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News about the 4th edition of the Festival that will take place in Berlin all through the year 2008. The information about the former editions that were held on 22-26 november 2006, 13-22 february 2007 and 1-29 august, 2007 are still to be found somewhere in the jungle of this blop.
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Her first question was if I had some information. There was non left, because we had used it to pack the Cdr, and what information could there be, if our webpages are already filling up slowly. Then she asked – during the introduction - if I could explain a bit what field recordings were. And also this question found me totally unprepaired. There I was in front of the audience, just saying a word of welcome, no tie, no suit, no speech prepaired, no filosofy that I would like to promote, and no cultural/political manifesto that I would like to shout out loud. In this age of information and commentarism, everyone is educated enough to be master of his or her own thoughts. Why should I invade that area? I used my megaphone to play Beethoven's “Für Elise.” So I left the questions unanswered.
Then Bernhard Gal played. Rob (Curgenven, our first Australian guest) leaned back against the wall, and smiled with heartful satisfaction, and so did I, when we heard Bernhard's technorecordings stumstumming the place. From my position I could look outside, and saw some kids peering through the window, investigative looks, showing that they were ready to conquer another hot spot in town. When Bernhard was ready, I had finished my reflection on field recordings, and explained that it was about a virtual space created by sound and by the person who had made the recordings. What remained was a memory of somebody else's future experience, that we can call fantasy or reflection. I put it different on that evening. And I will put it different again everytime I try to look for definitions.
One of the guests was Nick, in artist life Momus, musician, but also a very disciplined writer/ opinionist/friendly neighbour leaving a note for you when he is abroad. His day to day approach to writing explains why sunday's evening entered his lifejournal. He used a bombastic word to describe two of the performances he had seen. He had gone home when Gilles Aubry played his set of dreamy backyard recordings. The bombastic word he used was 'bombastic'. I like the idea that I would like nineteenth century French novels. Maybe I do. I recently bought two by Victor Hugo, for 50 cent each. Stendhal has been a long time favourite. Every performance by Chirac makes me laugh out loud.
Talking about someone through this medium, which is the internet, is very complicated. Words and arguments get an instant tenton weight. So let me put this clear. I felt a great sympathy for Nick from the first moment on, that I met him. I had never heard about the artist called Momus in my whole life. Now that he is part of the festival, I started to read his lifejournal. I prefer his words to almost most of the words I could buy as printed matter.
Okay. From my position I had a good view on almost everyone's back. But Nick I saw, ever more comfortably leaning into his thoughts, while listening. The result of these thoughts evolves around the word bombastic. In his view two of the performances were bombastic, it is pretentious, pompoueuoues. It is two days now that he uses this description.
There is another thing about field recordings. You can hardly dance to it. Sometimes I try, but it makes me sway like a lazy kite in a cloudless sky. (I mean rteally lazy; I also know them kites who think they are Ray Charles singing:”Baby one more time,” before setting of, head down, to earth like a Japanese kamikaze.) Back to that summer's day, and the kite hanging in the sky, and voices coming form a far. You know, the recordings can be used like postcards, as a little sound message from the other part of the world. They can be used as a diary or as a fun thing to do, while running around Berlin for three days. They can be used to compose a memory, to change it in a moment of bliss, rather then to cultivate its nostalgifying effect, like Stephan Leonard did. They can be used to undermine a theoretical approach, as Jeff Gburek did in his magnifying magnificent magnetic performance.
Maybe Jeff and Stephan will tell me that it was about something else, and yes it was about something else, because it was also considered bombastic. But if you go to the well, you will find all the pretty girls of the village. And each of the girls will be somebody's favourite. Except for the most beautifull one, because she will give you a true sense of homecoming. Imaginary homecoming of course; a home built by her love and your own fantasy, and all the words and dreams and images that fit into it.
Momus will play on friday. I look forward to visit Japan. Jeff Gburek will play again on thursday; I am most curious. I don't have to go through airports, or visit museums for that matter. It all happens outside the potemkinist depliant world of the institutions. Except for this last sentence, there is nothing bombastic about that.
's Gravenhage, or Den Haag as it is called on those rare occasions you find a Dutchman speak his own language, to everybody else, who is expected to speak “somekindofenglish,” The Netherland's second language (it is not Arab, as many worried neighbours and other assorted shopkeepers would like to believe), to those foreigners, Den Haag will be pronounced The Hague. The more exotic the Dutch accent, the more the somekindofanglicised version of the name of not our capital will sound like a kind of fish. On another occasion I will explain you more about psycho-onomatopoeia and Dutchmen looking at their breakfast in a funny way, when you find yourself in a North Sea resort where they serve hake. Drop me a mail, in case of emergency.
Which brings us to the court of our Queen. She resides in 's Gravenhage, as does Jan Pieter, the prime minister, but don't count on him in this little story. The Queen, however, is not like any other queen. Ours is known to like the modern arts; she once curated a show in the Stedelijk Museum of Amsterdam, and that was only a few weeks after – in the same museum - you could find Ursala Andress's dresses on display, also the one she wore in 8 1/2, Fellini's movie, when she stepped into the Fontana dei Trevi, and called out for 'Marcello.' You remember her?
And this brings me to the extraordinary collection of hats, of Wij Beatrix, Koningin der Nederlanden etcetera, etcetera. One day we will all die, except for Beatrix, of course, who as a head of state will directly ascend to heaven, as the after-life lounge of the illuminati is called. There she won't need her earthly hats, because those divine ones will be divine. Then the year is 2048, and to commemorate 400 years of Kingdom of the Netherlands etcetera, etcetera, a new museum will be opened, the museum of Beatrix Regina's hats.
That's only 41 years from now.
Only to tell you that it was her, excuse me, Her pleasure to send three messengers to the German capital. They presented themselves as Feedbacksociety, and they pronounced this name in such a joyfull manner that I understood field bag society. And in these days of project being the first word on every second citizin's lips, I thought that these young guys were on an everlasting mission. So I handed them my dictaphones and told them where to find the Treptow Flee Market. And this was Friday. And on Saturday they were back with more dictaphones and cassette recorders, and a cassette with Turkish music, total costs: 12 euro. I almost ate my hand.
But they had also enough minutes of freshly recorded sounds. Were you there last saturday? It was their first appearance in Berlin.
One of the girlfriends was called Wilhelmina. Not quite Wilhelmina, because she, Queen Wilhelmina, Beatrix grandmother, was a WinstonChurchill kind of woman, shorter, with two legs, and always wearing wintercoats of her husband who was twice her size. You don't want your daughter to look like that. That's why she opened the second opening of the foundtapesfoundsoundsfoundrecordersexhibition. Were you there when that happened? It was her first postpacketopening in Berlin.
Hello listeners and visitors,
Submitted recordings are now on line.
The festival will be covered by radioINCORRECT.org