy are led by Kaarel Malken (guitar, vocals).  He played fingerpicked guitar with a gentle but technical drummer (Jim Good) on a stripped down kit.  As we waited for them to come on music from Leonard Cohen's first album set up the ambience, an obvious precedent.  I think it is probably lazy journalism to write soundbites like “Viktor's Joy are Estonia's answer to Leonard Cohen”, but the restraint of the music and depth of the lyrics encourage such behaviour.  Another comparison is Elliott Smith, particularly evident on the poetic and wearily lilting Parade Song #2, which even the title appears to be a conscious nod to the dear, departed American singer, sounding reminiscent of something off Either/or. The gig was beautiful, and swept us away.  At the end of the gig I spoke to Kaarel about his music, and he was kind enough to give me a pre-release of the album in a handmade cover for review in SCree.  I looked forward to playing it at home, and have played it sporadically since.  The album is out now, and I recommend you hear it, particularly if you are keen on melancholy folky singer songwriter stuff as I am.  Some music you hear seems to pose with miserable depth as a kind of sad expression forced to convince of profundity.  This music speaks of genuine experience, and seems to talk of growing up in Estonia and life experiences that transcend the specifics of their birth.  All the Promises Ever Made talk of the perils of addiction and how easily we fall into smoking, drinking, drugging.  There is a nostalgia to it as well as regret.  The refrain “never again” speaks of our brief determination to avoid destructive behaviour that is so easily forgotten.  The music sits in a rolling groove that has something of the Velvet Underground in the swooping electric guitar part.  There is variety on this record as well as coherence, in the instrumentation as in the arrangements.  The following track The Taste I remember, She Became a Ghost, is woven through with fast picking and tells a story effectively and evocatively.  It is haunting, ethereal and worn with a weary strength.  The guitar playing is almost Spanish classical style, particularly in the interludes.  He makes use of repetition to effectively show the tide of passing time.   Even more Spanish is the virtuosic opening lick to Lake Ontario, which is a short flourish before the cyclical picking comes in.  Again, there is an anecdotal narrative to it which is poetic and evocative.  Characters are introduced alongside the places they live.  Glacial vocals echo between verses.  The production is reverb-heavy and deep.  It sounds like it was recorded in an empty building.  The closing track Sisters ends on a slightly different note.  There is a warmth in the recording that offsets the wistfulness.  Like the bittersweet end to an eventful journey.  

A few questions:

When did you first pick up the guitar?

Growing up in a small town, surrounded by nothing but Soviet block houses, derelict playgrounds and a seemingly endless  fields of peat, there were really not that many options. Either you take to kicking around a ball  or you take to kicking around other kids, most seemed to prefer the latter. Luckily my sisters, being ten years older than me,  saw the last of MTV and VH1 . By the time I got there the funeral procession was over  and the burial was about to end - the music industry, wearing shorts, was filming the open grave for a new reality TV show. I was the social experiment, the kid brother, the one who had to wear  "Guns n' Roses" T-shirts and grow his hair long - during a time of shaved heads and garbage disco music. In the late nineties my father got offered a job, in Moscow, as a warehouse keeper. A few times a year he'd  return with a trunk full of  shovels, power drills, hammers, saws  and other tools he had managed to steal from the warehouse. Everything  spray painted red to fool the Russian customs into believing they were used. There had been a snowstorm the night before my dad arrived. An endless carpet of pure white. I was leaning over the sill, looking out from the kitchen window. My eyes were watery from the cold, but my excitement got the best of me. He parked his Lada and from the backseat he would lift out a large cardboard box, with the words "Dolby Surround" printed on its side. Little did I know that the content of that very box would affect my day to day existence to an almost unhealthy degree. During the following  years our collection of pirated cassette tapes and compact discs grew with  albums from Nirvana, Offspring, Dire Straits, Korn, Kino etc. Anything the shopkeeper in Moscow could copy on a CD-R and send to my sisters. Perhaps it was the sub-woofer that ignited my obsession to become a drummer, perhaps not, but by the time I turned ten I had begun taking lessons in the  local music school. My teacher was a middle aged marching band percussionist with a serious boozing problem. The four years under his tyranny taught me more about the side effects of binge drinking rather than drums. "For Christ sake boy, you keep missing the  f*ing beat train!" : something I'll remember for the rest of my life. I called it quits after failing to perform  to a handful of  Sunday afternoon pensioners, my mother and my teacher,  in the city hall. Years  later, on my way to university, I walked past a plate glass window of a small music shop. The sign said : "20% off all instruments!!!" in big bright letters. With the little  I had saved,  working night shifts as a receptionist in a hotel,  and with the help of my parents, I scraped together enough to buy a blue XS plywood guitar. I composed my first song three days later. A two chord, short lived disaster. Last time I saw the guitar, hung by its neck, behind a plate glass window of a pawn shop - once more, discounted.

What have you been doing up until now? Do you have any other interests beyond music?

I've worked as a dishwasher, pastry chef, phone agent, engineer, as an extra in low budget German TV-movies. In other words, you name it - I've done it. Right now I'm sitting in a cafeteria a few blocks down the street from my house. I've been coming here for years to read and write. The bohemian life.... you know.  These days the place is full of prams and crying toddlers. One of them is drooling on my pants sleeve, as we speak. I find this drone of life calming.

How did you find recording the album?

Although the process started off in a proper studio, under the  guidance of a fantastic sound engineer, Martin Fiedler, I decided to continue by myself in the comfort of my bedroom - for the larger part. I suppose I felt intimidated by the expensive Neumann's and the professional approach, deeming myself unworthy. In the long run, the positives outweighed the negatives and I learned how to use the equipment I had bought or borrowed from my friends ( mainly from my good buddy and band member Jim Good), during the years I've lived in Berlin. I guess the hardest part was recording the drums.  I used an old Russian Oktava that Jim brought back from Estonia a few summers ago - the only one that seemed to yield results. Jim is a subtle player , not a 4/4 rock drummer, and getting the sound I was looking for wasn't as easy as I expected. It all worked out thanks to Jim's infinite patience. Along the way Michael Brinkworth came to my aid with his beautiful 70's Fender (I'm sorry if it wasn't a Fender, Michael) and his ideas. Always a few hours late and out of breath - always passionate. He's the most prolific  songwriter I  know and his input was more than welcomed. Some of my guitar tracks and vocal takes were done in a rehearsal room that used to belong to  Nina Hagen (something the locals seemed to take a lot of pride in). A damp basement full of old carpets and stale air. I spent a few weeks locked behind that massive metal door singing the same lines, over and over again. It was the following Autumn when I met Mauno Meesit from Grainy Records.  He was in the midst of recording his own album and was in need of a classical guitar. Our  mutual friend, who knew I had one,  got him to come to one of my shows. We barely spoke after the gig but in a couple of days I received an E-mail and from there on we got to speaking. Turned out he liked the show and was enthusiastic about the album I had been recording.  Soon enough he proposed me to join his label and I accepted without hesitation. I saw how serious he was about his own music and my mind was made up even before he asked. I'm not the easiest person to work with but Mauno's, Buddha like, calmness bridged our way. The result is on my table, boxes full of it. Who could have imagined...

What was the inspiration for the songs? I consider "I used to be clean"  a concept album. A retroperspective glimpse into my  childhood and how it was to grow up in the East during a time of despair and poverty as well as unity and love. I'm sure these themes will carry on into the future of my lyrics. Inspiration is an entity. Some sort of an astral being that enters and exits one's body whenever and wherever. During these times I'm nothing but a medium in a state of unconscious effortlessness. Many of my songs are not born out of inspiration. These are the ones I'm never fully satisfied with, the conscious ones, the ones I labor over. The beauty of these songs lies in their ability to grow and change as I do. I'm learning how to work without inspiration yet remain open to it - it's not that easy.

How do you go about writing?

My day kick-starts in the afternoon after a few cups of coffee. I try to write something in my diary every day. Sometimes it's a poem or a short story, but mostly it surmounts to nothing more but  everyday uneventfulness. It takes me weeks, months,  at times even years, to finish a song.

Lately I feel as If I'm in  dire need of a break. Someplace quiet, outside this metropolitan cesspool. Someplace small where people go to sleep when the sun sets. Someplace where people talk about ordinary things, sit by a card table, eat canned sausages and drink clear spirits. Any place  considered "culturally inactive" according to metropolitan standards.

Where can we hear it? www.bandcamp.com/viktorsjoy  or www.grainyrecords.com

Where can we hear you play?

The album release show, in Berlin,  will take place in Neue Nachbarn on the 5th of April. https://www.facebook.com/events/1879058472306213/1879252808953446/?notif_t=like&notif_id=1490094469947888

What are your plans for the future?

Organize a couple of shows in Estonia and focus on writing and recording new tracks.