Tuesday, November 08, 2005

headache.

Watching the reproduction of Nijinsky's choreography of Stravinsky's ballet Le Sacre du Printemps, has just about killed/ruined/annihilated any ability of mine to listen to the music on its own merit.

When I listen to bits of it, especially The Augurs of Spring, I can see garishly-attired Russian barbarians leaping about on stage against an absolutely cheesy mountain landscape for a stage drop, and the mad old crone scuttering back on forth like a twitchy squirrel hunting twigs for nuts. I can envision every single movement of the dancers, superimposed onto the blocks across the road, and accurately tell you which dance movements are to come next.

Now, when I hear some particular woodwind themes, instead of thinking: "That's the folk-like theme which represents the girls", I'd think: "Oh, there's where the girls dance with that odd two-dimensional fashion, with their arms crooked at 45 degrees and their face tilted upwards at the same slant."

And I've only watched it in its entirety once!

After having seen such grotesque yet alluring images like these, who can forget them?

Btw, imagine these dancers in these very same costumes on Parisian stage in 1913. 1913. Is it any wonder why it incited a riot?

How am I to analyze the music on its own, without any influence from the damned choreography? [It makes a hell lot of difference.] It's a ballet, true, it's not meant to be heard as a 'concert' repertoire, as it were, but still!

Oh, the pain of having a near-perfect photographic memory!

blueprint

I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.

fresh monodies

and it all fuses together.
panicking.
it's always MY fault, innit?
it's been long in coming.
do you make your own fortune?
I got a call from Jo last night, about an accident...
ear-ly in the morn-ing!
i shld be so lucky, lucky lucky lucky.
I'm tempted to write a "I'm that girl who..." post...
coming down and wretched.

previous rants

August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
November 2010
January 2011
February 2011
August 2011
October 2011
May 2013

treatises on life

arty jen
betty boop
carmentica
charming-linn
chasing snowy cars
cheeky lynn
cheryliciously glam
clean and cute
cyclist-mad bass
darling dominic
feisty jing
fellow ditz-sista/porkSTAR
hail mary!
hell's kitchen
hero on the beach
h-Euge heart
hunky lenny
lipgloss queen
little cheryl
live n learn, baby
lolita lou
loony loon
mr popular
musically dan
m y s t j
phringe
princess tania
roger smurf
runaway pigeon
sabotage king jeremiah
sibling angst1
sibling angst2
spector dan
spunky tian
steffy bunny
sun-sunzzz
teeny wee-nee
weeeee, leonard!
yangtze yang'en

frivolous pursuits

for shallow ppl
for very geeky ppl
for the truly bored
spun prose
binary thoughts
past imprints
some stamps
montage of images
other memories

mulling over

And there were phlegmatic souls.