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Bibō no aozora
Probably the single greatest balm to the weird internal weariness I've been feeling for the first half of this year is the song "Bibō no aozora"by Ryuichi Sakamoto, performed by him and Taeko Ōnuki on 2010's Utau. I put it on in the morning, in a state of semi-consciousness; I put it on after lunch, when I need space to regroup, and I put it on in the evening, when Ghyll curls up on the sofa and (finally) decides to stop moving for the day. If when I die my head is split open For Science they will find the first five notes—Manazashi wo—written in the folds of my brain.
I think it's one of those songs that either speaks to you, or doesn't. I'm not particularly moved by the lyrics, either, about the end of a relationship on a clear blue day, which Sakamoto and co-writer Masao Urino apparently belaboured and which are characteristically purple.
The song was originally released, performed by Sakamoto himself, on 1995's Smoochy, as a sort of minor-key 90s pop/electronic/classical crossover-type thing, and which is interesting but doesn't quite click.
The following year, Sakamoto rearranged the song for piano, violin, and cello for 1996's 1996. This version of the song was later used in the soundtrack to the movie Babel (2006) and is (I think) the most popular version of the song, drawing widespread acclaim among classical/soundtrack enthusiasts. The YouTube comments section is full of people saying things like "This song and the entire Babel soundtrack defines my life for the past 15 years." I think this version layers on the drama a bit too much. Ōnuki's singing has a certain stoic quality that I much prefer to layered strings.
Sakamoto himself obviously liked the song because he included different variations on it on other records throughout the 2000s. I read somewhere at one point that he regularly included it on concert setlists, but now I can't find wherever it was that I read it.
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Listen to Wikipedia
Listen to the sound of Wikipedia's recent changes feed. Bells indicate additions and string plucks indicate subtractions. Pitch changes according to the size of the edit; the larger the edit, the deeper the note. Green circles show edits from unregistered contributors, and purple circles mark edits performed by automated bots. You may see announcements for new users as they join the site, punctuated by a string swell. You can welcome him or her by clicking the blue banner and adding a note on their talk page.
This is fantastic. The noise—I hesitate to call it music, but I also hesitate to call it not music—is remarkably consonant. I've just left it running in the background.
What's more: the site is open-source, so you can have a nosey around at how it works. At its core is a websocket connection to a server that Hatnote manages, but which itself pulls from Wikipedia's Recent Changes. Also of note: no build step. Just a couple of vendored libraries in a
static/folder. Take notes, folks. -
Ghyll's favourite album
My dog's favourite album is Octava by Phi-Psonics.
<a href="https://phi-psonics.bandcamp.com/album/octava">Octava by Phi-Psonics</a> So I don't know why this is. We didn't play it for him when he was young; he hasn't even heard it that many times. It's an unassuming album of quietish jazz. It gives off good vibes, but it doesn't assert itself, or break any musical boundaries or anything. It's nice to listen to in the evening, as we wind down.
Maybe I should explain what I mean by he likes it. When we put it on, he immediately lies down and goes to sleep. It's like his comfort sound. He doesn't do this with any other album; generally speaking he seems ambivalent towards jazz. But he's lights-out by Octava's second track. I suppose I can't even really assert that it's his favourite album—maybe it's just the first couple of songs.
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Last.fm Year in Music
Coheed! Across the board. Cool cool cool. However: Last.fm has also pointed out to me a couple of artists that I didn't include in my year in review:
- Sam Gendel: saxophone music for cool guys in cities. I wish he was my friend, I bet he has a lot to say about Music with a capital M.
- Bicep: specifically their album Isles. Colly referred to it as "club music for home listening" in his 2021 music wrap-up.
- MACROSS 82-99: specifically his album SAILORWAVE III. The album that make future funk click, and which got me interested in the whole world of city pop from the 80s and 90s that I never knew existed.
- Kyary: I spent a lot of time in the gym during the first half of the year, and Kyary's always a banging shout for picking heavy things up and putting them down again.
Also: exactly 20,000 scrobbles (that is to say, listens)! I didn't try to end that way; it's just a cosmic coincidence, and a high-water mark to beat in 2023.
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The Mountain Goats
The Albert Hall doesn't quite live up to the original in London, but it's a beautiful venue nonetheless, a step up from the usual. Back in Manchester for the Mountain Goats show at The Albert Hall (no not that one). I said it last time and I'll say it again: Manchester is probably the best city in the UK. The best one in England at least. It has the busy feeling of something happening everywhere that you get in the big cities—which I love—but there's always a little nook that you can escape to if you feel overwhelmed. You get the sense that through every door, there's a fractal of interior life waiting to be explored and experienced.
Anyway, after dinner we made our way over to the venue (by foot; Manchester is very walkable) and found a spot. The Albert Hall has a regular pit-type area, level with the stage, but it also has a horseshoe-shaped mezzanine above the stage, with tiered seating. No assigned seats—everyone just sort of plonked down wherever space could be made—so we had to meander about for a little while before we found a spot to park ourselves. I haven't been to a seated gig for a while, but it was a welcome change of pace!
The Mountain Goats, predictably, have a sort of mid-2000s indie energy that's very catching for people of Sam & my vintage. Think: bootcut jeans, crumpled sport jackets, glasses, bouncing up and down while playing an acoustic guitar. John Darnielle has a commanding stage presence—he's got such a distinct voice and vibe that you can't help but look in his direction, even if he sort of looks like Death Cab meets John Oliver.
I think the real standout of the night was multi-instrumentalist Matt Douglas, who filled out the sound with keyboard, saxophone, electric guitar, and backing vocals. The Mountain Goats have a very distinct sound, courtesy in no small part to Darnielle's voice, but Douglas did a fantastic job of adding complexity and surprise throughout.
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札幌コンテンポラリー
22My favourite Vektroid album, only intermittently available on Bandcamp.
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