This time I get naked like never before ... it's a three-track environmental recording (recorded on the phone) in late January last year. my Mother, my Father and I during a dialogue, in our local dialect. With the television on, and some recorded noises ... (of a breathing exercise device that my father used in those days following a cadiac surgery he had undergone.) I was there to monitor his condition and to provide support ... (it was a delicate moment, for him as for us.) For many of you this publication may mean nothing, but for me it means a lot .. It means for me as an attempt to fix something in time (which erases everything. .) But those days I want them to remain etched in my memory and this is probably an unconscious attempt to fix them in time .. Several times I have listened to this kind of song .. In the silence and solitude of my current apartment. In an attempt to further elaborate this sound material. And I had the feeling that I didn't feel alone. But for now, it seems perfect that way. And I decided to share it with you. Maybe over time there will be further developments ... but waiting to be mature to grasp them, I would like to thank you for listening. These are my parents, my ancestors, from whom I am descended and whom I want to honor in this way. thank you.

Ancestors

This is called Threnody but it is not strictly in the tradition of the wailing song of grief but rather a broken form of lullaby for those children who might survive. On the first level, it's a piece of music that should calm me down while creating, processing, and now replaying it for friends. The percussive, random back-drop was generated using 4 layers of the swarmandal stimulated by a re-purposed computer ventilator with long strings attached (see my Youtube channel for a video demonstration. Then another layer of improvisation: plucked, strummed swarmandal zither, played at times with a bottle-neck slide to create mictrotonal glissandi textures. The fact that I started out with aleatoric pizziccati movements that echo Penderecki's piece tagged for Hiroshima pushed me towards this title which may, in the future, change. Peace. Hug your kids if you have any. Help some if you can. They are the future only if they survive this mad machine of wars.

Threnody for the Children of Gaza

Some commentary about Gaza by the Anti-Empire Project podcast inspired this rendition of Tuxedomoon's "In a Manner of Speaking".

Give Me The Words

Poetry by Jeff Gburek & Ahmad Almallah ("A poem for Gaza, a pome for Palestine) voiced by Jeff Gburek. Music: melodica loop layers, prepared guitar, zither by Jeff Gburek

abyss or kiss in the shadows
beneath the dust the stone
from the once hanging window
where your eyes will hover forever
within my piece of endlessness
although your eradication is utter
and my grief secondary to yours
who crumble upon the ground
& only through the one
nearest so dear to me can I
fathom the absence
fracturing my sentence
I the landless who know daily
what they seek to take away
from the likes of you
and I see those eyes
you seek with your own
as if the only grace I've known
were blown away
by a ravaging wind

-- Jeff Gburek

Gaza, the last thing you need is a poem. Don’t say!
I have nothing else to give. A poem is a poem…what can it do? Don’t say!
But simply be like a poem.
You were an open land, and
your sea was no sight
for blood. Yes, once upon a time,
you asked nothing
of the world,
and it gave you
nothing.
Gather our words and toss them into
the empty well.
Screams don’t linger, but they do not
disappear—
They lodge themselves
beyond the ear,
and once they begin to haunt
they appear, they
reappear.
*
Corrupted by the attempt to apply logic
to the wound. We are all talk
no action!
We all know, that talk is talk
that’s why no one
listens.
Reality wounds can’t be mended by
thoughts. We all know—
Don’t keep me in your prayers, and please
spare me the guilt.
Where can the eye rest on the sight –
screaming children?
*
I want my words to spill blood and when I say
that once upon a time…
I want you to cringe
because this land has only one name—
and its people are only
its people
Call them what you may, that doesn’t change a thing—they too disappear
and they too will reappear—
*
Once upon a time, Gaza,
there was no need for anyone to give you any
empty words, like this poem. Your only hope
is to look us straight in the eye, and say once more, that you were,
and are, once upon a time.

– Ahmed Almallah

Casa Mia, Casa Tua, Non C'e Differenza

Thoughts on process & reality in the bioacousmatic field-mind. Field recordings from Mecca (via satellite), Sofia, Bulgaria, various locations Poland & Romania (special guest appearance by Phil Mill's Herons. Exploring acoustic ecology, sympoetic polyvocality, geological time factors, composite identity, long-term thinking, deconstruction of empires.  #acoustic #ecology #charlesdarwin #williammacaskill #polinabuchak #fieldrecording

Rifles & Garbage Podcast Third Edition

4 faixas de um álbum experimental de fim do verão

Abalba - Experience summer rain

The Rifles & Garbage Podcast is named thusly to create a strong an mental association between militarism, waste and pollution. I am not opposed to subsistence hunting but maybe use a trap rather than firearms or maybe even try subsistence farming instead of the venison survivalist hype. This podcast has three movements. One introductory, paying homage to sources. The second featuring a recital of poems by Yahia Lababidi, Ghassan Kavafani, Noor Hindi, Yours Truly, Mourid Barghouti & Tony Brewer. The third and final section is a crunchy leaf peripatetic meander musings about Captain Beefheart, the apolitical politics of acoustric ecology and Charles Darwin. All of it supported by the non-musically specific vibratory matters of the planet and background radiations and creatures of the air, wald and water i.e. field recordings. Photo from the internet of women in Ramallah circa 1890, artist unknown. Sumud in Palestinian Arabic means steadfastness. Props to the healers & field workers.

Rifles & Garbage Podcast 4 Sumud

Faixa single experimental, trazendo o fogo sexual dentro do ritmo xamânico da vida !

Abalba - Sex Sutra

Abalba - Sex Rain

From the album: https://jeffgburekprojects.bandcamp.com/track/may-there-come-brighter-birds-of-song-to-zeitoun

Buy via Bandcamp!

May There Come More Bright Birds of Song to Zeitoun

Grant C. Weston - electronic drums
George Christian - electric guitar

Composition by Grant C. Weston and George Christian
Recorded in April, 2020.

Zig Zag (Grant C. Weston + George Christian) (2020)

My name is George Christian, I was born in August 10th, 1981, and my homeland is the city of Salvador, capital of Bahia, in Brazil. I'm a self-taught composer and a guitarrist with more than 10 years of experience. Even with not much formal instruction, I opted to be committed with my own discoveries in Art instead of being a musician in the entertainment field. I'm also a writer with five reasonably finished books of poem, however not published, and graduate in National and Foreign Languages (English) at Federal University of Bahia (UFBa). My essential aim in Music is to develop a compositional approach that encompasses not only popular but also the classical fields in an equanimity, and creates a synthesized universe of its own. The songwriting and the improvisations living side-by-side with electroacoustic studies and compositions with a larger structure, and working all the styles with a lyrical universalist philosophy. The musical message wants to restore the faith in humanity outside the chaos and overwhelming situations, even bringing back a sense of adventure, terror and reflection. And it surpasses the subtle autobiographical aspects to seek what is worth to be shared with the cosmos inside our hearts. It's not about any kind of musical devices or styles, but it's a meditation on life, death, ressurrection and eternity through the organization and impact of sounds. (written in February 25th, 2010)

Zig Zag (Grant C. Weston + George Christian) (2020)

George Christian (BR)

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