Stadiums & Shrines
Dreams of Argentina

 

The world’s slowest elevator. A bizarre attraction, this lift, slowly lifting. It wasn’t the lift that drew the curious far outside the City of Fair Breezes to this modern alpine locale, it’s what the lift was rumored to do. That obscure purpose, no one quite knew.

There it stands, a tremendous building—even more tremendous than expected—its edges softened only by the rose gardens bleeding outward, to the pasture’s end. El Edificio, eye to eye with the mountains.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.”

The bellman’s teeth, in that instant, share the exact sparkle with a glass of wine as it fills just beyond his shoulder, through the foyer, out the window. “To the top?”

“Yes.”

The elevator door closes and the bellman vanishes, as do the walls, liquefying, cerulean in tint.

All along the blurred terra, trees sway as if fastened to a seafloor. Stillness, to the unfocused eye, though time is always moving. As are the vantages, and the subjects: glaciers flatten to lakes, horses assume human shapes, roaming. No size is certain. No scene is complete. They press the button.

Ding.

Doors part on a valley, they exit, now spectators, as another party enters above. Themselves, before again, at another moment, in a tinted fantasia, in an instant.

Watching as the group ascends the aquatic shaft, passing again themselves—in their separate descent.

The City of Fair Breezes, as before it was again yesterday.

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Native Eloquence is Los Angeles/Oberlin-based multi-instrumentalist Adam Hirsch. He’s currently recording with plans for a release later this year.

Dreams is an ongoing project where we ask our favorite artists to create a piece of music inspired by a handmade collage.

Dreams of Bermuda

 

The snap of twigs and huff and puff of young lungs stumbling down the winding island trail. A girl leans into the sea-spray, securing her clips against the breeze. Whispering, the water falls, concealing the quartz cave, they trace along the familiar place. They wander for hours, tip-toeing around nests full of eggs, ceasely flicking the specks of pollen floating in the air. Dashing through the Moon Gate, beyond the crystal clearing, to the turquoise fishing holes, to the foreboding fountains of old. Oleander shrubs shimmy/shake it, dishing bouquet high-fives to the uptight stalagmites, left hanging. Those stones aren’t down, too priggish, dismissive. The eucalyptus knows, and boos and hisses.

By the hole, this pool, a sudden fountain. Slurp, the gang ages. Sagging laughter and the comic abundance of crease. Giggle at the new found flubber jiggle. “Look you guys! Look how our skin can wiggle!” Rollicking and splashing in the basin. One boy tips his hat, dips his jaw, and spurts a squirt at chronology. His dentures slip, prehensile tongue flicking them against the clock’s face: sand in the hour glass laughs like a newborn granddad.

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Noah Klein and Emily Reo are two of our favorite artists, and overall human beings. While the couple’s recording projects have co-existed for years this is actually the first time they’ve come together on a finished piece (mixed/mastered by Miles Coe). Soon they’ll embark on an extended return-to-the-east-coast tour. And friends are welcome to help host it: more details here.

Dreams is an ongoing project where we ask our favorite artists to create a piece of music inspired by a handmade collage.

England's Countryside

 

“Goodnight godspeed.”

With a sigh, the lights at Comet Manor commence dimming to darkness, room by room, southbound in succession. Along the path until the last volt vanishes; a skipped stone across the bay, lost in the rings of the Milky Way.

With the world switched off, the search proceeds. The muted forest, the mirrored lake, the moon-hued hills: the ordinary textures of an English countryside flourishing, the morose well of teary eyes in twilight.

With hopeless urgency, dogs following the scent of an unknown. Men follow the dogs. Something trails the men, and their hounds, relentlessly, hidden in the cobalt shadows. A sun’s rays could never know this loss, this place, this pursuant.

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Gem Club is Christopher Barnes, Kristen Drymala, and leva Berberian. In Roses, their beautiful new LP (and follow-up to one of our favorites of 2011) is out as of last week via Hardly Art.

Dreams is an ongoing project where we ask our favorite artists to create a piece of music inspired by a handmade collage.

Dreams of Ireland

 

Boats slowly migrate past her, symmetrically toward the southern bank of the River Liffey. Lamps skirt the perimeter. A well-dressed commotion populates the promenade. She stops and turns, tracing what shifts behind…

The drawbridge lifts and the vista splits, inverting the town’s grandeur with the fanciful edge of the riverside. The Round Tower’s nest invades peppermint hills. The diamond-shaped fleet crosses the pleat.

A rare tableau in her periphery: reflections wave to one another, necklaces dangle rightside down, a policeman drops a cigar to the fire chief, a cyclist recognizes his counterpart coasting casually against the grade.

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White Poppy is Vancouver-based multimedia artist and therapeutically-minded musician Crystal Dorval. Last month her self-titled LP was released through Not Not Fun, and last week she droned with us at Silent Barn.

Dreams is an ongoing project where we ask our favorite artists to create a piece of music inspired by a handmade collage.