RED FILLED THE INTERVALS... { by Joe Namy }... between the musical notes
{ "... in developed music no event is purely itself, but receives its meaning from what is absent from the past and the future which it then influences in its turn." }
{ on the lives of images, the images of music } A STORY OF SOUND and AFFECT "the glow of red is within itself"
{ like any good story it begins with guns and a girl } her instrument her voice "it isn't blood, it's some red"
{ the tragedies spoke in sonorous voices through the persona, or 'masks,' which later are held to mean also per-sona or 'by sound' } ma(s)king her identity... the color of words, the color of sounds, the color of chords and that of instruments, the color of brasses, of woods or of strings, the color of metals, and the color of skins?
{ those implicated in the act of listening, anonymous accomplices in the shadow of song } his music his life "where in red is the true red? the original prime color to which all other reds aspire?"
{ she wants to believe he plays only for her, when in fact he plays for another, who he believes plays only for him, when in fact, she plays only for herself } full of mistaken desires... a shadow is always affected by the colour of the surface on which it is cast... an image in a mirror is affected by the colour of the mirror...
{ same song, different room } we interpret their music If one says red (the name of a colour) and there are fifty people listening it can be expected there will be fifty reds in their minds, and one can be sure that all these reds will be different
0138ar00090 "les mercenaires" orchestra. egypt, 1950-1959 arshag - professional photographer arshag collection copyright arab image foundation keywords: standing up; young man; microphone; drums; bandstand; musician; singer; concert; riot/cells/for/the/soul; genre: snapshot photographic process: negatif/black & white/support souple transparent size: aspect ratio: 1.39 condition: delicate classify and label these masks of sound... you can explain the redness of things, but not by their being red
{ each man quietly comparing himself to her, with envy } WE attempt to possess their genius " you set the colours against each other and they sing. not as a choir but as soloists
{ no matter how much he struggled in life two things remained constant, polished shoes and an immaculate oud, everything else could - and did - fall apart } crafting their legacy, an accumulated myth... blending the sovereign music that they made with sunset colors mirrored in my eyes
{ in his fantasy she acts accordianly } when we play their music, we consume them completely when what is black is mixed with the light of the sun and fire, the result is always red
{ as the singer felt the drummer s fingers entangled in her hair, she whispered softly in his ear: play me a vibration in the rhythm of your body, your heart, your breathing, your thinking, your intuition, your enlightenment, the universe } when we hear their music, they consume us entirely... the more brilliant the light, the deeper the shadows...
{ she played to memorize he played to forget } repeating their voices, in our voice their song uttered captured reduced recovered restored transfered remembered forgotten
{ the photographer wanted to capture her voice through his camera but couldn't decide where to focus his lens - her ears, mouth, throat, diaphram, heart - he finally settled on... } recomposing our identity... sonotronic power flowers in a rose-red efflorescence
{ her music and her audience, two mirrors staring inwardly, reflecting infinitely } their mask becomes our own how to hug her voice? how to hug a hug? is it by turning like a mobius strip, inside out?
{ that in music, "one falls out of the world; that one is somehow somewhere nonetheless; that, even in this hiatus, one remains in the medium of time; that in the face of the other reality, one's own (personal, historical) life becomes imaginary; that it becomes a mere interstice between the situations of being in music; that one no longer is oneself; that one is transformed; that one needs to return to oneself; that music says something in every note and yet - in the sense of a sentence - does not say anything; that music seems to explain; that it nevertheless keeps silent about what it reveals, what reveals itself." }
QUOTES IN RED Theodore Adorno Wassilay Kandinsky Jean Luc Godard Henri Pousseur Derek Jarman Ludwig Wittgenstein Josef Albers Roger Scruton Derek Jarman Charles Baudelaire Aristotle Leonardo Da Vinci unknown Kodwo Eshun Jalal Toufic Gunther Anders