#drew christopherson | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tinymixtapes · 6 years ago

Text

Feature: Insomniac Focus

Drew McDowall’s work extends well before Coil’s 1998 album Time Machines, but his major releases from that work to now is more than enough to explore. Coil fans, I know you’re set. It’s partly you who I had in mind when I welched on my assignment for his latest solo album, The Third Helix. You likely have alerts on this guy, and no amount of critical descriptors (“harrowing,” “cavernous,” “dreamscape,” “hallucinatory,” “bleak,” “trance-inducing,” etc.) are going to make any difference to you. And, as for neophytes, McDowall is not only an easy sell, but one who you likely have to get to ass backwards. And in these diffuse, cherry pick-enabling internet times, that’s something. We tend to keep our paths of discovery close to the vest against the snotty record store clerk in our heads. I say “we,” because I’m a newbie myself at 38. I did meet a classmate in my junior year of college who tried to help me with my post-NIN fan, small town ignorance, but it was to little effect. I don’t wanna admit I got into Blackest Ever Black and PAN artists before McDowall, but it’s true. There is no tomorrow, so allow me to show my ass in this regard. It took time — and a closer friend with a staggering record collection — to show me the way. I won’t blame blowing my assignment on anything but me, but I will offer the assertion that Drew McDowall’s music is alive in ways that language is not. Although McDowall, John Balance, and Peter Christopherson collaborated on Time Machines, you could hardly call it a conversation. It feels more like an unstable, massive hum, with the creative instinct of human interference put in restraints. It’s the sound of artists getting out of their own way, carving out a path for something that doesn’t sing so much as surge like blood or water or electricity (it resists analogy, so I’m inclined to reach for more elementary terms). If the intention was to induce the loss of a sense of time, it dissolved critical faculties in the process as well. It is sound happening to you. Whatever a train does to you when you hear it, before you even begin to get to the typical leitmotifs. Whatever a tuning orchestra makes you feel, before you remind yourself not to feel anything about it. There is suspense, sure, but there’s also the flat pulse of pure sensation. Time Machines hunkers down and dispels reaction in favor of presence. Of true immersion. Of rote and unquestioning self-sacrifice to a sensorily consuming source. The tracks being named after psychotropic drugs and the perhaps unavoidable (there’s always “repeat all”) reality of their finiteness are the only things stopping this machine. It has you without a hello. Time Machines hunkers down and dispels reaction in favor of presence. Of true immersion. It’s curious that this towering, uncompromisingly minimal work is collaborative, while his eventual solo material doesn’t shy from a comparatively genre-friendly, kitchen-sink aesthetic. But more on that in a bit. First, a decade-plus later, some more from the creative alliance dept. Having familiarized myself with Psychic Ills, McDowall’s collaboration with Tres Warren as Compound Eye was on my 2013 radar. Their music intrigued in ways that the sturdy psych rawk of Psychic Ills never did. I liked it enough to save it, but never got too deep. So McDowall’s presence didn’t properly register until researching him this year, even after the aforementioned friend gave me his free download code for 2017’s Unnatural Channel. Having familiarized myself with McDowall, it’s easy to see that the man never quite got triggering-then-getting-out-the-way-of-strong-currents out of his system in the intervening years. It contains that blissful, sci-fi pastoral modular babbling that is really nothing to turn off, but the album is balanced with the (watch me writhe, beset by stultifying magnetic poetry adjectives) vast, impassive coursings of McDowall’s high water mark material. The album title, Journey From Anywhere, reinforces the notion of not ruining vital elements of sonic procession with basic human shit. Both are men, with presumable communication skills, but never does conversation seem like an apt analogy. Their collaboration is a numb sort of cooperative sentience, toiling as a vessel for steady, sluicing flow. Destiny being God and human’s favorite crap joke alike, the void really deserves more credit. Compound Eye’s shimmering, delicate, 69-minute reverie comes across like a humble attempt to give the nothing its due. It simmers in rote bodily function reality, even as it attempts to merge with the least dense, most windless air it can manage to breathe. Another collaborative work, The Ghost of Georges Bataille (released on Bank earlier this year), is less of a curious animal, but enticing nonetheless. Hiro Kone (a.k.a. Nicky Mao) specializes in elegant digital snowdrift downtempo. She, like McDowall, is a friend to contemplative melancholy as a default mode. But similarly to McDowall, she’s careful to augment her traditional rainstreaked Aphex brooding with character-rich textures that teeter on the brink of encroachment. Here, McDowall pushes this bordering that much closer. Each haunted progression is enshrouded with warm yet disorienting clamor. Similarly to the post-Boards re-tooling of Dalhous, Bataille takes away the head-nod in favor of a swirled sort of distance. This blithe obfuscation renders that tradition of pastoral, half-remembered dream progressions that much more affecting. McDowall excels as a bit player as well. In 2015, he featured on Ben Greenberg’s (Sacred Bones engineer, Men) debut with Michael Berdan (York Factory Complaint) as Uniform. As much as the album is a scorcher par excellence and far superior (and I’m edging on apples/oranges territory here), what “Death Star” is to The Future of War, “Lost Causes” is to Perfect World. McDowall’s hermetic throb steals the show on an album of showstoppers. Then, ably displaying his adaptability to ambient techno, McDowall lent his modular chops to another album highlight on Hiro Kone’s 2017 album, Love is the Capital. “Rukhsana” is a shorter track, but it still bears the unmistakable fingerprints of McDowalls absorptive approach. With these drop ins, McDowall redeems the notion of the guest spot from mere name-dropping and seamlessly applies his methodology rather than his personal stamp. Now, back to 2015 and Drew McDowall’s first official solo release under his own name, Collapse. As I mentioned, McDowall wound up being decidedly less reductive once left to his own devices. Similarly to Prurient’s later output, there is a concerted effort to tacitly merge monophonic direness with monolithic earthen beast-sloughing reverbations, whelmed to the edge of over. Dark monophony has retained a lasting power, even if the grubby fingers of branding-obsessed metal aestheticians have rendered its keenings almost cute. These are the ones who cry “false metal,” which in and of itself is false. It’s no different than complaining about how football has changed or how a comic book adaptation oughta be. True artisans of inner and outer darkness are not beholden to purist genre fetishism. They survive, thrive, and die by their virtue in this exploration. By their unwaveringly limitless drive, we are able to imbibe the vast shimmering terror innate to existence. While Collapse may not be the most chilling thing out there, its black satin bug eyes affix you to where you are and evaporate your culture-soaked lunges for contextual asidery. Collapse by Drew McDowall True artisans of inner and outer darkness are not beholden to purist genre fetishism. They survive, thrive, and die by their virtue in this exploration. Things only seemed to get better with 2017’s Unnatural Channel, though it’s of a piece enough that “seem” might be the operative word. There are two tracks featuring words/vocals from Roxy Farman (of superb NYC duo Wetware, also a guest on the Hiro Kone album), but the key adjustment is a Vanity Records-like focus on the embracing of silent rests. Of course, the fidelity is higher, but the unrelenting hesitation of that legendary label’s best material (namely, Tolerance’s 1981 LP, Divin) is a curious early precedent. Even with the presence of a singer, Farman’s recitation of “this is what it’s like, sleep deprived” is just as innately infused as the “I convulsed” sample on the last record. And her whooping and schizo mutterances on closer “Recognition” are essential but unshowy bits of punctuation. All spaciousness aside, the tetanus textured throb of “Unnatural Channel (Part 2)” is a sort of head-nodder, but even this winds up being more of a cautious slink through a confusing party (boring? bad scene? twisted? brilliant?) than a departure. Although the bowstring bouncing on The Third Helix opener echoes Unnatural Channel’s “Tell Me The Name,” “Rhizome” initially feels like a proper departure. Not unlike the airy skittering of Actress’s R.I.P, this tune initially seemed like a wrong turn. It’s lovely, especially when the “Sinking of the Titanic” strings come in, but it feels almost lateral rather than expansive. The touchstones come too easy. It’s a fascinating track, the way it swells and glitches out abruptly, but it’s also strangely on-the-nose for this artist. Things get better and back to the same (“Proximity” sounds cut from the same cloth) from there, but one couldn’t be blamed for mistaking Third Helix for a Helm, Fis, or post-Virgins Tim Hecker album. Of course, he is a sort of godfather to said touchstones, but similarly to the atemporal realm of Time Machines, this sort of sine wave slippage reads more familiar than it actually is. And, for what it’s worth, why shouldn’t masters be genuinely influenced by their descendants (beyond tokenistic exaggerations)? Chances are, they are beholden to a lot of the same technology anyway. Taken another way, McDowall’s newest is a sort of long-distance collaboration with those who’ve been inspired by him and his rarefied peer group. Conscious or not, its blending with the aesthetics of younger, like-minded artists could be seen as a rejection of the notion of hierarchy in musical succession, one way or the other. The Third Helix is an endearingly solid listen, and it deserves a place among the heralded releases of 2018. Similarly to the previous two (all on Dais), the album’s tracks don’t stray too far past the five-minute mark. Despite this, they stretch out in the ears like ancient aural cobwebs, making one feel as lived-in as the planet itself. I’ve tried not to use the word “innovation” here. Too often, the notion of innovation is whittled down to novelty, and reinventing the wheel is not what makes McDowall’s third-act material so worthwhile. More so, it’s the sense of earnest drive. The deep affinity for life’s rich tangent. That it’s darkly fixated is no more material than that the blues are despondent. Actually, the best of that long deracinated-to-pilloried genre has much of the same turning-oneself-inside-out quality. Even if Drew McDowall never tops himself or others in this quietly industrious field of wide-eyed abstraction, he is set to remain a stirring essential to every cerebral wandering ear, regardless of prerequisites or lack thereof. http://j.mp/2RBEqkz

1 note · View note

pendragonfics · 7 years ago

Text

Down The Rabbit Hole

Paring: Jim Hopper/Reader

Tags: female reader, Stranger Things spoilers, parent Jim Hopper, fluff & hurt and comfort.

Summary: You're a teacher at Hawkins Middle, who's accidental right-place-at-the-wrong-time leads you to be a part of the secret goings-on in Hawkins. Jim Hopper is just a cop, trying to do right by the law, who happens to adopt a psionic pre-teen who's in your history class.

Request: by @seksibaek - hope you like it!

Word Count: 2,176

Current Date: 2017-12-02

A school teacher’s wage was decent. It had you living in a nice, small house paying rent by the week, living modestly in the small town of Hawkins. You wanted a dog, but didn’t have the yard, or fence for it. You taught history, but inside, wished you could teach English. But your mother, and your mother’s mother were teachers, and all the __________ family name had been teachers since women could be teachers, and there was no greater subject in your lineage than history. It wasn’t that history was terrible, but perhaps, that the greatest things to ever happen had already happened, and life in 1982 would never live up to the epics.

But that was true until you all but fell into the rabbit hole, or rather, the conspiracy of danger that lurked after dark in Hawkins. It had been a Friday night, and unlike those who unwound from the weekly stress by watching Charlies Angels, you took yourself on long walks around the lake, taking time to remove your mind from unruly students and unmarked tests to be completed before Monday.

But it was here you found something truly and utterly horrible. The body of one of your students, the young Will Byers, the body blue and bloated upon the water’s edge. You wasted no time calling 911, and when State Trooper O’Bannen came to the scene, you were frightened out of your wits. You wished you could take a week from work to process the horrible thing you found, but it wasn’t an option. The kids at Hawkins Middle School needed to keep the daily routine, despite the death of a fellow student.

Apart from Mrs. Byers, the only person who stopped long enough to care about what you saw was the Hawkins Chief of police, Jim Hopper. But then again, he was chasing a case too, because not too long after that, another student went missing, from a grade you didn’t teach. Barbara Holland. And then there as something about a little girl, with a shaved head –

You kept your head down, and taught history to the classes you had. No matter how strange the world seemed now, there was one consistent thing that kept your kids writing their essays on time, and that was the fall of Rome.

You even planned to have an in-class event where you would bring in old sheets and had them dress up like senators. Minus the stabbing, of course. But you didn’t, in the end. Instead you put on a VCR of Julius Caesar and fast-forwarded past the murderous parts.

But as much as going back to everyday life went, it just couldn’t. Perhaps it was because every so often, you’d have a knock on your classroom door, a visitor on your home’s doorstep. The one and only Chief Hopper. And further down the rabbit hole you fell – unrequitedly in love with the police chief.

“Do you have ten minutes?” he’d ask, eyes pleading. “I need to hear your statement again for the Byers case.”

You’d agree. Ten minutes would turn to an hour. Talk would stay mostly on topic, until he’d notice your empty ring finger, and you’d notice the tan line on his, empty. Then he’d get radioed in by the station, and off he’d go.

“I need you to come with me, on this,” he’d say, leaning against your front door like the lead man in an early Hollywood movie, all dramatic and gorgeous, “I have to check out a lead, but I need someone.”

“Why don’t you ask one of your officers at the station?” You ask, your hands full of dough from your biweekly bread making, the dough falling off as you talked. “I’m just…me.”

He shook his head. “It’s more than needing back up. I need someone, who can, uh, talk to civilians…who isn’t a part of all of it.” He looks to your hands, and the carpet where the dough is plopping onto it. “Sorry if it isn’t a good time –,”

You shake your head. “It’s a sourdough, so it needs plenty of time to rise by itself. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready to help out.”

When you’re all cleaned up, you notice all the dough has been picked up from the carpet. You don’t say anything, and instead lock the house up, and don’t think twice about getting into his car, and roaring away to nearly out of town.

Down the rabbit hole? Perhaps you were always there. Life seemed to be upside down, back to front, and shaken up for good measure. You fell further behind in your marking for the classes you taught, further away from the required norms required for single, young school teachers spending time around reputable, divorced police chiefs.

If anyone gossiped, you did not hear it.

In the end, Will Byers was fine, alive – back from the dead, as the newspaper reported it. The world went on spinning. The child Jim had been looking for had disappeared, and you were still pining for the man who seemed to not care less for anything in the world that wasn’t coffee or a cigarette. He went back to his life, solving petty feuds between farmers and teenagers, and you went back to telling Heather Gutmann that she couldn’t sleep in class.

Life went on. It was good.

But that was until you had a new student enter your class. It was a new year, after all, and new students came and went like the ebb and the flow of the tides. Last year, you had the young Maxine Mayfield enter your class, and now, the grade where the friends of her had gone to, there was another new face. She had curly hair pulled back with colourful clips, and looked at the class of ninth graders like they had extra teeth in their mouth.

Behind her, was Principle Coleman, and Chief Jim Hopper, of the Hawkins Police Department. She looks to you with wide eyes, silent. “Hello everyone! We have a new student to welcome to the class,” Principle Coleman tells the all-but rowdy class, “This is Jane Hopper, make her fe–,”

“I go by Elle,” she says, voice small, but big enough to interrupt Principle Coleman.

You smile, and approaching your new student, you point out a spare desk behind Dustin Henderson, beside Mike Wheeler. “Go on and take a seat, Elle. I’m sure we’re all going to enjoy having a new face to our cohort. Now, can you all turn to page three of your textbooks and start reading about ancient Egypt while I talk to Chief Hopper and Mr. Coleman…”

You steer the men from the classroom, and closing the door behind you, you turn to them. But Principle Coleman speaks first. “Jane has a sort of…learning problem. I hope you understand what this means as her teacher. She will need extra attention to become up to speed with the other children.” He goes to add something, but upon hearing another teacher paging him from up the hall, excuses himself, and goes to fix the uprising in room 3B.

You look to the Chief. “In what ways does Jane need extra attention?” you ask him, curious. “You know, as her teacher.”

He clears his throat, a blush staining those cheeks under the stubble. “She’s just never been to school before. I taught her the time, and how to read chapter books.”

“I see,” you hum, and glance through the glass panel in the door to see the class. Like you instructed, they’re reading from the text, some highlighting the lines, some taking notes, some doodling in the margins. “Are you free this afternoon for coffee?”

Jim’s cheeks darken again, but he coughs into his fist, diffusing the pigment. “Uh, yeah. I’ll organise Elle to go after school with the Wheelers.”

You smile. “Fantastic.”

But instead of taking you to a diner, you decided to make the coffee yourself, in the staff room. Perhaps it was because of your tight money belt, considering that all the things that had happened in Hawkins in the last two years had been troubling to you. Perhaps it was because you wanted to make sure this encounter was as strictly professional as it could. This was not a police investigation where Jim Hopper had you running around Hawkins like Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys. This was a teacher, talking to a parent, about their student/child. Professional.

But when Jim entered the staff room, still in his police uniform, hat off, hair tousled, why did it feel anything but? It was just a crush. Damn the rabbit hole. It was just an illusion.

He accepts your coffee, smiling into the cup at how you didn’t add cream or sugar. You both sit at the long table, notepaper, and pen before you, a bowl of nearly-rotting fruit further along. A beat passes between the pair of you, and then, clearing your throat, you begin the parent-teacher talk. “Elle – Jane,” you correct yourself, “She’s the child you were searching for last year, isn’t she?” Your voice is low, even though you’re alone, most of the teacher’s gone home for the night, and cleaners too. “Hopper?”

He nods. “I found her.” He smiles, “She’s been through hell, and she’s a hell of a kid,” he tells you. “Uh, what was she like in class today?”

You smile. “We’re still on the last topic, but from what I can see, she’s interacting well, taking notes along with the other students. Needs to work on raising her hand to talk, and getting a hall pass for the bathroom…” you pass a page of your notes him, and see him nodding along, and add, “I’m excited to see what Elle can achieve this year.”

Jim smiles, but it’s small, sad. “Not many people have been so positive about her,” he says. “I talked with Christopherson, and he wasn’t so thrilled with her. All but said she was a freak.” Jim’s eyebrows rise, and wiping a hand over his face, he adds, “She’s just a kid.”

You nod. “An amazing little girl who has done more for this town than anyone will ever know,” you tell him softly. “I know about what all of it was about,” you confide, “I put all the pieces together, it wasn’t the Russians,” you laugh softly, “It was monsters.”

He drinks the rest of his coffee like a bitter shot, agreeing.

“Elle is going to be fine,” you tell him, “She’s strong. She’s mastered the Demogorgon, and the Mind Flayer. She can defeat Middle School, no problems.” You move your hand across the table to take the notes back, but without noticing, your hands brush, the touch almost electric. A blush mottles your face, and taking your hand away, you go to apologise.

Jim shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says softly, “It’s okay.”

You know this is a parent-teacher talk. You know this is a professional, casual setting. But you’ve got to ask it. It’s been on your mind ever since Jim took you for questioning the third time after you gave your official statement.

“Why me?” you ask, voice low, soft. “You kept coming to me, again and again,” you say. “I know I’m your daughter’s teacher and this is out of line just thinking of it –,”

You don’t finish your sentence. Because he leans across the table, and silences your qualms with a soft kiss, his hand cradling the side of your face, and for a second, it’s all good. The worries and the horrors and the panic and the terrible, terrible shit that you and everyone else has gone through is liquefied, dripping away until it’s noting compared to what is happening, until there is no world, no Hawkins, just Jim, Jim and his stubble, Jim and his soft lips and the smell of coffee, cigarettes and a faint whiff of whiskey or cologne. You melt into his kiss, and by the time that you realise it’s happening, it isn’t, and you’re just two adults sitting at a table once again.

“Jim,” you whisper, “I – I thought I was going mad, I didn’t –,”

A history teacher who lived in a time that was greater than in the books? Maybe it wasn’t that history was terrible, but perhaps, that the greatest things to ever happen had already happened – to you, and to all the people around you in Hawkins. If poor young Alice fell into Wonderland by accident, and saw all the beautiful horrors of the fantasy world, it didn’t mean it wasn’t real, or that it wasn’t for those who hasn’t touched the abstract world of the Upside Down. It just was a secret world, a fantasy that proved that only the select few could see it. You. The children you taught, Jim Hopper. Little Elle.

Maybe life in 1984 would never live up to the epics. For everyone else.

Jim grins, his eyes meeting yours, “Didn’t you know? In Hawkins, we’re all mad here.”

#jim hopper #chief hopper #jim hopper x reader #chief hopper x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #Female reader

129 notes · View notes

spilladabalia · 9 months ago

Text

youtube

Coil - Egyptian Basses

Video by Derek Jarman.

#coil #egyptian basses 1993 #john balance #peter christopherson #danny hyde #drew mcdowall #electronic #experimental #industrial #ambient #dark ambient #swanyard #recordings 1993-1996 #released 2019 #derek jarman #Youtube

6 notes · View notes

isztan · 7 years ago

Photo

Visszatalált! #Coil vs #DMT vs kockakövön csúszkáló városi valóságok. És öröm, hogy végre megtaláltam a szanaszét heverő fizikális zenegyűjteményemben a megfoghatatlan Time Machines-t. Alapkép: a cd bookletjében lévő matricák egyike. Copyright: Jhon Balance (R.I.P.), Drew McDowall, Peter Christopherson (R.I.P.) [Eskaton 010/Word Serpent records] A macskakő saját felvétel, egy mai, VII. kerületi séta hányta vissza rám. Képek egyesítése a Snapseed "duplaexpó" funkciójával történt. [We are Children ... Black Sun]

#dmt #coil

16 notes · View notes

headlinerportugal · 5 years ago

Text

A beleza do synth-pop pelos Poliça | Reportagem

A Sala 2 da Casa da Música no Porto foi, pela primeira vez, o meu destino na passada noite de quinta-feira, 5 de março. Uma noite de estreias, para mim, para a banda: os Poliça e para a promotora do evento que realizou naquele espaço o seu primeiro evento. Esta entidade é a Suspeitos by Mr November promotora dedicada à organização de concertos com bandas nacionais e internacionais nomeadamente dentro do estilo indie. A sua agenda começou a intensificar-se desde 2018. Existem sob forma de cooperativa sem fins lucrativos.

Ao entrar na sala primeira coisa que acabei por fazer foi tirar o meu casaco. O espaço estava exageradamente quente, a um nível desconfortável. Direi eu: venda de bebidas a quanto obrigas!

O produtor Dustin Zahn fez a primeira parte [Mais fotos aqui] A primeira parte esteve a cargo do produtor Dustin Zahn. Durante 30 minutos apresentou um set com temas seus tendo ocupando um canto do lado esquerdo do palco com a parafernália do costume onde numa pequena mesa habitou um portátil, como não poderia deixar de ser. Uma apresentação bem conseguida.

Em seguida, pouco depois das 22:20 horas entraram os quartro elementos dos Poliça: Channy Leaneagh (voz), Chris Bierden (baixo), Drew Christopherson e Ben Ivascu (ambos na bateria).

O primeiro tema interpretado foi “Sea Without Blue”, a última faixa do álbum mais recente. Seguiu-se “Lime Habit” uma das canções mais reconhecidas da banda oriunda da cidade de Prince no Minneapolis (EUA). A partir da terceira canção o palco ficou invadido de luzinhas verdes e vermelhas por entre outras maiores e redondas de tom branco.

“Driving”, “Stready” e “Be Again” foram encadeadas em seguida ficando o público definitivamente imbuído nesse último trabalho discográfico ‘When We Stay Alive’ cuja interpretação ocorreu quase na sua totalmente com uma exceção, o tema “TATA”.

Channy Leaneagh, a vocalista dos Poliça [Mais fotos aqui] Channy Leaneagh revelou estar muito feliz pela sua primeira vez no nosso país, dizendo igualmente achar Portugal muito bonito. Foi esplendido verificar a boa condição física da vocalista. Em 2018 a vocalista dos Poliça teve um gravoso acidente em sua casa no qual fraturou uma vertebra, tendo também danificado a coluna vertebral deixando-a incapaz de locomoção durante meses. Acidente este que a fez rever a sua perspetiva da vida.

Voltando à música, foi uma noite na qual a beleza do synth-pop sentiu-se a cada batida das percussões de Drew e Ben bem como a cada palavra reverberada de Channy.

Ben Ivascu, um dos bateristas [Mais fotos aqui] Outros temas de outros trabalhos discográficos foram tocados como “I Need $” ou “Warrior Lord” (Shulamith de 2013). “Forget Me Now” uma das mais poderosas bem como “Lay Your Cards Out”, a mais filmada da noite e uma das mais sensuais foram os meus preferidos desta performance.

Regressaram ao palco para um encore, primeiro tema foi “Little Threads” com Dustin Zahn que deu a sua colaboração e finalizaram com “Wandering Star”.

A Sala 2 da Casa da Música esteve praticamente lotada tendo-se verificado a presença de muito público feminino, notou-se em especial que muitas delas sabiam as letras de cor.

A estreia dos Poliça foi coroada de êxito e só posso esperar que retornem em breve pois deu para reparar que a banda já tem alguns seguidores cá pelo nosso país.

Setlist

Sea Without Blue

Lime Habit

I Need $

Driving

Steady

Be Again

Blood Moon

Dark Star (remix)

Warrior Lord

Smug

Fold Up

Feel Life

Forget Me Now

Lay Your Cards Out

Trash in Bed Encore

Little Threads with Dustin Zahn

Wandering Star

Vejam toda a foto-reportagem pelo Jorge Nicolau: clicar aqui

Texto: Edgar Silva Fotografia: Jorge Nicolau

#coberturadefestivais #Poliça #CasaDaMusica #Porto

0 notes

samazoncreations · 6 years ago

Photo

Last set of photos perfect for #tbt for my Mega Charizard X cosplay from @kumoricon 2016s cosplay contest. I designed this costume based off winning the wig whike I was in a college math class. This was my first bodysuit, first helmet, and first time adding lights. The wings were a group effort with @propsquire cutting out and mounting the shape I drew and my dad adding the shoulder and waist strap. I added the details, color, and lights to them. 💙💙💙💙 💙💙💙💙 💙💙💙💙 💙💙💙💙 📷: Keith Christopherson 💙💙💙💙 💙💙💙💙 💙💙💙💙 #megacharizardx #gijinka #pokemoncosplay #pokemon #pokemongijinka #samazoncosplayandcreations #samazoncosplay #kumoricon #cosplay (at Kumoricon) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bv2DGrEDcGf/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=dlgktpzqr2cd

#tbt #megacharizardx #gijinka #pokemoncosplay #pokemon #pokemongijinka #samazoncosplayandcreations #samazoncosplay #kumoricon #cosplay

0 notes

gigsoupmusic · 5 years ago

Text

POLIÇA announce new album & share first single "Driving"

LP 'When We Stay Alive' due Jan 31st via Memphis Industries. UK tour next Feb! Poliça return with their new album 'When We Stay Alive', which is set for release January 31st via Memphis Industries. Today the band are sharing the first single & video from the album, "Driving". When Poliça’s Channy Leaneagh fell off her roof while clearing ice in early 2018, she smashed her L1 vertebrae and battered her spine, leaving her in a brace with limited mobility for months. Yet Poliça’s fourth album, 'When We Stay Alive', is not about one debilitating accident. It’s about the redemptive power of rewriting your story in order to heal, and reclaiming your identity as a result. With a video directed by Isaac Gale, Leaneagh explains the meaning behind the first single "Driving" as she says "Laying in bed, as I healed from a 10 foot fall of carelessness with my life, I would dream of running in green grass and tears would pour from my eyes. “Running in the tall tear grass; imagine wanting life and the want remains.” That is a feeling to hold onto; that life is worth living even when all the towers are crumbling and this goes beyond my own little accident but the world around me. Following the crone into the sinking ship and having the chance to return without a shadow. Drive on, Drive on. A second chance you won’t forget”. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djlZf1J0wqI While recovering, Leaneagh’s doctor told her to focus not only on physical healing, but to meditate on the mental act of healing as well – working to erase the anger, regrets, and fear she felt about her fall. To do so, he suggested she rewrite the story she told herself about what happened on February 28th. Left alone with her thoughts and her back fully braced, Leaneagh would visualize herself slipping and falling not onto cement, but instead onto a cloud, landing safely before breaking into a sprint over snow melting to reveal tall blades of green grass. As she felt the positive effects of this mental exercise, she set about doing the same for other injuries and pains that she gripped onto from her past. Prior to Leaneagh’s accident, she had been setting music aside as she raised her children and worked to make ends meet as a nursing assistant. Now in the still silence of healing, she found that a multitude of feelings were becoming very loud. Leaneagh realized her self-identity had become attached to her experiences of physical and mental trauma, and she began to consider what it would be like to live without the past as a burden. “I felt there were many things I could look at and say, ‘This happened to me but I’m okay now. It’s not happening anymore and I got the care I needed for it. Now it’s time to rewrite the story I tell about myself and to myself,’" she explains. While half of 'When We Stay Alive' was written before the fall, and half afterwards, the tracks meld together in a coherent and redemptive sonic whole. Those written before the fall relay ideas with a more heightened sense of anxiety and distress: the rousing “Forget Me Now” interrogates what makes two people bring out the worst in each other, while on the soulful “Steady,” Leaneagh struggles with the sudden pressure of becoming the head of her immediate family after her parents moved away. “TATA” was inspired by the challenge of keeping a cool head in the face of tense community meetings where anger continues to rise against Northern Metals, a north Minneapolis company under fire for pollution issues. Inspired by the power found in her healing process, on the second batch of songs Leaneagh tried a slightly different approach, working to reevaluate her past, difficult personal experiences and bring in a sense of insight, strength, and light that perhaps wasn’t there at the time. The stirring “Feel Life” captures Leaneagh’s process of recasting pain as an alarm to live and see beyond what we lack. She takes back her sense of self on the haunting “Be Again,”a song recorded as she relearned to sing while wearing a brace. “For me this song is a meditation to myself,” Leaneagh explains. “To come back from the disassociation I’ve lived with most of my life.” “Blood Moon” sees her examining how keeping this sort of guard up can prove more precariously isolating than protective. “I can look back and see how music has always been here for me to be loud, say what I feel and ask for what I need in these songs I write,” she says. “I always find my courage again on the stage – that is where I feel alive, and for that I am eternally grateful for music and the people that I make it with.” 'When We Stay Alive' possesses a new confidence in its sound, reflected in its fierce, determined songs and anchored by the heavy synths and punctuating beats of Poliça co-founder and producer Ryan Olson. Over the last several years Olson and Leaneagh have widely collaborated with musicians from all over the world: both with Bon Iver, and Leaneagh individually with Boys Noize, Lane 8, Sasha, Leftfield, and Daniel Wohl; Olson with Swamp Dogg in addition to countless musicians from the 37d03d collective. As a result, 'When We Stay Alive' features one of the largest musical casts of any Poliça record to date. To create the album, Olson brought his favorite collaborators into his studio for all-night sessions. He’d then send Leaneagh the files to write lyrics to while recovering at home, which she’d record alone or with engineer Alex Proctor. Drummers Drew Christopherson and Ben Ivascu colored the songs with a new approach – drastically changing the rhythmic dynamic from previous efforts by creating an indistinguishable hybrid of live and electronic instrumentation--and bassist Chris Bierden provided a melody-laden low-end as well as more layered backing vocals than ever before. On Poliça’s first three albums, Leaneagh focused on restructuring the world and her relationships within it. On 'When We Stay Alive', she realises the power in restructuring her inner self. The album’s title references the idea of moving forward through life – our experiences, both good and bad – and what happens next with the strength we find. “I had been living unconsciously in past trauma,” Leaneagh says. “I don’t want to deny something happened – this is not about repression – it’s about taking the power back from the past, holding the power in the present, and creating a new story for myself.” See Poliça live: 11/10 - Chicago, IL - Empty Bottle 12/10 - Milwaukee, WI - Flannel Fest 23/11 - Eau Claire, WI - Jampf Theater 26/11-27/11 - Minneapolis, MN - 7th St Entry 7/2 - Bristol, UK - Thekla 8/2 - Manchester, UK - Gorilla 10/2 - Glasgow, UK - St. Lukes 11/2 - London, UK - Village Underground 12/2 - Brighton, UK - Concorde 2 14/2 - Paris, France - La Maroquinerie 15/2 - Brussels, Belgium - Botanique/Orangerie 16/2 - Frankfurt, Germany - Zoom 18/2 - Cologne, Germany - Artheatre 19/2 - Hamburg, Germany - Gruenspan 21/2 - Oslo, Sweden - John Dee 22/2 - Stockholm, Sweden - Slaktkyrkan 24/2 - Copenhagen, Denmark - Little Vega 25/2 - Berlin, Germany - Columbia Theatre 27/2 - Warsaw, Poland - Hydrozagadka 28/2 - Vienna, Austria - WUK 29/2 - Munich, Germany - Hansa 39 1/3 - Milan, Italy - Santeria 3/3 - Barcelona, Spain - La Nau 4/3 - Madrid, Spain - Caracol 19/3 - Madison, WI - High Noon Saloon 20/3 - Chicago, IL - Thalia Hall 21/3 - Detroit, MI - Deluxx Fluxx 23/3 - Toronto, OH - Horeshoe Tavern 24/3 - Montreal, QB - Bar Le Ritz 25/3 - Boston, MA - Brighton Music Hall 27/3 - New York City, NY - Webster Hall 28/3 - Philadephia, PA - Union Transfer 29/3 - Washington, D.C. - 9:30 Club 31/3 - Columbus, OH - The Basement 1/4 - St. Louis, MO - Off Broadway 2/4 - Maquoketa, IA - Codfish Hollow Barn 10/4 - Minneapolis, MN - First Avenue 16/4 - Seattle, WA - Neptune Theatre 17/4 - Vancouver, BC - Venue 18/4 - Portland, OR - Wonder Ballroom 20/4 - Sacramento, CA - Harlow’s 21/4 - San Francisco, CA - The Fillmore 22/4 - Los Angeles, CA - Teragram Ballroom 24/4 - Phoenix, AZ - Crescent Ballroom 25/4 - Albuquerque, NM - Sister 27/4 - Austin, TX - Scoot Inn 28/4 - Dallas, TX - Deep Ellum Art Co 29/4 - Oklahoma City, OK - 89th St 30/4 - Lawrence, KS - The Bottleneck 1/5 - Omaha, NE - Waiting Room 2/5 - Des Moines, IA - Vaudeville Mews (Tickets on sale on Friday 11th October) Read the full article

#memphisindustries #polica #StereoSanctity #WhenWeStayAlive

0 notes