Agnes님의 프로필从复兴公园到Carefree Highway사진블로그리스트기타  |  도구 도움말 |
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从复兴公园到Carefree Highway赛璐珞天堂和MP3独立摇晃在襄阳公园 最近在听的独立音乐radical face,vega 4radical fade的valentine.跟新奥尔良的海啸有点关系貌似不是vega 4的mv，是实习医生格雷的花絮。不过，life is beautiful 不小心的后果很严重！打喷嚏也那么痛苦……前天不小心人品那么一差，被丽娃的楼梯整了一下 去市六拍了个片子，结果是骨头没事……只是“小时候姿势不好吧，脊椎怎么有点……”这个要怪我妈！ 回家时坐在公车上，一个刹车，只听一声惨叫！不是车轮下有人，而是车上一个人——我面朝车厢两边的窗子坐着，刹车时我向右侧一弯，怎一个痛字了得。 对面一个女的，就因为听我一声惨叫，盯了我5分钟多……………… 之后的一天颓废在家，和上课的大家消磨无聊的听课时光，短信套餐多有跟上进度（受伤前累计50+条多余短信一条不剩了） 整日坐于电脑前，习惯左腰下面的疼痛，因为一个“起名”问题折腾到11点上床。躺下才发现近日不宜侧卧。 第二天起来，一个喷嚏，天崩地裂啊！！！痛死了，世界上最痛苦的喷嚏莫过于此，哎…… +++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 受伤以来的好处： 1. 大家都让着我 2. 穿鞋、宽衣有人服侍——向老妈致敬！ 3. 不用弯腰捡东西，有皇太后般待遇 4. 不用上课，虽然可以上课，仗着有假条，我就不来，你拿我怎样！ +++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 还是希望早点好啊，我看大家在排球场上HAPPY我那叫一个不爽啊！还被两个足球打中：右边——还好没伤；中间——你还不滚，再不滚我就踢你左边了“我逃，我逃还不行嘛！” 寻找绚烂的方向，不小心……最近大家都自愿归于“平淡”，我貌似不曾熟悉大家的过去——绚烂。所以正在寻找…… 周日第二次参加了JA的CAREER GO课程。上学期的浓缩精华版依然历历在目。这次，不知会不会有更大的影响？ 背景介绍：这个职业启航课程是兼游戏、经验交流与讲座于一体的。课程开始，静文分到了小花组，而我却再次当了拉布拉多——来到小狗组。每组有一个consultant。我们执意要了有15年工作经验的oven，来自专作《世界时装之苑》《嘉人》等的必尔得广告。 其实，第一节课的模式，上学期我经历过了，形式上没多少新意。但是，来人给我的印象都很深刻。 记得那个大学刚毕业的consultant一进门就跟我点头、微笑，不禁让我想起curtis的演讲预备——“认识”你的演讲对象；把他们当成白菜。 konferry的那个姐姐好淑女啊，我的羡慕对象。对于她的学历，我无比佩服，英国两年HR，在读华师大心理博士！！！讲起各个行业都滔滔不绝……怎么什么都了解呢？看来HR这行还是蛮好玩的，我要继续了解下。（期待下次的研究调查活动，我要研究什么行业来？？？） theresa姐姐几乎是我们这个专业但又不想当老师类的榜样啊。SWOT测试，我抽空好好完成一下。 那天作主持的MAX，人不错，貌似是几个中最幽默的，但总的来说，工作时间越长，人越不幽默啊。 最后，（奖励看到最后的人哦，此人最经典）说说重量级的OVEN。我本来是在犹豫要他来我们小组呢还是要那个KONFERRY的姐姐，因为后者是个HR。但是坐在旁边的菜单同学，因为也是作传媒的，硬是把他拉来了。没人带本本来，就他一个经典THINKPAD，课程中还不时东问问，西问问的。 第一个“签名”游戏中，我找他签名几乎浪费了我一半时间啊。人家签名都是互相帮助型，自己找格子，是“有一个MP3”啊，“喜欢电影”啊……随便签好了。他倒好，问我签哪里。我问他“养宠物”吗？不养。喜欢游泳？没时间。喜欢电影？没空看。……七八个提问过后，眼见他戴着眼镜，呵呵，你逃不掉了！——他是我倒数第二个签名的人。我前面一个同学签到16个，我只有6个= = 在给career打个比喻的环节中，我们组的菜单同学非常神奇地想出了“最爱的情人”。鉴于她刚才出众的发言（我要连接两个品牌，一个是我自己，一个是世界。给我一个品牌我要翘起地球……云云）已过，这个汇报小组发言的重任放到了我身上。其实，我自己都不知道我说了什么，我自己感觉不是很好，因为那个一进门跟我点头微笑的consultant没有笑，而是脸色尴尬。不过，oven给了我出乎意料的一句话：“你大二啊？如果大三，我就给你一个实习机会了”我顿时飞上天的说。 以前就想过去时尚杂志做事，可是自己文笔极差，时尚这个东西，要有“嗅觉”的……真的很想了解那是不是我真的寻找的“绚烂”。估计是“the devil wears prada”看晕了吧。机会浪费了，oven下学期不干了。 那天最大的收获——自信+了解。了解了一些行业，知道该怎么了解，很高兴认识oven，我要听他的话，好好学习，哪怕只是一点点。所以 绚烂，寻找中…… +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 听说，中午我妈说，我等会儿去看天安。结果，我果然打电话给她了——“妈，我摔伤了，陪我去市六吧！”——东西可以乱吃，话不能乱讲啊。如此不小心…… Waste of Space默哀三分钟…… …… ……
水手音乐博客暂时（希望只是暂时）离开了我们 估计多数是被封杀了
记得soulpower的女朋友晨晨生日那天，soulpower给她贴了一首歌
我右键播放器下载的，文件名叫my love chen chen。听了两周，割舍不掉
因为那个浓情蜜意的名字，我找不到歌词
凭我那副耳朵 搜索半天（真的老半天，几乎放弃。还遭遇blogger被封杀）终于“delays”跳了出来
果然延迟了
一看那个唱片封面，原来他们在水手上贴过，-《You See Colours》我像是常年只看黑白电视的人突然见到彩虹的七色光一般心跳加快。
随便这篇日志是不是WASTE 我依然推荐“延迟”的这张《活色生香》（也许翻得有点儿过了）
Like a millionaire, but with nothing to spare, It’s not right, that you care so much more, than I care, 那什么拯救你，我的空间？风吹过办公楼的刹那，我希望大家都在樱花树下……
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
一天一篇日志的日子，现在想来都令人莫名。
不知多久没有更新了，也不太去别人的日志浇花。
周围的朋友都有着同样的状态——忙。
感觉自己忙得极其无意义，这状态很毒，伤身，腐蚀着什么
释放感情的冲动被学校的那台电脑无情地拖延着，那隆隆的声音，估计能让每个260的人失眠的，除了我自己，鞠躬
眼见着手边一堆书垒着，没有一页留下我的指纹，心里躁动不安
对圣经虔诚地供着，不去碰它，落了灰尘会心“痛”一下，然而始终没打开过
毛尖的书，想早点还给主人，不知又要过多少个长假期了
………………一堆无聊的有用处的书，不读也罢了
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
花开花落，我怎么没让时间凝固在最绚烂的时刻？
2do list下载bikeride 推荐！http://lib.verycd.com/2007/03/01/0000141550.html
Indie song sculptor Tony Carbone began releasing his Beach Boys/Burt Bacharach-styled West Coast pop tunes under the name Bikeride in 1997. The band's schizophrenic take on nearly every popular musical style from Beatlesque light psychedelia to the Pixies' alt-rock pioneering (not to mention bossa nova, jazz, and new wave mod) caught the attention of indie label Hidden Agenda. Along with a number of indie vinyl releases, Carbone and his on-again, off-again Bikeride contributors have released 1997's Here Comes the Summer!, 1999's 37 Secrets I Only Told America, 2000's Summer Winners, Summer Losers, and 2002's Morning Macumba. Five years later, Bikeride returned with their fifth full-length album, The Kiss. 别担心 我也看不懂~ 就那么顺手一贴 ^_^ 反正音乐是用来听得 不是用来看大XDDD 关于赫尔辛基的建筑[indie music][转贴]architecture in helsinki <<fingers crossed>>
04年听到architecture in helsinki的时候的确把我带回到了高中时候听mojave3/belle and sebastian/gentle waves等等这些indie pop的岁月，我知道不可能stay innocent，但听architecture in helsinki的时候你还是能得到片刻的innocence的，我这样年岁的人听这样的音乐让我想起那个关于森林里兔子的故事，一只小白兔快乐地在森林中奔跑，途中它碰到一只正在卷大麻的长颈鹿，「长颈鹿呀！你为什么要做伤害自己的事呢？看这片森林多么美好！让我们一起在大自然中奔跑吧！」长颈鹿看看大麻烟，再看看小白兔，它把大麻烟向身後一扔，跟著小白兔在森林中奔跑。後来，它们遇到一头准备吸古柯硷的大象...「大象呀！你为什么要做伤害自己的事呢？看这片森林多么美好！让我们一起在大自然中奔跑吧！」大象看看古柯硷，再看看小白兔，它也把古柯硷向身後一扔，跟著小白兔和长颈鹿在森林中奔跑。接著，它们遇到一头准备打海洛因的狮子...「狮子呀！你为什么要做伤害自己的事呢？看这片森林多么美好！让我们一起在大自然中奔跑吧！」狮子看看针筒，再看看小白兔，它把针筒向身後一扔，冲过来把小白兔狠狠揍了一顿...「你为什么要打小白兔？」大象和长颈鹿紧张的问，狮子生气地说：「这混蛋兔子！每次嗑了快乐丸就拉著我像白痴一样在森林里乱跑...」 他们名字的由来貌似也比较奇特。主唱在报纸上看到两个词 赫尔辛基 建筑 于是就叫这个了。我猜他是不是文盲？把赫尔辛基理解成黑色 建筑理解为豆豆，于是便等同于黑眼豆豆？瞎说而已，他们没有一点相似。 One Very, Very Indie Band-arcade fire进入主流视线，恭喜！One Very, Very Indie Band
By DARCY FREY Published: March 4, 2007 Damn, this church is getting hectic, what with Régine in the organist’s alcove coaxing the backup singers to let
loose — Sing like really hungry wolves! Like you’re
sending a desperate alarm to the other wolves! — and
Win down in the sanctuary trying to keep the upright
double bass and tenor sax from veering toward smooth
jazz, and Jeremy picking through dozens of black-metal
shipping crates to make sure the equipment’s all there
— Win’s dobro, Régine’s hurdy-gurdy, the
glockenspiel, the accordions, the giant Asian cymbals
and the neon Jesus sign — everything packed up tight
and ready to be shipped off to London for the start of
the band’s yearlong world tour. It’s a snowy January
night just outside Montreal, and each time the front
door opens, gusts of frigid air blow through the nave:
Hey, close the. . . . Oh, it’s Liza! Hey everybody,
Liza’s here! Earlier, the church got so crowded that
Sarah had to record her violin part (Régine: Make it
weird, like a ghost violin, a sci-fi violin, a violin
from outer space!) squished into the sound booth while
Richie took his guitar into the stairwell because
someone was playing a Mexican reveille on the trumpet
and there was a French horn warming up in the kitchen.
When the members of the Arcade Fire, a Montreal art-rock
band led by Win Butler and his wife, Régine Chassagne,
were trying to find studio space to record their second
full-length album, they took an inventory of their
instruments — the hurdy-gurdy and the accordions, but
also the baby-grand and upright pianos, the organ and
the harpsichord, the xylophone and the Caribbean steel
drums. Then they considered the acoustics that would
best suit their music — a kind of surging, post-punk
rock with dense orchestrations cut through with painful
and, at times, quite beautiful noise collages. Finally,
they discussed their ambition to record their rousing,
emotionally charged songs with the entire band playing
live, though the band has seven permanent members and
swells, when strings and horns are added, into an antic
carnival orchestra. With the men in suspenders and vests
and the women in dresses and lace fingerless gloves, and
everyone employing yelps, hand claps, megaphones (for
vocal distortion), motorcycle helmets (so they can drum
on each other’s heads) and the occasional snare drum
tossed high into the air, an Arcade Fire show has the
feel of a Clash concert infiltrated by Cirque du Soleil.
Given its outsize musical ambitions and unabashed
theatricality, the Arcade Fire could have filled a
three-ring recording studio. The place it ultimately
found to record “Neon Bible,” the band’s follow-up to
its successful and surprisingly poised 2004 debut album,
“Funeral,” was a 19th-century redbrick church in a
small farm town an hour outside of Montreal. The church
already had a stage in front, a hundred-foot ceiling
that returned rich, live-sounding reverberations and a
rear balcony that could be turned into a glassed-in
sound booth. Once they bought the place, moved in their
equipment and hired two engineers, all they had to do
was convert the basement into bedrooms and hire Liza
(Win’s brother’s fiancée’s younger sister) as their
cook so they could live out there for most of last year,
working roughly three weeks on, one off, sometimes
playing through the wee hours to get their meticulously
arranged and recorded songs just right. (“Neon Bible”
will be released March 6.)
The church-turned-recording-studio, the year of living
undergraduately — those were merely the latest
unexpected events that have transpired since the Arcade
Fire started playing hole-in-the-wall clubs in Toronto
and Montreal four years ago, then put out “Funeral,”
an album that, largely because of word-of-blog and a
gushing review on pitchforkmedia.com, the influential
music Web site (an album “at last capable of completely
and successfully restoring the tainted phrase
‘emotional’ to its true origin”), would go on to sell
750,000 copies, which is a lot for an album that was
recorded for $10,000. Once “Funeral” was released, the
small gigs started selling out, only to be replaced by
larger gigs that sold out too, and before long the
Arcade Fire was touring North America and Europe and
playing to rapt audiences in Japan and Brazil. Most of
the band members are in their mid- to late 20s, but the
keyboardist and bass player, Will Butler, who is Win’s
younger brother, had to ask his professors at
Northwestern for permission to miss class so he could
appear with the band on Conan O’Brien. Fortunately, he
’d graduated by the time David Byrne wrote them a fan
letter and joined them onstage for a cover of his song
“This Must Be The Place,” and David Bowie (who’d been
giving “Funeral” to his friends) asked them to cover
“Queen Bitch” at one of their shows and made a
surprise appearance in a white suit and straw hat. After
the band opened three arena-size shows for U2 in
Montreal and Ottawa, Bono and his mates pronounced the
Arcade Fire their favorite new act.
“It was crazy, hilarious, totally surreal,” Will says.
“Weird times!” Régine sings.
“Somewhere along the line we became the band that was
supposed to save rock ’n’ roll,” says Richie Parry,
who also plays upright double bass.
Wild, sudden success for a band is often the moment
Puccini takes over the script (often, too, the moment a
band is inspired to make a second album, about the
burdens of wild, sudden success), but the Arcade Fire
has managed to avoid any gestures toward the operatic.
“I can definitely say that playing with David Byrne was
one of the most weird, wonderful and lucky things we’ve
experienced as musicians,” Richie says. “Onstage that
night, we were all making eye contact with each other —
you know, something so impossible and far away that we
were all of a sudden holding in our hands.” The
musicians seem to have strengthened their collective
immunity to hype by resolutely doing what they want:
they turned down the chance to tour with R.E.M. so they
could continue performing their full-length shows; they
refused to play Britain’s “Top of the Pops,” on which
bands traditionally lip-sync their material, until they
were permitted to play live; and they resisted the
entreaties of several major record companies, made over
a series of lavish dinners, to leave Merge, the
independent label that released “Funeral.”
“For ‘Neon Bible,’ we met with a lot of dudes, but
honestly it wasn’t that interesting,” Win says.
“Merge is like the labels used to be, based on someone
’s tastes and interest in music —”
“—instead of statistics and marketing,” Régine says.
“If you look at the Web sites of a lot of the majors,”
Win goes on, “they’re selling everything — hip-hop,
country, Disney soundtracks. It’s the throw-a-lot-of-
garbage-at-the-wall —”
“— and-see-what-sticks strategy,” Régine says “But at least we got to stay in some nice hotels, didn’t we?
And we ate good food for a month! And we didn’t lie to
anyone either: Right from the start, we made it clear we
’d never sign with them. I mean, why would we?”
Even now that the Arcade Fire has been consecrated as
Canada’s most celebrated musical export of the moment
(Time Canada put the band on its cover), its members
still seem to navigate by a compass calibrated toward
whatever will bring them the most subversive fun. When
it came time to release material from “Neon Bible,”
instead of following some professional marketing
strategy, they used laptops and iMovie to create a video
for YouTube in the style of a late-night, self-help
infomercial — “call now!” — then set up a toll-free
number where callers could press one button to hear
music and another to leave messages, some of which were
posted on the band’s Web site. “It was sort of a joke
about viral marketing, and viral marketing at the same
time,” Win says. “Did it work as real marketing? I
have no idea.” To try out new material in performance
before heading to London, the band played two benefit
gigs — one at Richie’s old high school in Ottawa (in a
reversal of adult-world protocol, you had to be in high
school and show a valid under-age ID to get in), the
other in a church basement in the Polish neighborhood in
Montreal where most of the band members live.
“Hey, did someone remember to invite the guys from the
pirogi shop?”
“Yeah, I told them we were playing across the street,
and they said, ‘That’s our church!’ I put them all on
the guest list.”
“Did they come? Did they like the show? God, at one
point I was climbing all over the piano. I wonder if
they got mad.”
“No, no, they loved it!”
Despite the satisfaction it takes in upending rock-
business convention, however, the Arcade Fire has
shrewdly kept control of its affairs — paying for both
albums itself, buying its own studio to record the
second album and retaining the rights to all the master
recordings; the band distributes its music by setting up
licensing deals (with Merge in North America, with
Universal in Europe). “The idea of someone else owning
what we do is insane when we did all the work,” Win
says. And for all their iconoclastic spirit, the
musicians are not unmindful of the considerable power
they have accumulated. One day in January, the band’s
personal assistant’s car was towed from the lot of a
Tim Hortons doughnut shop, even though she was inside
buying a dozen glazed at the time. Upon hearing news of
this affront, the guitarist Tim Kingsbury suggested they
post the matter on arcadefire.com and get free doughnuts
for life. “You know,” said Jeremy Gara, the drummer,
“I’d like to use that technique to bring down Bell
Canada.”
Now, as the huge church windows frame rural darkness and
some swirling tornadoes of snow, Liza announces,
“Dinner’s ready!” and a general clatter (“Awesome! .
. . We love you, Liza!”) erupts as the band members
head toward the kitchen with its ceiling streamers and
its long, candle-lit table already stocked with baskets
of bread and bottles of merlot. Win wants to know how
long it will take to get a new passport, because after
the six-month “Funeral” tour there are no pages left
in his old one. Will is musing on the ethics of putting
video games on the band’s expense account, and Sarah
Neufeld, the violinist, points out that some groups on
tour rack up a grand per night just on booze. Marika
Anthony-Shaw (violist for the live shows) asks if Sarah
’s planning to take her violin on the plane as carry-
on, because there’s no way Marika’s going to check her
viola, not after what happened at that notorious show:
Win, whose full-throttle playing can explode into
confrontation, heard the band’s previous drummer mess
up his part and screamed — perfectly in time to the
music — No! No! No! No! which caused the drummer to
erupt in fury and hurl his drums across the stage,
catching Marika with the high-hat and snapping the
bridge of her viola in two. (“Dude!” said a surprised
Win. “It was part of the moment!”)
Win Butler, Régine Chassagne, Will Butler, Richard Reed
Parry, Tim Kingsbury, Jeremy Gara, Sarah Neufeld — all
of them crowding together, massaging one another’s
shoulders like actors in the school play and grabbing
for empty plates so that Liza can dole out steaming
ladles of pasta from her ginormous pot — this is the
Arcade Fire, born in Montreal, soon to play London, New
York and 5,000-seat venues in Dublin, Paris, Amsterdam,
Oslo, Stockholm and Berlin, perhaps the biggest
sensation right now on the world indie-music scene.
A week later, in the East London recording studio where
the Arcade Fire was unpacking and about to rehearse for
its sold-out five-night stand at (appropriately) a
church-turned-concert-hall just off the Thames, space
was getting tight. All those black-metal crates from the
Montreal church were laid out on a cramped soundstage,
and wouldn’t you know, Régine couldn’t find the cord
for her hurdy-gurdy. While she anxiously rummaged
through the boxes, Win tried to talk her down; surely
the technical crew could find a replacement. But the
cord was really the least of the musicians’ concerns:
although they had been rehearsing since completing
“Neon Bible” in the fall, they hadn’t toured in more
than a year; aside from playing to a bunch of high-
schoolers and the guys from the pirogi shop (and playing
a little chaotically too), they had performed almost
none of the new material live; the band was now 10
separate musicians in search of an arresting group
persona for their 11 new songs, which differed musically
and lyrically from anything they had done before.
“Some people get so rabid at our shows,” Richie said. “They get these cathartic experiences. And they’ll say
it too: ‘We saw you that time at so-and-so; it was the
best thing we ever saw!’ which does give me a twinge of
pride. That’s what I always wanted at a rock show — to
sweat and cry and scream a lot. But with this new
material, we may have to back off a bit. We don’t want
to be shticky, and an improvisatory spirit will help us
get around that. The trick is keeping open. You know:
What fun thing can we do tonight?”
“Maybe we’ll need to be less confrontational,” Tim
said. “Or maybe we’ll need to be more confrontational.
Or maybe just less obviously confrontational.”
“Clearly our performance style has to change,” Win
said. “If you just say, ‘This is our thing; this is
what we do,’ then it is shtick. So, yeah, we may be
less intense with this material, although I suspect we’
ll always be pretty intense.”
Win is six-foot-five, with coat-hanger shoulders and
messy blond fly-away hair shaved to punk perfection
around the ears. At 26, he has large, penetrating eyes
and not even the shadow of a beard. Although he sings at
times with a tight-throated, high-pitched fervor that
brings to mind David Byrne with the Talking Heads, when
he instructs the band, he tends to gather his thoughts
in silence, then lay them out in quiet, commanding
lines: “You need to tighten those runs and bring them
down an octave or you’re going to sound like Pat
Metheny,” he’ll say to the string and brass players.
Meanwhile, Régine, who is 30, with quick brown eyes and
a pile of curly dark hair that reaches only to her
husband’s sternum, will riff excitedly on an idea for a
guitar solo (Let it hang between the breaths of the
melody ... like an — I don’t know — like an airplane
... make it really fourth dimension!) and then,
frustrated by her failures of metaphor, will rise onto
her stockinged toes to dance the line of a lazy guitar
lick that lingers behind a song’s principal melody and
— body suspended, then tripping forward — catches it
just at the end. Most everyone associated with the
Arcade Fire talks about the band’s “democratic” and
“communal” spirit; even the temporary string and horn
players relish their autonomy and the chance to
experiment creatively with their parts. “We’re trying
to bring something to people that we can do only as a
group,” Richie says. “If it works, that can —
hopefully — balance any personal frictions that arise
from a band made up of personalities that are so strong
it can sometimes make you a little crazy. Most of the
time it does. There’s also a genuine lack of egotism in
this band that serves us well; people get out of the way
of an idea that’s working. So it is an open democracy
and a creative space. But at the end of the day, Win is
very much the leader of this band — because of his
strong personality, and the fact that he was founder and
writes most of the songs. Win is King and Régine is
Queen, and we all figure out the rest.”
Win, who was raised in the Houston suburbs and arrived
in Montreal after four years at Phillips Exeter and one
at Sarah Lawrence, grew up playing guitar and listening
to Radiohead, the Pixies, the Smiths and the Cure.
Régine, who was born in Montreal of Haitian parents, was
studying jazz singing, playing mandolin in a medieval
ensemble and doing compositional experiments with 15th-
century music when the two met at McGill University.
Win: “We met in the school cafeteria. A week later I
went to see her singing jazz. It was immediately obvious
to me that she was a real singer. I even left before she
was done. I didn’t need to see the rest; it was so
obvious we needed to play together.”
Régine: “I remember he came one night to hear me sing,
but he left before it was over — I thought he didn’t
like it! And when I saw him later, I asked what he
played, and when he said, ‘Oh, some guitar, a little
piano,’ I thought: Bo-ring! Everyone plays a little
guitar and piano! But right away, I was struck by the
maturity of his songs. This was not just some dude
noodling around on his guitar trying to impress me.”
Win: “We were coming from such different worlds, but
when I played my stuff for her, right away she had ideas
— for accordion, for all this weird medieval stuff.”
Régine: “I was from another planet. I didn’t even know what an ‘indie’ band was — it sounded so vague and
mysterious. But Win wrote really good, catchy melodies
(though with fairly typical chord changes, I thought),
and right away I had all these ideas I wanted him to
try: strange progressions, beats, instruments. And:
enough with the acoustic guitar!”
Win: “We started playing together and went on a date
that same night. It wasn’t like, this could work. It
was more like, this does work. And we haven’t been
apart for more than a week since.”
The Arcade Fire sound — catchy pop melodies and thick
dissonances; raw, imperfect rock with flawless symphonic
arrangements — originates with that pairing of Win’s
indie roots and Régine’s classical training. But the
exhilarating spectacle the band creates for its live
shows arises from the conflagration of energies, the
barely controlled chaos of seven precocious musicians,
all of whom play multiple instruments (sometimes
swapping between songs, sometimes swapping within songs)
and who generate countermelodies, sonic textures and
onstage interactions that are part riotous play, part
unnerving provocation. There’s Richie, who plays bowed
double bass and taught himself an idiosyncratic electric
guitar (he appears to be wringing the neck of a dead
chicken) and embraces the use of police sirens and
megaphones; and Will, the technically dextrous, highly
tactile keyboardist, who often leaves the ivories to
bait Richie onstage, grabbing his friend’s double bass
or drumming on his head with sticks or enacting various
scenes of mock-torture; and Jeremy, the amply-tattooed
heavy-metal enthusiast, who pummels the drums (or the
piano when Régine takes a turn on percussion) with such
ferocity that Win sometimes looks back and thinks Jeremy
’s arms are going to snap right off.
Despite its exuberant, sometimes triumphalist sound,
“Funeral” looked at the world lyrically through
introspective and, at times, quite mournful eyes — its
songs were about family, relationships and the tenuous
bonds of community. With “Neon Bible,” Win and Régine
have taken on larger themes, writing elliptical
narratives about the ambivalence of faith, the challenge
of living with fear and the possibility of apocalypse.
Musically, their writing has evolved as well: in
addition to several numbers that, like their previous
work, tilt toward bombast, “Neon Bible” includes a
hymn (“Intervention”), some blues (“Antichrist
Television Blues”), even an Appalachian-inflected
ballad (“My Body Is a Cage”).
When the time came to record “Neon Bible,” the new
material tested the band’s endurance and ingenuity.
Although one song, “Black Wave/Bad Vibrations,” was a
pure studio creation, a Frankenstein of overdubs, for
all the other songs the band passed up the safety net of
digital technology and recorded the so-called bed tracks
with the band playing on the church stage and onto
analog tape, thereby forcing everyone to commit to the
intensity of a live performance from the start of each
take to its end. “Not many bands record like that
anymore,” says their engineer, Markus Dravs, who worked
with Bjork in a similarly improvised live-in space in
the Spanish mountains and was Brian Eno’s house
engineer for four years. “But they embraced the chaos.
They were like, Let’s everybody play in the room and
throw mikes at it and see how it sounds! Let’s jump off
a cliff and see what happens at the bottom!” On one
song, the final vocal was the first one recorded: The
band set up on the church stage; Win went outside onto
the back steps with headphones and a mandolin and sang
into the night.
After the musicians completed the initial tracks for
each song, they proceeded to layer the album with some
ambitious new sounds. For “The Well and the Lighthouse,
” they wanted to distort the sound of Régine’s voice
on the choruses, so Dravs figured out how to create a
Buddy Holly-style tape delay of enormous proportions by
feeding her voice again and again through the 24 heads
of his sound deck, which kept extending the gap between
the original vocal and its strange, degraded echo until
he achieved the aural equivalent of a stadium full of
spectators doing the wave. (Dravs: “This band’s very
good at knowing what they want; they just haven’t read
enough manuals.”) For “My Body Is a Cage” and
“Intervention,” Win and Régine heard in their aural
imaginations the sound of a mighty organ, so they rented
the Saint-Jean-Baptiste church in Montreal with its 500
-pipe instrument; after an engineer miked the entire
place, Régine recorded the parts in a series of single
takes (though there was a half-second delay between
depressing the keys and the overwhelming sound it
generated) while the band tracks played into her
headphones. For “Black Mirror,” “Keep the Car Running
” and “No Cars Go,” Win and Régine wanted a fuller
sound than could be achieved by their own ragtag
orchestra, so they went to Budapest (no union rules and
a good rate on the Canadian dollar) and recorded their
arrangements with a 60-piece orchestra and a military
choir.
Four years ago, when the Arcade Fire first started performing its songs from “Funeral,” it took the band
six months to create the kind of show that eventually
brought it such renown. Now, with a highly anticipated
album about to come out, a year of tour dates lined up
and one night to go before they were to begin their
five-show run in London, the musicians were still
groping their way forward — trying to find portable
(and performable) ways of recreating the symphonic
richness of “Neon Bible” by reworking vocal approaches
and instrumental arrangements and improvising new bits
of theater. “I don’t think we’ve found our footing,”
Richie said when the band finished rehearsing in the
East London studio. “The old numbers know themselves as
live songs, but the new ones still feel like young
calves on weak legs.”
“Yeah, that was rough,” Will said. “The logistics get
hard when the band swells to 10 or more.”
“O.K., so we were sweaty and jet-lagged,” Jeremy said.
“But, ‘bad rehearsal, good show.’ Isn’t that what
they always say?”
Outside St. John’s Church, in a lovely, tucked-away
Georgian square, the line started forming at 4 o’clock
for the 8 p.m. show, and when the audience finally filed
into the majestic, high-ceilinged church and faced a
stage packed with musical equipment, several megaphones
on tripods and a red-velvet curtain draped in back with
the projected image of a neon bible, Richie said he
could feel it in his bones: “Seems like the crowd is as
nervous as we are. This is a crowd with really high
expectations; they want that cathartic experience. But
they’re a little ahead of themselves; they don’t know
the new songs; they don’t know how they’re going to
get excited. You know: This will be awesome! But the
unspoken message is: Hope so!”
The Arcade Fire — all 10 of them — entered from the
back of the sanctuary (anything to break that barrier
between performer and audience), and walked up the
aisle, Win smiling and clapping and gesturing for
everyone to get up on their feet. Right away the band
ripped into the new material, going full-tilt at four
new songs in a row, but even with Win attacking the
vocals with his dangerous, stone-faced visage; and
Régine holding her red-laced fingers up to the corners
of her eyes like Cleopatra as she sang; and Will running
back and forth beating a snare drum and throwing it up,
end over end, something was missing the mark. The energy
coming from the stage seemed to dissipate among the
crowd; the sound was all low-register drums and bass,
drowning out those obsessively arranged horns and
violins; and when songs ended, the audience clapped
enthusiastically, if a little too respectfully. Win
acknowledged as much from behind his mike: “I guess it
’s our own damn fault for playing in a church,” he
said. “How are you? Good? Yeah, everything’s going
good with us too: jet lag, antibiotics. ...” They
played a 60-minute show and left the stage looking
almost as uncertain as they did at the start.
As they were filing out of the sanctuary, however, the
band briefly conferred, then took a spontaneous turn and
headed for the church door. “Come outside!” Régine
yelled to the crowd. And while the audience trailed
after them onto the stone steps, the band collected
around a megaphone and sang an unrehearsed acoustic
version of “Wake Up,” its most popular song from
“Funeral.” On disc, “Wake Up” is anthemic — U2
plays it over the loudspeakers before its shows; Madison
Square Garden uses it to jazz up the crowd at Rangers’
games. Here, in the secluded, lamp-lit square, with
their breath visible in the wintery night air, the
musicians gave it an unexpected intimacy; with an
accordion, a dobro and a tambourine, they looked like a
circle of carolers, and before the first chorus ended,
the band had the crowd in a sing-along.
If the Arcade Fire is confident about anything, it’s
the value of a good piece of stagecraft and the ways
that playing with it, riffing with it night after night
before an audience, eventually helps the music begin to
live and breathe. So the following night, instead of
walking straight to the stage, the band started its show
with its encore, gathering in the middle of the crowded
sanctuary to reprise its acoustic performance of “Wake
Up.” After the crowd reveled in this seemingly
spontaneous gesture, the band members took the stage
with purpose in their step. “We had a little problem
last night with people thinking we were playing in a
church,” Win said to the crowd. “People were quiet. A
little too respectful. I’m here tonight to say: This
nonaggression shall not stand!”
A few days earlier, not long after the Arcade Fire had
arrived in London, Win was sitting in the lobby of the
band’s hotel, talking about the music he’d listened to
growing up and how inspiring it was to watch his
favorite artists evolve — Dylan giving up his Woody
Guthrie imitation to find a mode of expression all his
own, the Clash trying to sound like the Ramones and, in
the course of failing, becoming unique. “Expression is
where you define yourself as an artist,” he said. “And
expression always has to change.”
Régine walked in, and for a moment the two started
talking, worrying over some details about the following
night’s show. Then Win said: “When we were working on
‘Neon Bible,’ I had this dream — well, it was a
nightmare, really. I had this image of being in a boat
in the ocean in the middle of the night. I could feel
the boat going up and down, but it was so black out
there; I couldn’t see anything.”
“I had that experience, too,” Régine said avidly. “I
was backpacking once, going from France to Corsica at
night, and I was at the top of a giant boat at 2 in the
morning, everything so black, and me feeling so small. I
remember thinking, If I fall in, I could so easily
disappear!”
“It’s funny how the word ‘fear’ can mean so many
different things,” Win went on. “There’s a natural
fear that’s about self-preservation — ”
“— yeah, the fear that makes you want to protect
yourself and fight what’s coming in,” Régine said.
“But then there’s the fear that’s bigger than
yourself and makes you want to do things, be inventive.
”
“That’s the fear that — rather than working to
support the way you already are — makes you want to
change.”
Just then their assistant manager walked into the lobby
and told them they’d better quit talking: they had a
rehearsal in half an hour, and five shows to do that
week.
Darcy Frey is a contributing writer and the author of “ The Last Shot,” and has written for the magazine on
music, science and the environment.
国学经典翻译, 经典！！！以后可能会补充啦
1. 墨子：兼相爱、交相利 to show no discrimination and mutually love; to have dealings with others and muturally benefit.
2. 故兼者，圣王之道也，王公大人之所以安也，万民衣食之所以足也。故君子莫若审兼而务行之。为人君必惠，为人臣必忠，为人父必慈，为人子必孝，为人兄必友，为人弟必悌。故君子莫若欲为惠君、忠臣、慈父、孝子、友兄、悌弟，当若兼之不可不行也。此圣王之道，而万民之大利也。
Therefore the gentleman considers nothing as on a par with examing no discrimination and implementing it in his business. As a ruler one must be gracious, as minister of men one must be loyal, as father of men one must be compassionate, as son of a man one must be filial, as elder brother of men one must be friendly, as younger brother of others one must be respectful. Thus the gentleman values nothing better than wanting to be a gracious ruler, a loyal minister, a compassionate father, a filial son, a friendly elder brother, a respectful younger brother but if there is any discrimination then none of these virtues may be practiced.
3. 《孟子·告子上》：耳目之官不思而蔽于物，物交物，则引之而已矣。心之官则思，思则得之，不思则不得也。此天之所与我者，先立乎其大者，则其小者弗能夺也。此为大人而已矣。the organs of the ears and the eyes do not think and are glued to things. One thing calls forth the other thing and thus the organ functions. The role of the mind is to think. Only when one thinks can one grasp[what the mind is about] and if one does not think one will never grasp it. 4. 三军可多帅也，匹夫不可夺志也。the three armies can lose their generals but a common person cannot lose his or her will.(Analects 9, Zi Han #25, p224) |
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