Wilder Mind

The email from the event company stated that Mumford & Sons were coming to South Africa. I was still doing an internship in Paris, but assigned my sister the task of buying us tickets as the Pretoria date coincided with her birthday, for which I would be in the city. On the day, I asked whether she had gotten the tickets, but she had forgotten and by the time she looked they had been sold out. Well, they had been sold out in three minutes, so the chances of getting some had been steep in any case.

Then another email came, saying additional dates in Cape Town and Pretoria had been added. I changed shifts and coordinated with a friend at home to both try and buy some tickets. At 9.00 we logged in, and miraculously minutes later I received a confirmation email for three tickets. The friend also got three, so now we were locked and loaded for the concert. 

Months later, the day of the event had arrived. I had been lucky enough (or stalkerish enough) to recognise the band members of John Wizards on my flight from Cape Town to Johannesburg and proceeding to observe them at a distance to come up with a brilliant plan for trapping them in a conversation with me, the results of which I hoped would be some backstage tickets or a shout-out for my sister's birthday or something. Sadly I am too chickenshit to actually follow up on stalking semi-famous people and never talked to them. Also, my bag was the first one that came out, and I didn't want to appear weird whilst waiting for them. Stalker mode not on fleek (which I guess is  a good thing). 

The concert was held at the Amphitheatre near the Voortrekker Monument, which showcased Pretoria's city centre as a backdrop and also had enough space for the audience to spread out across the steps from which everyone had a good view of the stage. We arrived in time for John Wizards and then really enjoyed The Very Best, before Beatenberg played as last introductory act. The Saturday performance had been cut slightly shorter due to a highveld thunderstorm, but Sunday's show had perfect weather and the crowd seemed exceedingly excited to be there. Marcus Mumford appeared during Beatenberg's show, playing the drums and singing along, as well as Senegalese singer Baaba Maal being featured during The Very Best's set. 

From starting out with Little Lion Man to newer hits such as Tompkins Square Park and Wilder Mind to bringing out the boys from Beatenberg, The Very Best and Baaba Maal for a jam session, this concert was one of the highlights of my homecoming trip (if not one of the best concerts I have been to). Somehow the synergy between the audience, the beautiful setting and the great music worked together to make everyone enjoy the show. At some point I looked up and saw the Voortrekker Monument gleaming to my left, Orion right above us and the Southern Cross behind us as the capital loomed in the background, and it made me appreciate the wonder of that very moment, the pleasure in being able to gather with friends and strangers under a cloudless sky on a warm summer's night and simply enjoy the music. 

There is a TED talk by Alain de Botton where he speaks about Atheism 2.0 and how some of the values and actions of organised religions still translate well to human behaviour even if some do not believe in a higher power. After the talk, he was asked by the moderator that this talk made it sound like he did believe in something more, but de Botton answered that it is a moment of looking at the universe and realising our smallness in contrast to its immensity that already creates a sense of mystery which he gets through basic observation and a belief in science, not necessarily in a belief that there must be something more. 

I felt a similar exhilaration at the concert, being surrounded by the natural beauty, the man-made constructions in the distance and my friends around me. At times we just need to appreciate a moment for what it is, not expecting more or being disappointed in a perceived lack. 

After the show we had one last drink before taking one of the last buses back to where the car was parked. It was a few minutes before midnight, so my sister's birthday was rolling in as we were stuck in a traffic jam. One friend got the last few beers out of the boot, I went over to the car in front of us to ask them to play something more birthday-sounding and we had an impromptu dance party in the parking lot. Turned out the guys were DJs at a Joburg club and were more than happy to oblige and play some of their mixes. Even the car guard came over and joined in the celebration. 

We dropped one friend off and then returned home, tired, somewhat sunburnt but genuinely happy. 

Parachute

I love my bed. The sheets smell lightly of detergent and lightly of me, the futon has never made me wake-up with a back ache and although the bed is just a simple Ikea construction it works (for now). After two weeks of sleeping elsewhere, I love my bed even more. It was the greatest relief to come home to it and pass out, finally getting a good night's rest.

The first week was spent at a conference for PhD students on visual methodologies at Aarhus University in Denmark. About 20 students from all over and doing very different PhDs came together to discuss the manner in which we choose to study visuality, and how traditional approaches can be remixed to fit the individual topics. The course was led by three wonderful women whose insight and ways of navigating academia was inspiring and ultimately it was more than I had hoped it would be. When I came to Germany, I expected students from various backgrounds and engaged lecturers wanting to discuss canonical works, as well as debating current trends and developments. It is a course in culture, language and media, but somehow it feels as though we stagnated for 18 months and are all feeling rather over it.

The beach near my AirBnb

The week in Aarhus by contrast was exactly how I had imagined by Masters: people with diverse backgrounds, all with a desire to be there and learn from one another, coming together and exchanging worldviews, knowledge and a few beers. We were assigned specific groups, but could combine our various talents to best research the various tasks we were given (or rather, where we were given a wide framework to choose our own specific task from). It was a learning curve to see how the other students approached the research, how each used different methods and how things that I had considered frivolous and more for my own interest than as academic research could be validated (such as doodling or making subjective notes or simply taking photographs).

Before Flensburg, I thought I had found my way. Academia would be where I wanted to spend my time, where I could learn and teach, where knowledge and interaction and working together would be valued, because that is how the department I was in worked (despite administrative bickerings). But the system at this university and the lecturers' attitude of simply not giving a fuck chipped away slowly at the desire to go into the same field. What if everyone, everywhere was like this? Would I want to spend my time surrounded by people who, outwardly at least, have no passion for their jobs, no wish to talk with the students, no  desire to work with instead of against others. I am being unjust to this city, because it does have its beautiful moments and I do value the time spent, the wonderful apartment and the new friends made. And yet it took a little of an optimism that previously would not yield to mumblings of having to choose differently. Now I hear the whispers, ingest the insecurities, constantly overthink whether I can do this. Whereas I looked forward to whatever happens next, this place made me fear it.



Aarhus gave back a sliver of reassurance since I could see and talk to others who had struggled with the same thoughts. Aarhus also gave me music, a saviour in all cases.

Mo. 

Ginger magic Jack Garratt. 

The Northside festival was part of the field work we did, which is also why I initially signed up: a reason to rationalise the great expense of the festival ticket. Friday's line-up already made it all worth it. I stood front and centre for Jack Garratt, and hot damnnnn was it good. As a British guy behind be said: "Yeh, he's a proper lad". I caught Death Cab singing Soul Meets Body and then got into angst-ridden 20-year-old mode for Incubus. The Danes filled the hills for Mø, a Danish singer who dresses like Sporty Spice and whose songs all sounded the same to me. Our little group headed to a different stage to see FKA Twigs, but for having being rather hyped this past year she just seemed exhausted and ingenuine. She came on stage, had her back to the audience, stood there for a few minutes, then left again to come back dancing sultrily and breathing into her microphone, which was her entire performance. Northside redeemed itself through a great set by Alt-J and then the Wu Tang Clan got everyone to jam. At 1:00 in the morning Grace Jones gave the performance of the evening: I cannot remember having consciously listened to her music, but she was enigmatic. She changed costumes, had her tits out, made jokes with the audience and just seemed like a fantastic person with fascinating skeletons in her closet.

IPA. 

Bruschetta Burger. Fancy. 

Little tarts. Fancy #2. 

Saturday was a rainy and windy day, but it suited the set by Anthony & the Johnsons perfectly as he sang with the Aarhus Symphony Orchestra. Somehow the melancholic music and the sound of the rain falling on everyone's raincoats worked so well together that I could forget the miserable weather, the loneliness felt when not going to a festival with friends, and thinking that I shouldn't miss the bus again because walking home for an hour in the rain would suck.


Sunday I decided that just chilling with the others was enough, so we grabbed some beers, stood in a queue for an hour to get a tshirt printed, saw the marvellous man that is Ben Howard and danced a bit to the final act of the festival: the Black Keys.

'Sup Handome. 

The next two days we used our research to formulate concrete findings and suggestions before presenting these before a panel from the festival and ReThink2017, a group charged with making Aarhus a cultural capital in the coming year.

I travelled back to Flensburg, chucked my dirty clothes on the floor, packed new ones, slept a little and went off on the next adventure.

My flaws are open season

Bit of that pubescent insecurity flaring up. Bit of the old playlists balancing it all out again. At times all you need is a little air guitar.

You are one of us

There is something about pilgrimages, about being on the long road with a certain goal that appeals to my inner wild child. Travelling, moving somewhere out of the ordinary, means breaking away (at least for a while)  from responsibilities. My mother and I have road-tripped together most often, so it is hard for me to hear about her driving alone to fetch my gran in Jeffrey's Bay. It is hard not being there, not helping to pack the car, not taking the longer shifts. I know the road they are taking: Jansenville, Graaff-Reinet, Middelburg, Colesberg, Bloemfontein. When driving down from Pretoria my grandmother would call at intervals, asking where we were, calculating how fast we were reaching each milepost along the road.

The family was trekking into the heart of the country for a reunion of epic proportions. Cousins, great-cousins, aunts, uncles, everyone related in some way, everyone wanting to see how the others had changed. Underneath it all a current of familiar strife, people having fallen out and not spoken to one another in years. This frustrates me extremely. My cousin Emce calls me 'kwaai katjie' and the other day my mother and grandmother laughed as they said I was a 'kwaaitjie kabouter' (it translates into an angry kitten and an angry little gnome). They say this without listening. I am angry, it is true, but at them, for never talking about anything. Avoiding conflict and pretending at everything being a-ok runs in their veins, with the end result being no one talking to one another. If we do not speak about it, it is not happening.

I fully understand that not everyone wants to talk at length about their feelings. We are not on Freud's couch, there is no need for psychoanalysis. But I will insist on honesty. I will insist on making things a-ok, on working at it, instead of feigning ignorance at the problems in our midst. They do not understand this being-far-away-thing. I appreciate the videos, the voice messages, the photographs of togetherness being sent over social media more than they know. I thank the Gods for WhatsApp and FaceTime. Yet the sentence "When are you coming for a visit?" stresses me, because I have no answer. I don't know if or when I'll come back. Personal aspirations clash with familiar desires, wanting to see more with wanting to be there.

It won't be an easy choice, when I eventually make it. It won't be a permanent one, probably. But it will mean more years in far away places, not coming to Sunday lunches, Christmas dinners or helping to drive the long road. It means building a life so apart form them that I fear at some point the voice notes will stop, the photographs won't be shared, and I will no longer be one of them.

Don't worry yourself

It snowed. 31 of March and it snowed.
The crocuses had bloomed. I had gone to sunnier places with just a thin leather jacket.
It had become seasonally warm (or what goes for warm in this cold place).
Now this. Still wearing your wintercoat in April is not ok. Really, I cannot handle this drabness much longer. Before, I had complained about the weather being too hot, about the sweat underneath my legs making them stick to leathery surfaces when sitting down, about fearing sunburn and being swallowed by the heat at all times. Now I long for any true heat, not this manufactured air coming from the heater under my window. I want to swelter.

In the meantime, a little Fink goes a long way.

Colour me in

At the end of Closer Natalie Portman walks down a crowded road in New York in slow(er) motion as The Blower's Daughter by Damien Rice plays. From that moment onward I have been a fan of this man's music. He had not released any new material in years so I never imagined I would get to see him live. But my friend wrote me an email saying that he would be in Zürich and that both of us would miss this show since she was not home and I was in SA. However, he was ON TOUR and would be in Berlin in November. In a somewhat strange situation I joined his mailing list while boarding a plane to Istanbul in Johannesburg (the mailing list people would be able to book tickets a few days earlier and I was certain the show would sell out instantaneously). Then after a few days I waited in front of the only computer in our hostel to buy the tickets. Luckily all the cyberactivity paid off and I reserved two tickets in the third row.

In the end no one could come with me, but in the event's FB group I found another student who also really wanted to go so the two of us met up at the concert and settled in. The show was held at the Admiralspalast, an old theatre with lush red seats and a beautiful ceiling in central Berlin. It was a very mixed crowd, with people from all walks of life attending.

The opening act consisted of two ladies, one from Iceland and one from Sweden, called My Bubba. One of them was wearing black pants with white horses printed on them, so I was already won over. They sang quite softly, wherefore I (and most people in the audience, judging from the occasional 'We can't hear you' shouts) couldn't really hear the lyrics. One song stood out: they only used clapping as 'instrument' (it is called Dogs Laying Around Playing, the video is also rather sweet).

Damien Rice then started 15 minutes late (in Germany! Oh no! The tardiness!). But he made everything so cool: as he was playing his first song people still kept coming in and finding their seats. As he was strumming on his guitar he would say : "Ah fuck, where is seat 17, fuck, sorry" or "I know I am late, but you are realllly late", which made the entire atmosphere of the theatre very intimate and familiar. What follows was the best concert of my life. Just him, the guitar, and a stage show that consisted mainly of different nuances of light and darkness. Sometimes Damien had one spotlight on him, sometimes hundreds of LEDs shone in the background as he was hidden in the blackness. Sometimes we all listened, enraptured, and at other times we all sang along, forming a canon with older hits. Damien would also ask the audience to shout what song they wanted to listen to and would then play well-known and obscure songs, joking in between about his long absence: "You know how you get up, go to work, go to bed and wake up the next day to do it all again? Well, I woke up 7 years later". The concert lasted for more than two hours, and what made it so wonderful was how one got to see a great performer at work. Damien Rice does not need a spectacular stage show or large band or a whole horde of other people on stage to make his presence felt. At times he even sang without the microphone and still the entire theatre was filled with his voice.

After two encores I left to catch the last train home, elated by this performance. Having someone to go to concerts with is great, but in all honesty I was happy to have seen him on my own, because at this concert I never felt alone.

The next day I went for dinner with my father and two others and saw that Damien was playing a secret show at a hotel nearby. Man, I wanted to jump into the nearest metro and head over, but was emotionally bullied into remaining at the restaurant (which was not a great decision, because I simply did not speak for the rest of the evening). Fortunately, the Michelberger Hotel filmed the performance, which is a shorter version of the Admiralspalast concert. Here is the link:

Glacier

I've decided to dance when gravity becomes too much. So I twirl around, never on my own in a world of sound.

She gone with the man/ In the long black coat

The biggest musical moment was when Jimmy Eat World came to Oppikoppi in 2007. After Savage Garden and Usher in the Dome in Johannesburg when I was still a preteen this was huge. I must have been 19, ready to finish my Abitur and head out into the world at the end of that year. I remember standing pretty close to the stage with one of my best friends, how excited we were and how we sang along to every song. It was magnificent.

This year I have had the privilege of seeing the National, and with that my musical bucket list had started. There are just 4 names on there: Radiohead. The National. Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds. Ben Howard. Easy. Doable, in a lifetime, surely.

And then someone came along who would blow that bucket list to smithereens: Bob Dylan. As in, the Bob Dylan. Bobby D. The one and only. For some reason (I do not question the powers that be in this case) Bob Dylan came to Flensburg, of all places. And played for us. Jimmy Eat World were magnificent because of who I saw them with and because they are the band of my teens; the National were a testament to how sad songs can make you incredibly happy; and then came Bob Dylan.

Except for jazzy versions of All Along the Watchtower and Blowin in the Wind played as an encore I knew none of the songs. Not a single one. There was no singing along, no great dancing, no great moving along to the music. And yet he was mesmerizing. He walked on stage in a black suit where the jacket was quite long and then a wide-brimmed hat. During the performance, he switched between singing and playing on the piano, walking between the two stations with more swagger than an entire Hip Hop crew, and enthralled us. The hall was stickily hot, the people were packed quite densely next to one another and I was constantly stepping on my jacket on the floor. And yet, him being there was all it took to make everyone forget how hot and humid it was.

To him it must have been just another gig, one of 1000s, but to me it was the world. It was seeing someone who had lived their dream and who at 70-something was still going strong. I am not a musician and I am entirely unsure what the future holds, but seeing him in the hall us students had been welcomed to Flensburg in, well, it made me believe for a little while that anything was possible.

(After the concert we watched Germany beat Brazil 7-1, so that night the impossible truly became a reality.)

Standing Bob.

Piano Bob. 

Germans celebrating their win.

My happiness

I tend to add a 'but' to everything I do, always questioning whether whatever it was was good enough, perpetually in search of something just a teeny little bit better, closer to perfection.

Wednesday was just that: perfection. After class a friend and I went to the beach to tan, with the light rays warming up the sweet lingering smell of coconut in my suntan lotion. There was a slight breeze, just enough to keep us cool as we were sautéing ourselves in the sun, and the faint clinginess of salt water on our skin felt like being on vacation without it being holiday time. We were unhurried, unstressed, not worrying about echoes of anxiety that seem to catch me at unguarded moments.

Then four of us roadtripped to Hamburg, as we were attending different concerts there. Nele and I headed to The National playing in the Stadtpark Freilichtbühne, which is an open air stage in an enormous park. Since my last years at school The National have been a musical emotional support system. Whenever not so happy times arose, I'd play Fake Empire, and as they released new albums Runaway and Fireproof joined the top 25 songs that my iPod plays. Their music to me is representative of the melancholy, awkward darkness that we all fall prey to at times and wallow in slightly, but which we then overcome after a glass of wine with friends or a good nights sleep.

It is hard to say why this concert was so wonderful. They are not a band where you dance excessively and they don't have an impressive light show or background visuals. Nonetheless, Nele and I were smiling the whole way through. There is something in the songs that pulls you along, that makes you swing slowly from side to side, that talks to you more than bigger, louder, dancier tracks do. The best moment was the final one: throughout the day the heavens had darkened, with heavy rain clouds rolling in over the venue. Not until the last last song did it start to rain ever so softly though: the band had come to the absolute front of the stage and sung a heartfelt stripped-down rendering of Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks as the crown chanted along and the droplets hung as if momentarily frozen in the air.

Absolute perfection.

This tree of ours may grow tall in the woods/ But it's the roots that will bind us here

It has been a listen-to-Ben-Howard-on-repeat kind of day.

Home is wherever I'm with you

I know I've been scarce in posting, but I'll make up for it in the near future.

Life's for the Living

I haven't posted in a while because before a move there is always so much that still needs to be done, and the same thing goes for when you have arrived where you moved to. At the moment I am in Berlin, whilst trying to find accommodation in Flensburg. At least the university only starts at the end of October, so I'm hoping that that will be sufficient time not only to find a place, but an awesome commune with great roommates. Aiming high :)

In comparison to Pretoria it is amazing how much is happening here at all times. Through my FB stalking I saw that Bastille was coming to SA for Ramfest next year, and I was superjealous. That is, I was superjealour until I found out they played here, yesterday. Ok, I missed them, but the likelihood of them playing somewhere accessible here is greater than in SA.

On Wednesday we spent the day on the Museumsinsel (museum island) where the amount of statues, paintings and information was overwhelming. Afterwards, we went to a photographic exhibit in Mitte at Mein Haus am See. Walking in felt a bit like being home, because it was full of hipsters. Then I remembered I have no friends here and after a long day of walking around I looked decidedly uncool, so my whole 'I have found my people!' sentiment went out the window pretty quickly. Maybe the Apfelschorle instead of beer didn't help my coolness factor either. Anyways, becoming slightly more German in order not to be astounded/confused/enraged by everything is a long process, apparently.

There was a guy playing on his guitar as well, Graham Candy from New Zealand, who was quite cool. He started of with a cover of Bon Iver's Flume, and mixed covers of the Black Keys, Alt-J (I think) etc., in with his own stuff. Very nice, Mr. Candy.

The photographs were by Kevin Russ, and upon further investigation (meaning I went to the website) it turns out he works with Photocircle, where you order the photos you want, printed the way and in the size you want, and a part of the price goes to different charities. More on that at a later stage.

Here are some first-experiences photos :)

Somewhere over Germany

Alphonse Mucha-inspired enormous mural in Pankow

On the Museumsinsel

Pergamonmuseum

Caesar

Yo. Cup. 

Kevin Russ's work

Graham Candy

Sing me a love song / From your heart or from the phonebook

The Editors released a new album recently, emotively titled The Weight of your Love. For me, 2008 was filled with An End has a Start and I was extremely jealous when my sister saw them at a festival. Then came the shock that was In This Light And On This Evening, because suddenly there was a lot more synth and a lot less guitars. It was like listening to a different band, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Well, here is a song I like from their newest release.

If you're having girl problems I feel bad for you son

I stumbled across this tumblr, and boy has it made my day not only because it is funny but also because I've had the song looping over and over in my head since Sunday. Ok, no, not the entire song, just the chorus. And damn it is getting irritating. So this was great comic relief.

Click here for all the 99 problems, Ali Graham is on #41.

And my favourite:

How to disappear completely

"That there
That's not me
...
I'm not here
This isn't happening"

Once in a while I'll look in the mirror and not recognise myself, because who is this 'I'? What does it really matter, what is the point of exiting, what is the reason for getting up in the morning and going to sleep at night only to do the same thing, endlessly looping, until one day your whole life has passed you by and you wake up old, forgetful and ready to stop breathing.

In most moments of wonder, of insecurity, of not knowing, of not wanting what I have, of wanting to be anywhere but here, well, then it is time for music. Music has the ability to transport me away from all that is into all that could be without having to move. It is an escape mechanism that requires nothing more than a song and a pair of headphones. Mostly I'll turn to old playlists that have accompanied me since the age of teenage angst : Sia's Breathe Me, Ray LaMontagne's Lessons Learned, Sufjan Stevens's For the Widows in Paradise, for the fatherless in Ypsilanti, and then, always, Radiohead (either the post's title track, or their version of Wish You Were Here from the Lords of Dogtown soundtrack with Sparklehorse).

I like them all because the instruments and the voices become tangible: as Finn Andrews of The Veils says, "a large problem with the digital era as it seems to me, is that nothing knows how to rot", and thus everything sounds too retouched. There is a time and a place for electronic/digital music, but the quest for the answers to existence seeks music that is itself wondering and imperfect.

A friend posted the following image/quote, and perhaps that is the answer: to understand myself, I must swallow a world as well. And what better way to maintain this consumption of ideas and questions than by immersing myself in music.

Poster design by Brett Thurman

I wish

n

I've been watching The Voice and Nashville. Never in my life have I listened to so much Country music. One the one hand it is not really what I would choose to hear because I can't relate too much to what they are singing about and it just doesn't do much for my ears. Like I'm an okie from muskogee. Ja, that one made me forward really quickly.

But some of the songs were really cool. And apparently The Civil Wars count as country, so here is a little taste.

Monster Maker

Ja. You should watch this video.
Although Two Door Cinema Club is a real band, and I'm guessing the Canadian guy meant that he played the band, not the made up album, at his radio station.




Maybe it is not that funny. What would you do if someone stuck a microphone in your face and asked you about all of these bands you've never heard of. It's not like Jimmy Kimmel is going to show the people that said they didn't know what the hell the interviewer was asking about. And if I have learn't anything about humans, it is that we are terribly afraid of looking dumb. Sure, these Coachella attendees look slightly silly for saying they want to see imaginary bands, but hipsters have to keep their cool, man. You can't look like you don't know about the underground bands. Unknown bands should be your thing, so you have to know.

Whatever. This was funny.

Sweet banana

My ass was vibrating, and not because I had suddenly learnt how to shake it myself or because I had my cellphone in my back pocket. No no no. The man at the drums was drumming so hard the entire floor was shacking, and as luck would have it, we were seated front and centre, on platform of vibration otherwise known as the wooden floor at the Alliance Francaise in Pretoria.

On their FB site I just saw the word "free", which to my poverty-stricken status means a chance to get out of the house. I had no idea what to expect from Stone Aged Souls, the "free-form musical-visual synthesis" group that is being sponsored by the Alliance to travel around Southern Africa.

The whole concert as such was strange. It felt a bit like a bunch of hippy friends all banging on instruments and "jamming". The lyrics were terrible though. I may be a cynic, and critical, and perhaps too easily so, but when someone chants silly things like "did you know you have wings?" and "sweet banana sweet banana sweet banana" and "the mother who fathered children" it feels a bit pretentious to me, as though the lyricist was wanting to conjure complex imagery but fails in his/her language use. For instance, what does it mean when one sings "like human beings I'd rather be of human beginnings"? I know it sounds great, all that repetition of similar sounds, just tell me what you actually wanted to convey?

During the performance, one member would go to the back and swirl sand around on a lit glass plate that was projected onto a screen behind the musicians. It was interesting to wait in anticipation  of what images would be formed next, and how they would connect to the music. Don't know if it really was a synthesis though since the equipment kept going into sleep-mode during one of the painting sessions, and the camera's spot meter was always in the middle of the image.

Overall it was a fun night mostly because the Alliance provided the some great Glühwein to the guests and because the friends I attended it with made it seem not so strange. It is not as though I am opposed to the strange if it is wonderfully so, but this seemed as though they could require a bit more practice in how to stage a show. Although I must add that the Alliance does a great job in providing free, varied entertainment and in supporting local/international artists. So it is natural that the previous event I attended, featuring Dobet Gnahoré, was a lot more engaging for me, but that this one might have been much more fun for other attendees.

Come on, get out

This is Pea Sized.

Ingenue

Thom Yorke is back, well, with Atoms for Peace. Amok is out end of the month. When you click on this link to the Amok site, the background shifts between images of websites, all somehow linking to Atoms for peace. As the band explains, "wherever fans leave their mark [by including the link to the Amok site] feeds back to the stream, using the whole Internet as an ever-changing visualiser".