Archivo de la categoría: Enseñanza de idiomas

Despertar entre Cádiz y Málaga

La Sierra de Cádiz: entre castillos árabes y pueblos blancos

El sueño de Washington Irving, el autor estadounidense que en el siglo XIX idealizó una Andalucía secreta y romántica en sus Cuentos de la Alhambra, se materializa en una comarca que parece haberse detenido en el tiempo: la de la Sierra de Cádiz. Situada al norte de la provincia que lleva su nombre, comprende una franja horizontal que arranca en Arcos de la Frontera, acoge el Parque Natural de Grazalema y se prolonga hacia el este para limitar, casi sin darnos cuenta con la serranía de Ronda, ya en la provincia de Málaga.

Asimismo, la región acoge un entorno natural con un altísimo valor ecológico. La sierra de Grazalema es conocida por su variedad botánica, en especial por ser el reino de una especie de abeto endémico: el pinsapo.

Desde este lugar es sencillo comenzar la famosa Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos. Una escapada a esta comarca se puede plantear, en definitiva, como ruta “panorámica” en coche a través de sus pueblos encalados y de aroma arabesco, sin renunciar a conocer su encanto natural a pie, a través de los múltiples itinerarios que por derecho propio forman parte de las mejores caminos de senderismo de Cádiz.

Pueblos de la Sierra de Cádiz. Qué ver en una escapada

Los pueblos de comarca de la Sierra de Cádiz tienen un denominador común: un pasado fronterizo entre el mundo cristiano y el musulmán, de ahí que muchos de sus nombres acaban con la coletilla “de la Frontera”. El contexto en el que surgieron, por tanto, también ha terminado por configurar la estampa que ahora nos resulta encantadora: localidades fortificadas enclavadas sobre un monte y con casas encaladas según la tradición morisca. La Sierra de Cádiz se compone de 19 pueblos, todos con este aroma pintoresco.

Arcos de la Frontera

Con casi 31.000 habitantes, Arcos de la Frontera es la localidad más relevante de la zona. Situado sobre un escarpado barranco sobre el río Guadalete, la leyenda asegura que un hijo de Noé lo fundó, aunque lo más probable es que su origen sea íbero. En época árabe, Arcos se configuró tal y como nos ha llegado, con sus callejones blancos y laberínticos, que ascienden hasta el castillo.

El corazón de esta localidad lo constituye la plaza del Cabildo. Esta plaza lleva al mirador de la Peña Nueva, desde donde se contempla una impresionante estampa de la cuenca del Guadalete que, si se presencia especialmente al atardecer, llega a sobrecoger. En la plaza del Cabildo se encuentra un castillo árabe del siglo XI que fue reconstruido por los cristianos tras la Reconquista. En un lado está la iglesia de Santa María de la Asunción, cuyo edificio original data del siglo XIII, construido sobre una mezquita árabe, y del que se suceden varios estilos como el gótico tardío, el mudéjar o el neoclásico.

El Bosque

A escasos 27 kilómetros al este de Arcos se sitúa la localidad de El Bosque. Con unos 2.100 habitantes, se trata de la puerta de entrada al Parque Natural de la Sierra de Grazalema. El blanco de sus calles contrasta ahora más si cabe con la frondosidad del entorno. Situado en una pequeña vaguada en el centro de un gran bosque de pinos, también pueden verse encinas, álamos y quejigos. El pueblo es atravesado por el río Majaceite, donde se pescan truchas, especialidad gastronómica de la zona.

Ubrique

Ya en plena sierra de Grazalema aparece enclavado en el fondo de un valle un pueblo que tal vez se sienta antes por el olor que por su visión. Dicho aroma no es otro que el del cuero. De fama internacional por los productos realizados con este material, por todas las calles del centro de Ubrique aparecen talleres y tiendas donde se venden bolsos y zapatos de enorme calidad. Pueblo de gran belleza y enorme tranquilidad, también es conocido por ser la cuna del torero ya retirado Jesulín de Ubrique.

Grazalema

Situado en el centro del Parque Natural Sierra de Grazalema, este pueblo de tan solo 2.000 habitantes es uno de los más idílicos de la zona. Enamora con sus casas impecablemente encaladas, sus tejados árabes y las ventanas enrejadas con hierro forjado, que en primavera se decoran con todos los colores que ofrecen las flores que cuelgan de ellas.

Con una industria textil que otrora llenó de riquezas al pueblo, Grazalema es la localidad con mayor índice de lluvias de España. Este aspecto condiciona la estructura del pueblo, desde el empedrado de sus calles, concebido para que discurran sin problemas las precipitaciones, los portones de las casas, las techumbres de teja o las farolas. Todos estos elementos hacen único este lugar del que parten algunas de las mejores rutas senderistas de la zona.

Zahara de la Sierra y Olvera

Tal vez el tramo más espectacular de un recorrido en coche (o en bicicleta) por la comarca de la Sierra de Cádiz sea el que conecta Grazalema con Zahara de la Sierra. La escarpada carretera pasa por el puerto de las Palomas, situado a 1.331 metros de altitud y lleno de impresionantes curvas.

Igualmente impresionante es el aspecto agreste que ofrece Zahara, rodeando una vertiginosa hendidura a los pies de la sierra. Declarada Conjunto Histórico-Artístico en 1983, esta villa concentra lo mejor de un típico pueblo blanco. Sus rincones con altas palmeras invitan a la exploración, como la ascensión a la torre del Homenaje del castillo del siglo XII. Dicho castillo fue tomado por los nazaríes en 1481 en un ataque nocturno que provocó que los Reyes Católicos lanzaran la última fase de la conquista de Granada.

Abandonando por el noreste el Parque Natural de Grazalema, nos topamos con Olvera, antiguo refugio de bandoleros y hoy localidad pujante por el auge de sus cooperativas agrícolas, especialmente de aceite. De esta localidad parte una vía verde muy frecuentada por los cicloturistas.

Setenil de las Bodegas, integrado en la montaña

Setenil de Bodegas, englobada dentro de la Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos gaditanos es tan genuina que se distingue fácilmente del conjunto de villas blancas de la Sierra de Cádiz. Su singularidad radica en que está integrada en la roca, sus casas a veces sobresalen del corazón de piedra de la colina, otras se introducen en lo más profundo, e, incluso, se encaraman sobre ella. Recorrer esta población es realizar un ejercicio constante debido a unos desniveles y escaleras que van regalando bonitas perspectivas de la población.

Las dos calles más conocidas e inmortalizadas por los viajeros que acuden a Setenil son la de Cuevas de Sol (la razón de su nombre es obvia, recibe mucha luz del astro) y Cuevas de la Sombra. No te conformes con hacer la foto, siéntate en alguna terraza y disfruta del ambiente, y de las tapas del pueblo, antes de seguir caminando por el núcleo urbano.

En tu recorrido hallarás algunos hitos a los que merece la pena prestar atención, como el aljibe y la torre del Homenaje que pertenece a una antigua fortaleza medieval del siglo XII –y a la que se puede subir para admirar las vistas de la sierra–. Igual de curiosa es la casa Consistorial, que es del siglo XVI y tiene un bellísimo artesonado mudéjar; y la casa de la Damita de Setenil, donde se exhibe una Venus con más de 5.000 años que certifica la larga vida de las cuevas. En exponentes religiosos no se pueden dejar de mencionar la iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Encarnación y las ermitas de Nuestra Señora del Carmen, y de San Sebastián.

Nuestra recomendación es que no persigas monumentos sino que te dejes llevar por la intuición hasta llegar a calles tan bonitas como Jabonería y Cabrerizas, que te regalarán rincones muy auténticos.

Senderos de la Sierra de Cádiz

Desde el punto de vista ecológico, la zona de la Sierra de Cádiz, en particular el Parque Natural de Grazalema, tiene dos peculiaridades: se trata del lugar de la Península con mayor régimen de lluvias y crece el famoso pinsapo, un precioso árbol de la familia de los pinos que no aparece en ningún otro lugar peninsular. Estos dos motivos son más que suficientes para hacer algunas de las rutas senderistas.

Para visitar los bellos caminos de la zona, en especial el Pinsapar, se requiere de un permiso que se puede obtener gratis en el centro de visitantes de El Bosque, y pedirlo al menos con una semana de antelación en temporada alta.

Ruta del Pinsapar

Se trata de una de las rutas más conocidas. El recorrido de 14 kilómetros va de Grazalema a Benamahoma y se invierten unas seis horas en realizarse. El inicio de esta pista está señalado junto a la carretera CA531, a unos 40 minutos a pie desde Grazalema.

Ruta de El Torreón

Con 1.654 metros de alto, el Torreón es el pico más alto de Cádiz. La ruta más habitual para coronarlo es comenzar desde una senda que arranca a 100 metros al este del mojón del kilómetro 40 de la carretera entre Grazalema (a unos 8 kilómetros de esta localidad) y Benamahoma. Tras 2,5 horas de caminata se alcanza cumbre. En un día despejado se puede alcanzar a ver Gibraltar, Sierra Nevada e incluso las montañas del Rif de Marruecos.

Sendero Salto del Cabrero

Fuera del Parque Natural la ruta tal vez más destacada sea el sendero Salto del Cabrero. Discurre entre Grazalema y Benaocaz, por la vía del Boyar y a través de la parte oeste de la sierra del Endrinal. Se emplean unas cinco horas en una ruta que arranca en el sendero los Charcones, en la parte alta del pueblo de Grazalema hacia el puerto del Boyar. Desde ahí ya se toma el sendero del Cabrero, que discurre cuesta abajo. Durante este camino hasta Benaocaz hay que estar atento por si se localiza alguna orquídea salvaje de la zona, en cuyo caso lo mejor es inmortalizar el momento con una buena foto y dejar a la planta en su entorno.

Actividades deportivas y turismo activo en la sierra de Cádiz

La sierra de Cádiz, con sus montes moteados de pueblecitos blancos, también brindan al amante del deporte y la aventura un buen número de actividades emocionantes. Lo idóneo es realizarlas con agencias que tengan personal especializado para evitar situaciones peligrosas. No es un entorno montañoso muy conocido en el mundo activo a nivel nacional pero te sorprenderá conocer la cantidad de deportes que permite realizar.

Uno de nuestros deportes favoritos es el barranquismo, que se puede practicar en lugares como la Garganta Verde, en Zahara de la Sierra. Quienes prefieran las vías ferratas no quedarán decepcionados después de hacer la de Benaoján (ya en territorio malagueño). Y los aficionados a la espeleología disfrutarán en las grutas de Villaluenga del Rosario, Benaocaz, Zahara de la Sierra y Grazalema. En esta sierra, una de las cavidades más conocidas y accesibles es la ‘cueva del Susto’.

Aunque, a priori, puede sorprender la práctica de kayak entre montañas, tiene fácil explicación ya que hay lugares como el pantano de Zahara de la Sierra, el pantano de Grazalema o el embalse de los Hurones que se prestan a ello. Y la perspectiva desde el agua es absolutamente impresionante.

Para ver la sierra desde las alturas, nada mejor que el parapente, tanto si eres un experto como si quieres iniciarte haciendo un vuelo en biplaza, tu lugar es el pueblo de Algodonales donde encontrarás unas excelentes condiciones para volar.

Para los viajeros más tranquilos y que les guste admirar el paisaje con calma les recomendamos una ruta senderista por el Pinsapar, entre un sorprendente bosque de pinsapos. Y a quien le guste montar en bicicleta que se anime a recorrer los parques naturales de los Alcornocales o de la sierra de Grazalema, y la vía verde de la Sierra desde Puerto Serrano a Olvera.

Por último, una actividad muy divertida con la que complementar tu viaje a la Sierra de Cádiz es el paintball. Es un juego que requiere de ciertas habilidades y que está en auge. Lo puedes practicar en Olvera, El Bosque y Villaluenga del Rosario.

Fuente: https://www.barcelo.com/guia-turismo/es/espana/cadiz/que-ver/sierra-de-cadiz/

19 Pueblos Blancos de Cádiz

ajo el potente sol andaluz, los pueblos blancos se esparcen por la geografía el sur de España. Las calles empinadas, angostas, de muros encalados y rebosantes de flores parecen una postal. Esa es la realidad que te deslumbra a poco de adentrarte en Andalucía.

Tanto en la costa como en el interior, estos pueblos blancos hacen gala de la herencia árabe que ayudó a forjarlos. A veces como enclave productivo, otras veces como cruce de caminos o a partir de atalayas defensivas. En otras ocasiones, nacidos sobre restos más antiguos o en siglos más cercanos pero siguiendo las líneas heredadas. Siempre el blanco bajo el sol.

Alcalá del Valle

Enclavada en un valle entre Málaga y Cádiz, conserva la arquitectura popular que ofrece un claro testimonio de su origen árabe, con sus calles de casas encaladas y de balcones repletos de flores. La villa actual fue fundada en el siglo XV por los musulmanes residentes en Setenil de las Bodegas.

En tu visita debes ver los Dólmenes del Tomillo, conjunto megalítico con un menhir único en la provincia, en medio de un hermoso entorno. Otros puntos a visitar es la iglesia barroca de Santa María del Valle, el Cortijo de la Cacería (del siglo XVI) y la ermita del Cristo de la Misericordia. Y no puede dejarlo sin probar el agua fresca de la Fuente Grande.

Algar

Situada entre los parques naturales de la Sierra de Grazalema y Los Alcornocales, ha sido poblada desde el Neolítico como lo demuestra el yacimiento arqueológico de la Cueva de la Dehesilla.

Gracias a su emplazamiento es ideal para tomarla como punto de parida para actividades de ocio al aire libre: senderismo por el Tajo del Ágila, pesca en el río Majaceite o el piragüismoo en el Embalce de Guadalcacín II.

en esta pequeña población se encuentran varios de los talleres donde se producen las piezas más finas para las grandes marcas como Chanel, Vuitton o Tous. Puedes visitarlos (pregunta por el taller Rovi) y llevarte a casa una buena pieza por mucho menor dinero (sin logotipo, claro).

A la sobra de la Sierra de Lijar se encuentra este encantador pueblo blanco con calles bordeadas de naranjos. Sus 12 fuentes aseguran el murmullo y el frescor del agua.

Algodonales

A los yacimientos prehistóricos de Cueva Santa, Chamusquina Castillejo y el Cerro de la Botinera, se suman monumentos como la Iglesia de Santa Ana de estilo barroco tardío. A corta distancia se encuentra la pedanía de La Muela desde donde se puede ascender a la Sierra de Lijar para observar el vuelo de los buitres leonados.

Un detalle para los amantes del vértigo: en Algodonales hay varias empresas que se dedican a los deportes aéreos.

Arcos de la Frontera

Puerta de entrada a la Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos, Arcos está considerado uno de los pueblos más bonitos de España. Existen huellas de sus primeros pobladores prehistóricos y romanos en el yacimiento de la Sierra de Aznar, pero la ciudad rezuma herencia musulmana.

Estrechísimas y empinadas calles, antiguos arcos, nos llevan al casco antiguo declarado Conjunto Histórico. Se conservan allí joyas monumentales como el Castillo de los Duques (del siglo XV), la Puerta de Matrera (siglos X a XIV) y los restos del recinto amurallado, sus palacios y casas señoriales, así como la Basílica de Santa María, y numerosos conventos y templos.

Benaocaz

Otro pueblo que ha sido distinguido como Conjutno Histórico por la belleza de su casco de estrechas y laberínticas callejuelas, especialmente en el Barrio Nazarí.

Se conserva el empedrado antiguo, muchas casas populares centenarias donde abundan las flores. Y también, casas señoriales dieciochescas de amplio portones y frescos patios.

Aunque su fundación fue árabe, hay numerosos restos prehistóricos en la zona como la Sima de la Veredilla y las Cuevas de la Manga.

Fuente: https://www.diariodelviajero.com/espana/19-pueblos-blancos-de-la-sierra-de-cadiz-ii

Bornos

Ubicado a orillas del lago junto al que ha crecido desde hace más de 30.000 años, Bornos está declarado Conjunto Histórico. Aquí vivero iberos y romanos, y sete paso se observa en los restos del yacimiento de Carissa Aurelia a escasos kilometros del centro del pueblo.

Aquí debemos visitar su castillo, las casas señoriales de la Cilla (s. XVII-XVIII) y de los Ordóñez (s.XVIII) y el Colegio y Hospital de la Sangre, así como la iglesia de Santo Domingo Guzmán, el convento del Corpus Christi y el monasterio de los Jerónimos, ambos del siglo XVI.

El Bosque

En plena Sierra de Albarracín, junto al río Majaceite, entre valles, se encuentra el retiro señorial de los Duques de Arcos de la Frontera. El Bosque es ejemplo de calles blancas salpicas de fuentes y flores.

En cuanto a su arquitectura destacamos la iglesia de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, el palacio Ducal, la ermita del Calvario y la plaza de toros. Visitas especiales son la del Jardín botánico «El Castillejo» con ejemplares reptesentantes de los principales ecosistemas de la Sierra de Grazalema y a las ruinas del castillo de Tavizna, a sólo 5 kilómetros del pueblo.

El Bosque está enclavado entre frondosos bosques de una comarca atravesada por manantiales de aguas con propiedades medicinales. Un lugar ideal para practicar además el turismo activo: caminatas, rutas a caballo, vuelos en parapente o en aladelta, por ejemplo.

Espera

Encontramos restos que nos cuentan la historia de sus primeros pobladores hace más de 3.000 años: el yacimiento de Esperilla. De l época romana y muy cerca del pueblo, encontramos la antigua ciudad romana de Carissa Surelia, sobre los restos de un asentamiento íbero anterior. Allí se encuentra un museo arqueológico de sitio con grandes piezas de obra funeraria íbero-romana.

En su patrimonio monumental destacamos el Castillo de Fatetar (s.XIII-XV) que conserva parte de las antiguas murallas, la Torre del Homenaje y los aljibes. Junto a él, la ermita de Santiago donde se encuentra el patrón de la localidad: el Cristo de la Antigua.

El Gastor

Se la conoce como «el balcón de los pueblos blancos» por las magníficas panorámicas de los pueblos vecinos desde su punto mas alto. El Gastor ha sido poblado desde la prehistoria, y a su alrededor se encuentra monumentos metalíticos que lo prueban.

El pueblo se ubica sobre un cerro y muy cerca del nacimiento del río Guadalete. Es un claro ejemplo de las tradicionales villas serranas. Hablando de turismo activo, hay un par de cuevas para los amantes de la espeleología: la de Fariña y la del Susto. Y en el embalse Zahara-El Gastor se practican deportes náuticos, que se suman a las oportunidades de practicar senderismo en el Tajo de Algarín y las Grajas.

Grazalema

En el mismísimo corazón de la Sierra de Grazalema, se ubica este pueblo blanco de excepción. osa de un microclima propio con el índice pluviométrico más alto de la península ibérica. En los alrededores se encuentra el Dolmen de la Giganta, pero la ciudad nace de la antigua ciudad romana de Lacíbula.

En su casco antiguo protegido como Conjunto Histórico (foto inicio), encontramos todos los elementos tradicionaless de la arquitectura árabe blanca combinada con ejemplos de arquitectura señorial. A visitar la iglesia barroca de Nuestra Señora de la Aurora, la de San José o la de Nuestra Señora de la Encarnación, o las ermitas del Calvario o de Los Ángeles.

Famosa por el trabajo textil de sus mantas artesanales, podemos encontrarlas en las tiendas y en el Museo de Artesanía Textil de Grazalema.

Fuente: https://www.diariodelviajero.com/espana/19-pueblos-blancos-de-la-sierra-de-cadiz-ii

Olvera

La Hippa o Hippa Nova romana se ubica a los pies de un gro risco coronado por su impresionante castillo. Ha sido declarada Conjunto Histórico y su casco urbano muestra una bella combinación de arquitectura popular con raíces andalusíes y su patrimonio monumental con sus palacios señoriales.

El Barrio de la Villa se encuentra sobre el primitivo casco, con trazado laberíntico donde encontramos iglesia como la de Nuestra Señora de los Remedios y el castillo. Estea antigua fortaleza musulmana del siglo XII, aun conserva parte de sus muros, torreones y la Torre del Homenaje.

En Olvera (foto de inicio) se encuentra el Museo Frontera de los Castillos, en un bello edificio de la antigua Casa de la Cilla, lugar de visita imprescindible para comprender el importante papel que jugó la serranía gaditana como frontera en el reino nazarí.

Prado del Rey

Tenemos que buscar el origen de esta localidad en la ciudad romana de Iptuci, yacimiento arqueológico digno de visitar. Igualmente, hay pruebas de población humana en esta zona desde los tiempos del Neolítico. La época de mayor esplendor fue la romana en especial en los siglos I y II d.C, pero ya los fenicios explotaban las salinas existentes en los alrededores.

Digno de visitar en Prado del Rey es el antiguo Pósito de Labradores, cuya estructura se mantiene intacta. Y luego, un recreo gastronómico con los platos típicos de la localidad: la alboromía de garbanzos y pimientos torrijas con miel y una copa de mosto de Pajarete.

Puerto Serrano

Al llegar nos reciben las tradicionales casas serranas rodeadas de naranjos. Puerto Serrano reúne una gran cantidad de yacimientos arqueológicos que confirman la presencia humana desde el Paleolítico, luego en tiempos romanos y durante la población hispano-musulmana. Entre estos sitios, merecen destacarse Fuente de Ramos y Almendral o el antiguo asentamiento romano de Cerro Castelar y Marciagos, a corta distancia del centro urbano.

Estamos en un rincón de la sierra gaditana ideal para practicar senderismo, cicloturismo, rutas caballo especialmente por el antiguo trazado ferroviario de Jerez-Almargen que posee 35 kilómetros transitables entre Puerto Serrano y Olvera.

Setenil de las Bodegas

Esta localidad se encuentra ubicada en un corte profundo de la sierra. Esta localización le da una singularidad y belleza que la hacen única. Las casas se adaptan al terreno y algunas se encuentran literalmente bajo la roca o en el interior de la montaña.

Calles y terrazas acomodadas a los quiebros del terreno con lugares tan especiales como las calles de la Cueva de la Sombra y de las Cuevas del Sol, donde descansar y observar la peculiaridad del pueblo tomando una cervecita fresca en sus terrazas.

Su ubicación actual es de origen medieval y en la «Villa» se asentaba el antiguo poblado almohada. El castillo que domina el pueblo es una fortaleza medieval de los siglos XIV y XV que conserva la Torre del Homenaje y un aljibe.

Torre Alháquime

Su nombre ya lo dice, estamos en una pieza clave en la frontera entre el Reino de Granada y castellano. De la época nazarí conserva los restos de la muralla medieval que rodea el casco histórico, allí se encuentra el Arco de la Villa.

Piérdete por sus calles angostas y laberínticas, muros blancos y plazas donde explota el color de las flores. Un lugar ideal para practicar slow travel. Detente y sigue el ritmo lento de la sierra.

Fuente: https://www.diariodelviajero.com/espana/19-pueblos-blancos-de-la-sierra-de-cadiz-iii

Ubrique

Donde se unen los parques naturales de Grazalema y de los Alcornocales, se ubica la localidad de Ubrique. Una garantía de entorno natural de primera categoría y muchas opciones para el turismo activo: rutas de senderismo, de BTT, pesca, caza o avistamiento de aves.

Declarada Conjunto Histórico, Ubrique tiene origen romano y por aquí pasa una calzada romana que une Ubrique con el pueblo blanco de Beanocaz del que te hemos hablado en la primera entrega. Además, el yacimiento de Ocuri incluye un monumento funerario muy interesante y escaso en la península de tipo columbario.

De la época musulmana quedan los restos de la Fortaleza de Cardela o Castillo de Fátima que data del siglo XII. Ya en el casco histórico de Ubrique, podemos reconocer su trazado medieval con calles angostas, preciosos rincones y plazas con fuentes como la barroca Fuente Pública o la andalusí de los Nueve Caños.

Villamartín

Bajamos hacia los prados fértiles para llegarnos hasta Villamartín, un caserío con larga historia. Su ubicación le destacó desde siempre como cruce de caminos de la zona. Testigos de la historia son los dólmenes de Alberite y el yacimiento de Torrevieja.

En el casco del pueblo tenemos ejemplos de su patrimonio monumental como el Castillo de Matrera, la iglesia de Nuestra Señora de las Virtudes o el Convento de San Francisco y ejemplos de casas señoriales como el Palacio de los Ríos.

Villaluenga del Rosario

A los pies de un impresionante macizo rocoso encontramos a Villaluenga, el pueblo más alto de la provincia de Cádiz (859 m.s.n.m). Ya en tiempos prehistóricos el hombre vivía por aquí aprovechando las cuevas del terreno. Una muestra de ello es el yacimiento de las Cuevas de la Manga.

Las calles de su trazado van adaptándose a los desniveles del terreno, con subidas empinadas, escaleras y los edificios integrándose con la roca: las iglesias de San Miguel y del Salvador, las ermitas de San Gregorio y del Calvario, la Fuente del Acueducto y más.

Encontramos aquí la plaza de toros más antigua de la provincia ya que data del siglo XVIII y es única: no es redonda sino poligonal con un graderío realizado en la propia piedra del lugar.

Zahara de la Sierra

El Parque Natural de Grazalema abraza a este pintoresco rincón andaluz. La fundación de la actual Zahara (foto de inicio) se debe a los árabes y su trazado es un gran ejemplo del entramado urbano andalusi. Encontramos el castillo del sigo XIII con su Torre del Homenaje y los restos de la villa medieval con brios segmentos de la antigua muralla.

Las calles van subiendo (y bajando) por la sierra sobre la que se recuesta Zahara por lo que no es raro encontrar tramos muy empinados o con escaleras. En tu paseo debes pasar por el Puente de los Palominos, o detenerte a ver la Torre del reloj y disfrutar del tiempo lento en la florida plaza central.

Fuente: https://www.diariodelviajero.com/espana/19-pueblos-blancos-de-la-sierra-de-cadiz-y-iv

Grazalema: pueblos blancos y bosques milenarios en las sierras de Cádiz

El pinsapar, un bosque relicto de hace miles de años, es el principal atractivo de esta comarca situada a muy poca distancia del Estrecho de Gibraltar.

El pinsapo es una de las reliquias vegetales más raras y escasas del mundo. Esta conífera de gran porte (puede superar los 30 metros de altura) y de silueta elegante tiene sus últimos refugios en torno al Estrecho de Gibraltar: en las dos orillas. Del lado marroquí, el pinsapar se reduce a pequeñas manchas en el sorprendente Parque Nacional de Talassemtane, uno de los lugares más bonitos e intensos del norte del país alauita. Y en la orilla norte, se le puede encontrar, de manera natural, en el recientemente creado parque Nacional de la Sierra de Las Nieves, en Sierra Bermeja y en Grazalema. El pinsapo es un árbol exigente. Demanda grandes cantidades de agua durante todo el año, algo que podría considerarse poco coherente si hablamos del sur de las provincias de Cádiz y Málaga. El pinsapar es una auténtica esponja que requiere de buenas precipitaciones durante todo el año y que, como otras coníferas, tiene la capacidad de ordeñar las nubes gracias a sus hojas en forma de pequeñas agujas apretujadas. Una verdadera red que atrapa el agua y lo precipita hacia el suelo creando verdaderos vergeles en las sierras atlánticas y mediterráneas de Andalucía Occidental. El Pinsapo es la especie emblema de la Sierra de Grazalema, un lugar único de las serranías gaditanas dónde llueve casi más que en la lejana Galicia.

El Parque Natural de Grazalema se encuentra a 121 kilómetros de Sevilla, a 112 kilómetros de Cádiz y a apenas 85 kilómetros del Aeropuerto de Jerez. Así que da perfectamente para una escapada de puente o para un fin de semana. ¿Dónde alojarse? La propia localidad de Grazalema no es mala opción: aquí hay varias casas rurales y alojamientos familiares. Otras opciones a escasa distancia del parque natural son Zahara de la Sierra (con varios alojamientos rurales y un hotel) y el pueblo de Ubrique. Esta zona de las sierras de Cádiz da para mucho y lo mejor es hacer kilómetros por las carreteras de montaña e ir conectando los diferentes puntos de interés y senderos para ir descubriendo los tesoros que guarda la montaña. Pequeños pueblos; grandes bosques; dehesas; encinares; castillos; yacimientos arqueológicos…

El Pinsapar; la joya de la corona.- Lo primero que tienes que tener en cuenta antes de internarte en este bosque mágico es que para realizar la travesía del Pinsapar hay que inscribirse en el Centro de Interpretación que se encuentra en la localidad de El Bosque (Federico García Lorca, 1; Tel: (+34) 956 709 733) o, más conveniente por el escaso número de permisos diarios que se reservan, hacerlo previamente a través de correo electrónico (cvelbosque.amaya@juntadeandalucia.es). El sendero lineal del Pinsapar tiene una longitud de 11,2 kilómetros y un desnivel máximo de unos 300 metros de subida (saliendo desde Benamahoma) y otros 900 de bajada hasta el parking de Las Canteras. El camino transcurre por la cara norte del Pico Torreón, que con sus 1.648 metros sobre el nivel del mar es la cima de la provincia de Cádiz. Aquí podemos ver al Pinsapar en todo su esplendor (unas 400 hectáreas de extensión); y también viejos pozos de nieve, fuentes, acequias y canalizaciones.

Benamahoma y el agua.- El pequeño pueblo de Benamahoma es una de las localidades que se encuentran en pleno parque. Y también un ejemplo de la importancia del agua en la comarca: desde el punto de vista natural y cultural. El Río Majaceite atraviesa esta parte de Grazalema y corre hacia el oeste para alimentar las vegas de El Bosque y Ubrique (en el Embalse de Los Hurones). Desde aquí parte el Sendero del Majaceite que baja junto al cauce hasta el vecino pueblo de El Río pasando por la Cascada Honda de Benamahoma. Pero antes de echarte a caminar puedes visitar el Ecomuseo del Agua del Molino de Benamahoma (Nacimiento, 37) un viejo batán industrial (máquinas movidas por el agua) que pone de manifiesto la importancia de los cauces para la economía local más allá de su aprovechamiento agrícola y ganadero.

El Castillo de Zahara de La Sierra.- Zahara de la Sierra está, por méritos propios, en el listado de pueblos más bonitos de España. Este pueblo blanco se abraza literalmente a un peñasco impresionante que sirve de fortaleza natural y mirador. Sólo por pasear por sus callejuelas y asomarse a sus miradores merece la pena la visita (con lugares bastante notables como la Iglesia de Santa María de la Mesa –con un retablo barroco muy bonito-). Pero el punto fuerte del pueblo es su antiguo castillo y recinto amurallado. La Puerta de la Villa da paso a la antigua Zahara, que en tiempos anteriores a la conquista cristiana estaba mayoritariamente encerrada por las murallas (lo puedes ver en el Centro de Interpretación de la Villa Medieval –El Fuerte, 15-). Murallas adentro podrás ver restos de la Iglesia Mayor (previamente mezquita), rastros de las antiguas casas, las murallas y la soberbia Torre del Homenaje, que corona la zona más alta del peñasco ofreciendo vistas brutales. Aprovecha que estás por aquí para visitar la Garganta Verde (CA-9104), una verdadera trinchera excavado por el Arroyo de los Ballesteros dónde puedes ver al mítico buitre leonado (hay que solicitar permiso a través del correo cvelbosque@reservatuvisita.es o en el teléfono (+34) 956 709 733).

La A-374 entre Grazalema y Ubrique.- La carretera de las maravillas. Esta ruta de 26 kilómetros recorre uno de los parajes más bonitos de toda la sierra. Casi siempre a los pies de peñas llenas de cuevas (como la de Las Dos Puertas muy cerca de Grazalema) en un ambiente que alterna grandes manchas de encinar y alcornocal con prados siempre verdes. Una ruta para ir haciendo paradas para conocer verdaderas joyas naturales como el Chaparro de las Ánimas, un enorme alcornoque singular que está íntimamente ligado a la historia del pueblo de Grazalema: el corcho de este árbol se dedicaba a la compra de aceite para las lamparillas de ánimas de la iglesia. También hay pequeños pueblos (Villaluenga del Rosario y Benaocaz) y algunos restos arqueológicos interesantes como la vieja calzada romana que atravesaba estas sierras desde Ubrique. Si te gusta andar no dejes de subir al Saltadero desde el Paraje del Cintillo, uno de los rincones más hermosos de la ruta. El camino no es largo y las vistas merecen la pena.

Ubrique: mucho más que la capital del cuero.-  Ubrique es uno de los famosos pueblos blancos de Cádiz y es conocido en Andalucía por la calidad de sus cueros que es la materia prima con la que se elaboran buena parte de los artículos de marroquinería de alta gama de Europa (aquí fabrican grandes marcas de la industria del lujo y varias empresas independientes). Una fama que no es nueva ya que las tenerías y los artesanos locales son famosos, por lo menos, desde principios del siglo XVI, aunque es probable que la tradición venga de tiempos de musulmanes o más atrás. El pueblo es muy bonito (hay que verlo desde arriba en la subida a la Cruz del Tajo). Y sólo por eso merece la visita, pero el cuero es un aliciente más. Y no es de extrañar que la punta de lanza del turismo cultural del pueblo sea un museo dedicado a la principal industria local que lleva el nombre rimbombante de Manos y Magia en la Piel (Herrera Oria, 10), que ocupa un antiguo convento de Capuchinos del siglo XVII. Muy cerca de aquí se encuentra El Rodezno, una zona bañada por las aguas que bajan desde Grazalema en la que funcionaron las tenerías del pueblo hasta casi antes de ayer.

Pero hay mucho más que ver en Ubrique. Dentro del pueblo hay que dejarse perder por sus callejuelas para ir descubriendo sus edificios más notables: la extraña San Juan de Letrán (San Juan, 9), una vieja iglesia de planta octogonal que alberga el Museo de Historia de Ubrique; la Ermita de San Antonio (La Torre, 60), construida sobre una vieja fortificación nazarí; la Casa del Dintel (San Juan, 6), un palacete del siglo XVI o la Parroquia de Nuestra Señora de la O (Francisco Fatou, sn), una sencilla basílica del XVIII. Mención aparte merece la antigua Ocuri, la población romana que dio origen a Ubrique y que puede visitarse en lo alto de un cerro muy cerca del pueblo actual. Subir por la calzada romana es toda una experiencia y lo que te encuentras arriba merece mucho la pena de ver incluyendo el sorprendente Mausoleo, uno de los edificios romanos mejor conservados de España.

Fuente: https://www.eldiario.es/canariasahora/viajarahora/destino_espana/que-ver-en-grazalema-transporte-publico-permisos-senderos-mapa_1_9052334.html

RUTA DE LOS PUEBLOS BLANCOS DE CÁDIZ Y MÁLAGA

La llamada «Ruta de los pueblos blancos» es una ruta turística que comprende gran parte de los pueblos de la comarca de la Sierra de la provincia de Cádiz. Su nombre viene del blanco de las fachadas de las casa de los pueblos, pintadas con cal para repeler la calor.

Es una de las rutas más conocidas de Andalucía, en ella el viajero recorre más de 20 municipios de las provincias de Cádiz y Málaga. Pueblos que tienen como denominador común esas casas con fachadas de blanca cal tan características en gran parte de la comunidad andaluza.

La Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos nos llevará a conocer y disfrutar del rico y diverso patrimonio histórico, cultural y natural que guardan en su interior todas y cada una de las localidades que conforman esta oferta turística. Iglesias de diferentes estilos arquitectónicos, yacimientos arqueológicos de distintas épocas, castillos, cuevas prehistóricas, museos… y espacios naturales tan importantes como el Parque Natural de los Alcornocales o el Parque Natural Sierra de Grazalema son sólo alguna de las joyas que podremos encontrar en nuestro recorrido.

Pueblos incluidos en la Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos

Alcalá del Valle | Algar | Algodonales | Arcos de la Frontera | Benaocaz | Bornos | El Bosque | El Gastor | Espera | Grazalema | Olvera | Prado del Rey | Puerto Serrano | Setenil de las Bodegas | Torre Alháquime Ubrique | Villaluenga del Rosario | Villamartín | Zahara de la Sierra

Otros municipios en la provincia de Málaga que igualmente nos sorprenderán por su situación, historia y monumentos son; RondaMontejaqueJimera de LíbarAtajateBenadalidGaucín, Cortes de la Frontera Casares.

Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos Ruta Central

Comenzamos nuestro recorrido en pleno corazón del Parque Natural Sierra de Grazalema, en Zahara de la Sierra. Presidida por su castillo nazarí, está declarada Conjunto Histórico-Artístico. A continuación se encuentra Grazalema, pueblo de origen romano, sus alrededores son un paraíso para los amantes de la naturaleza, el senderismo y los deportes de montaña.

A través de una sinuosa carretera que nos ofrece unas vistas espectaculares, entre pinsapos y miradores, llegamos a Villaluenga del Rosario. Estamos en el pueblo más alto de la provincia de Cádiz, con calles empinadas y casas encaladas.

Benaocaz aparece tras seguir descendiendo por la carretera, pasando por un antiguo tramo de la calzada romana. Con maravillosos paisajes de fondo, nos llevaremos una grata impresión al divisar Ubrique. En las cercanías encontramos la antigua Ciudad Romana de Ocuri, en lo alto del Salto de la Mora. Llegar al casco antiguo de Ubrique supone un pequeño esfuerzo que es recomendable para poder disfrutar de sus balcones naturales y contemplar una panorámica admirable.

Hacia el norte espera El Bosque, zona truchera para los amantes de la pesca, posee el Premio Nacional de Embellecimiento. Tras recorrer Benamahoma, puerta de entrada al Pinsapar, la última parada nos lleva a Prado del Rey, situado entre la sierra y la campiña, entre olivos y viñedos, a sólo cuatro kilómetros nos encontramos los restos de la ciudad romana de Iptuci.

Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos Ruta Norte

Entre las sierras gaditanas y el río Guadalete se sitúa Puerto Serrano, inicio de nuestro recorrido. Pueblo blanco con casas encaladas, en él se respira tranquilidad y sosiego. Tras visitar Algodonales, con su Iglesia de Santa Ana, continuamos camino hacia El Gastor. Conocido como «Balcón de los Pueblos Blancos», desde su punto más alto se contemplan unas vistas maravillosas. De gran interés resulta la visita al Dolmen del Gigante.

La siguiente parada es Setenil de las Bodegas, con su original entramado urbano y la disposición de sus casas, excavadas en la montaña, que tienen como tejado las propias rocas.

Alcalá del Valle, refugio de moriscos, eclesiásticos y franciscanos, aprovecha las riquezas de su patrimonio monumental y natural para acoger a los que llegan en busca de descanso y calma.

Continuando por Torre Alháquime llegaremos a la última parada de esta ruta, Olvera. Declarada Conjunto Histórico-Artístico, el principal monumento de Olvera es la propia ciudad, sus casas encaladas y calles estrechas, dirigidas todas hacia la silueta imponente de su Iglesia de la Encarnación y su Castillo árabe en lo más alto del cerro. El Peñón de Zaframagón, situado en la zona más occidental del término, declarado Reserva Natural, alberga la mayor colonia de buitres leonados de Andalucía.

Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos Ruta Levante

Iniciamos esta ruta en Cortes de la Frontera, no podemos irnos sin visitar las ruinas de la ciudad romana de Saeponta, los de la Torre del Paso, la Ermita Mozárabe la Casita de Piedra y el imponente parque de La Sauceda.

Tras recorrer Algatocín con un núcleo urbano que conserva el sabor de su pasado morisco.  La siguiente parada nos lleva a Benadalid, con sus calles estrechas y tortuosas que nos trae reminiscencias árabes. Atajate con su paisaje de contrastes nos conduce a Jimera de Líbar, un lugar para descansar, un pueblo donde se respira la tranquilidad.

Benaoján se caracteriza por su relieve accidentado, las casas parecen escalar la montaña, salpicando de blanco el verde del campo. De gran importancia son las dos formaciones geológicas, el Sistema Hundidero-Gato, con sus cuevas y lagos y la Cueva de la Pileta, con pinturas prehistóricas y declarada Monumento Nacional de Arte Rupestre.

Y para finalizar, Ronda. Una de las ciudades más antiguas de España. La Cueva de la Pileta es uno de los mejores exponentes del arte rupestre del Paleolítico andaluz. Su espectacular tajo, de más de 200 metros de profundidad, divide la ciudad en dos partes unidas por un puente de piedra. Los baños árabes, el Palacio del Rey Moro, la Plaza de Toros, la Fuente de los Ocho Caños y el Mirador del Tajo son algunas de las maravillas que nos ofrece Ronda.

Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos Ruta Occidental

Puerta de entrada de los Pueblos Blancos, Arcos de la Frontera se encuentra enclavado en la cima de una roca, completamente bordeado por el río Guadalete. El conjunto urbano, por su belleza y originalidad, constituye uno de los más singulares de España, declarado Monumento Histórico-Artístico Nacional. Arcos de la Frontera tiene sabor a pueblo hecho de cal y sol, de rejas y flores.

Tras visitar Algar, bello pueblo de origen árabe, seguimos camino hacia Espera. En lo alto de una peña se encuentra el Castillo de Fatetar con su ermita adosada, donde podemos contemplar unas maravillosas vistas. Bornos es un pueblo blanco, con campos salpicados de huertas, se sitúa a orillas del pantano que lleva su nombre. Saliendo de Bornos tenemos la posibilidad de visitar la ciudad ibero-romana de Carissa Aurelia.

Villamartín nos ofrece gran variedad de paisajes entre el blanco de sus casas, el verde de la campiña y el azul del cielo y el agua. Resalta entre sus casas la torre de la Iglesia de Santa María de las Virtudes. Sin olvidar el Campo Dolménico de Alberite.

Fuente: https://andaluciarustica.com/ruta-de-los-pueblos-blancos.htm

La Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos de Málaga

La famosa Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos de Andalucía comprende una serie de localidades ubicadas en terreno de las comarcas de Sierra de Cádiz y Serranía de Ronda. El eminente carácter serrano de estos lugares se refleja con facilidad en sus costumbres y tradiciones. Esto embellece el paisaje de la misma manera que lo hacen los conjuntos de fachadas encaladas, los tejados rojizos de sus casas, el trazado estrecho y empinado de sus calles. Los arquillos y pasadizos que aderezan la trama urbana en algunos de sus rincones son otro de los tesoros de esta Ruta por los Pueblos Blancos de Málaga.

La Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos de Málaga es, sin duda, una de las más famosas rutas de arquitectura popular andaluza. También es un recorrido por una tierra con historia que ha sido testigo de numerosos episodios y conflictos que han dejado su huella en forma de castillos y otros restos arqueológicos.

Pese a que los pueblos blancos andaluces comprenda localidades de las provincias de Cádiz y Málaga, nos centraremos en aquellos pueblos blancos de Málaga que, tomando como centro Ronda, quedan ubicados en tierras malagueñas.

Ronda

Ronda es una de las localidades con mayor proyección turística de Málaga. Un bello lugar marcado por la presencia del impactante tajo del río Guadalevín que cuenta con atractivos de la talla de su famoso puente, sus baños árabes o su plaza de toros. Es considerada como una de las más antiguas y monumentales de España.

Tanto por sus monumentos como por su historia y cultura, Ronda se alza como indiscutible centro de los pueblos blancos malagueños. Es un destino imprescindible en el que merece la pena invertir varios días de visita.

Benaoján

Ubicado en terreno del Parque Natural de la Sierra de Grazalema, Benaoján es un pequeño pueblo muy apreciado por toda clase de amantes del turismo rural y los deportes de aventura. En sus alrededores encontramos interesantes lugares como las Cuevas del Gato y de La Pileta. En el interior de esta última se conserva una serie de pinturas rupestres que evidencian una temprana presencia humana en el lugar. Componen un importante conjunto artístico de estilo paleolítico.

Montejaque

De origen musulmán, Montejaque es un pueblo situado también en terreno de la Sierra de Grazalema y cuyo nombre significa “Montaña Perdida”. Se trata de un lugar de notable riqueza histórica donde es posible visitar monumentos de la talla de la iglesia de Santiago el Mayor. En sus alrededores se alza el Hacho, un monte que con sus 1.075 metros de altitud da cobijo a la localidad y domina desde su cima todo el paisaje circundante.

Jimera de Líbar

Jimera de Líbar es otro núcleo de origen musulmán que llegó a albergar una importante fortaleza de la que actualmente no queda vestigio alguno. No obstante, su nombre en lengua árabe fue Inz Almaraz, cuyo significado es “castillo de la mujer”. Los alrededores del lugar, sobre los que destaca la presencia del pico Martín Gil, son un escenario para la práctica de toda clase de deportes de naturaleza.

Atajate

Esta localidad malagueña de nuestra Ruta por los Pueblos Blancos de Málaga es  una de las de menor población de la provincia. Esto garantiza una relativa paz y tranquilidad en sus calles.

Atajate es actualmente famosa por la producción de mosto, último vestigio de una importante industria vinícola que vivió siglos de esplendor. Posteriormente vivió su declive debido a una fuerte plaga de filoxera que afectó a la región a finales del siglo XIX.

Benadalid

La siguiente parada en la Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos de Málaga es Benadalid. Cuenta con varios atractivos patrimoniales como su castillo árabe. De posible origen romano, este monumento cuenta con planta cuadrada y torres cilíndricas. En la actualidad es empleado como cementerio local.

Otros lugares de Benadalid que merecen una visita son la iglesia de San Isidoro y la cruz del Humilladero. Su construcción está ligada a dos hermanos portugueses que se asentaron aquí. Fueron los posibles responsables de la generalización del apellido Fernández en el pueblo.

Algatocín

Algatocín es un lugar de notable belleza cuyo perfil escalonado se adapta a la perfección al relieve del terreno. Sobre éste se asienta dando lugar a una trama urbana irregular y paisajísticamente atractiva. Entre sus puntos de interés destacan la iglesia de Nuestra Señora del Rosario y el mirador del Genil. Ofrece excelentes vistas de un paisaje serrano de frondosa vegetación dominado por alcornoques, castaños y otras especies autóctonas.

Gaucín

Ubicado en el centro de un variado y rico entorno natural, Gaucín es una pequeña localidad de trazado morisco que tuvo su particular relevancia histórica en años de la reconquista. Su castillo fue considerado como un importante punto estratégico cuya toma supuso la muerte de Guzmán “el Bueno”, Señor de Sanlúcar de Barrameda.

En la actualidad, el Castillo del Águila es su principal atracción patrimonial. Su emplazamiento en la cima de un cerro a 688 metros de altitud es a su vez el destino de una de las excursiones más populares del lugar.

Casares

La Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos de Málaga termina en Casares, un lugar declarado como Monumento Histórico Artístico. Casares cuenta con importantes muestras patrimoniales como la Iglesia de la Encarnación, su castillo árabe y la ermita de San Sebastián.  Los restos de la ermita de la Vera o los baños de La Hedionda, cuyas aguas sulfurosas fueron utilizadas como fuente de salud en época romana.

Casares es, además, el lugar de nacimiento del político y escritor Blas Infante, conocido como el “Padre de la Patria Andaluza” y cuya casa natal permanece todavía en pie. Por la disposición de sus casas y sus calles en cuesta, Casares se ha ganado el sobrenombre de “Pueblo Colgante”.

La Ruta de los Pueblos Blancos de Málaga constituye, en definitiva, una de las mejores oportunidades para conocer la cultura serrana y popular de una provincia rica y variada que cuenta con un interior sorprendente.

Pese a que en esta ocasión nos centremos en las tierras de la Serranía de Ronda, conviene recordar que los pueblos blancos son una realidad muy extendida por toda la geografía andaluza. En Málaga, sin ir más lejos, pueden admirarse otros ejemplos como Mijas; o Cómpeta, Comares y Frigiliana, en la comarca de La Axarquía.

Fuente: https://espanafascinante.com/lugares/pueblos-blancos-de-malaga/

Pink sunRise-Sunset in August 1967

Pink Floyd

Pink Floyd, British rock band at the forefront of 1960s psychedelia who later popularized the concept album for mass rock audiences in the 1970s. The principal members were lead guitarist Syd Barrett (original name Roger Keith Barrett; b. January 6, 1946, Cambridge, Cambridgeshire, England—d. July 7, 2006, Cambridge), bassist Roger Waters (b. September 6, 1943, Great Bookham, Surrey), drummer Nick Mason (b. January 27, 1945, Birmingham, West Midlands), keyboard player Rick Wright (in full Richard Wright; b. July 28, 1945, London—d. September 15, 2008, London), and guitarist David Gilmour (b. March 6, 1944, Cambridge).

Formed in 1965, the band went through several name changes before combining the first names of a pair of Carolina bluesmen, Pink Anderson and Floyd Council. Their initial direction came from vocalist-guitarist-songwriter Barrett, whose mixture of bluesmusic hall styles, Lewis Carroll references, and dissonant psychedelia established the band as a cornerstone of the British underground scene. They signed with EMI and early in 1967 had their first British hit with the controversial “Arnold Layne,” a song about a transvestite. This was followed by their debut album, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, a lush, experimental record that has since become a rock classic. Their sound was becoming increasingly adventurous, incorporating sound effects, spacy guitar and keyboards, and extended improvisation such as “Interstellar Overdrive.”

By 1968 Barrett, who had overused LSD and was struggling with schizophrenia, was replaced by guitarist Gilmour. Without Barrett’s striking lyrics, the band moved away from the singles market to concentrate on live work, continuing its innovations in sound and lighting but with varying degrees of success. After recording a series of motion-picture soundtrack albums, they entered the American charts with Atom Heart Mother (1970) and Meddle (1971). Making records that were song-based but thematic in approach and that included long instrumental passages, the band did much to popularize the concept album. They hit the commercial jackpot with Dark Side of the Moon (1973). A bleak treatise on death and emotional breakdown underlined by Waters’s dark songwriting, it sent Pink Floyd soaring into the megastar bracket and remained in the American pop charts for more than a decade. The follow-up, Wish You Were Here (1975), included “Shine On You Crazy Diamond,” a song for Barrett, and, though it went to number one in both the United States and Britain, it was considered anticlimactic and pompous by many critics.

By the release of Animals (1977), it was clear that Waters had become the band’s dominant influence, and there was increasing internal conflict within Pink Floyd. Their sense of alienation (from both one another and contemporary society) was profoundly illustrated by the tour for 1979’s best-selling album The Wall, for which a real brick wall was built between the group and the audience during performance. After the appropriately named The Final Cut (1983), Pink Floyd became inactive, and legal wrangles ensued over ownership of the band’s name. Waters, who dismissed Wright after The Wall and took over most of the songwriting, was even more firmly in control. As a result the band split, but, much to Waters’s chagrin, Gilmour, Mason, and Wright reunited, continuing as Pink Floyd. In the late 1980s Wright, Gilmour, and Mason released two albums, including the ponderous A Momentary Lapse of Reason (1987) and The Division Bell (1994), while Waters pursued a solo career. Waters reunited with his former bandmates for a single performance at the Live 8 benefit concert in 2005. Gilmour and Mason later used recordings made with Wright (who died in 2008) to create what they said was the final Pink Floyd album, The Endless River (2014). Pink Floyd was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1996.

Source: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Pink-Floyd#ref996426

The Piper at the Gates of Dawn

The title of Pink Floyd’s debut album is taken from a chapter in Syd Barrett‘s favorite children’s book, The Wind in the Willows, and the lyrical imagery of The Piper at the Gates of Dawn is indeed full of colorful, childlike, distinctly British whimsy, albeit filtered through the perceptive lens of LSD. Barrett‘s catchy, melodic acid pop songs are balanced with longer, more experimental pieces showcasing the group’s instrumental freak-outs, often using themes of space travel as metaphors for hallucinogenic experiences — «Astronomy Domine» is a poppier number in this vein, but tracks like «Interstellar Overdrive» are some of the earliest forays into what has been tagged space rock. But even though Barrett‘s lyrics and melodies are mostly playful and humorous, the band’s music doesn’t always bear out those sentiments — in addition to Rick Wright‘s eerie organ work, dissonance, chromaticism, weird noises, and vocal sound effects are all employed at various instances, giving the impression of chaos and confusion lurking beneath the bright surface. The Piper at the Gates of Dawn successfully captures both sides of psychedelic experimentation — the pleasures of expanding one’s mind and perception, and an underlying threat of mental disorder and even lunacy; this duality makes Piper all the more compelling in light of Barrett‘s subsequent breakdown, and ranks it as one of the best psychedelic albums of all time.

Source: https://www.allmusic.com/album/the-piper-at-the-gates-of-dawn-mw0000191309#:~:text=The%20Piper%20at%20the%20Gates%20of%20Dawn%20successfully%20captures%20both,subsequent%20breakdown%2C%20and%20ranks%20it

Why Syd Barrett’s Pink Floyd still remains captivating: ‘The Piper At The Gates of Dawn’ review

Pink Floyd is typically thought as the transatlantic progressive rock powerhouse of the mid 70s – run on Roger Waters’ political commentary and David Gilmour’s sincerity. However, Floyd purists would probably have a fondness for the band’s original incarnation: Syd Barrett being principal songwriter, Richard Wright second in command, and Roger Waters just a bassist and multi-instrumentalist. 

When making their debut, Pink Floyd were students of psychedelic rock. They created a name for themselves in the underground scene with their entrancing live shows at the UFO club in London, and breaking through to the mainstream with terrific singles like ‘Arnold Layne’ and ‘See Emily Play’. The Piper at the Gates of Dawn proves to be the definitive statement of a band who were unknowingly reaching the end of a short chapter in their storied career. 

‘Astronomy Domine’ is a stunning opener. This track is one which typical Pink Floyd fans would find the most digestible given its space-rock atmosphere. Barrett’s poetry is exceptional, with lines like “the sound resounds/Around the icy waters underground” providing the lyrics with fluid grace. The band does a superb job in selling the song with the last leg being particularly impressive –  the harmonizing vocals accompanied by the increasingly intense instrumental work helps the song swell into a fulfilling conclusion, leaving the track worthy of its astral chant title. 

‘Lucifer Sam’, however, is a hilarious change of pace. This is the start of many instances where Barrett displays his whimsy and in this case, he releases his inner Ray Davies (of The Kinks fame). A Batman-esc riff propels Barrett’s musing over his “siam cat” and its poppiness makes this a standout. 

‘Flaming’ is gorgeously ethereal. Its lyrics can be read as a child’s inner monologue whilst playing hide and seek or a description of an idyllic drug trip. Verses such as “lazing in the foggy dew/Sitting on a unicorn” with refrains like “yippee! You can’t see me/But I can you” create a divergence in interpretation. Waters’ usage of the slide whistle and wind-up toys helps to cultivate a celestial and delicate air. 

The hypnotic track in ‘Chapter 24’ was inspired by the 24th chapter of I Ching, an ancient Chinese divination manual and book of wisdom. Here Barrett seeks to interpret its meaning and the song’s structure is perhaps the most accessible on the whole project. The song unfolds gracefully in its tranquil beauty.

However, the listener gets transported back into Barrett’s whimsical mind with ‘The Gnome’. Norman Smith’s production does well in portraying the intimacy of the song, with the acoustic guitar and vocals foregrounded only giving way to Wright’s celesta at the chorus. You can really get a sense of Barrett playing the role of storyteller, as if around a campfire, to a small group of obedient children. 

‘Bike’ is an eerie closer. Barrett’s poetic meter is expertly off-kilter and the instrumental is slightly clownish in an aesthetic which, tied together with a forthright song structure, provides this song with a perverse innocence. 

Nonetheless, the album does falter in the middle. The instrumental ‘Pow R. Toc H.’ is not terrible in isolation or following the greatness of the first four tracks. However, its close proximity to the disappointing recording of ‘Interstellar Overdrive’ renders it forgettable.

Speaking of ‘Interstellar Overdrive’, the live staple for Pink Floyd up to this point does not deliver in the studio. Its beginning and end are pleasant but the six-minute stretch in between sounds more like mindless noodling. You would have to be very under the influence to develop some appreciation for this composition. It would take several listens for an established Floyd fan to accept that Waters did, in fact, write ‘Take Up Thy Stethoscope and Walk’. It is definitely a song that very few would entertain more than once. 

Nevertheless, Pipers definitely makes it into Pink Floyd’s top five albums – top three depending on my mood. It is exemplary of Syd Barrett’s supreme talent as a songwriter and lyricist. Pink Floyd would never be as funny, innocent or poetic as this ever again. Barrett proves to be one of the high profile casualties of 1960s excesses, and it is with good reason that his work left an impression on seminal artists like David Bowie. It is no accident that it took several years for the band to find their feet after Syd’s departure

Pink Floyd were never known for their hooks and choruses so this project generally would be an intriguing listen for the common Floyd fan. Pipers does have shades of their musical trademarks (such as extensive instrumental bridges and an atmospheric sound) but all in the constraints of 60s psychedelic rock. It’s as much an LP as it is a legitimate historical document of British psychedelia – it contains all of its brilliance, madness and ugliness. It’s Pink Floyd at their most British and it’s a project that no real fan should miss out on. 

Source: https://theboar.org/2020/08/pink-floyd-pipers-at-the-gates-of-dawn/

The Piper At the Gates of Dawn

The Piper At the Gates of Dawn is the legendary debut album by Pink Floyd and the only album during their Syd Barrett-led era. This era began during the summer of 1965, when Barrett joined the established band which included his childhood friend Roger Waters and unilaterally began to call this band “The Pink Floyd Sound”, after a couple of obscure blues men he had in his record collection. By 1966, the band became part of London’s “underground” scene, gained some high connections, and played some high profile gigs attended by celebrities. In early 1967, the band signed with EMI and their debut album was recorded at Abbey Road Studios with producer Norman Smith. The sessions had their share of turmoil as Barrett was unresponsive to direction and constructive criticism.

The sessions for The Piper At the Gates of Dawn came during the middle of a turbulent, exciting, and productive year for Pink Floyd, which also saw the release and charting of three non-album singles. “See Emily Play” was the highest charting on these early singles as the follow-up to “Arnold Layne”, a controversial song as it depicted a transvestite whose primary pastime was stealing women’s clothes and undergarments from washing lines and many English radio stations refused to play the song.

The Piper At the Gates of Dawn is the legendary debut album by Pink Floyd and the only album during their Syd Barrett-led era. This era began during the summer of 1965, when Barrett joined the established band which included his childhood friend Roger Waters and unilaterally began to call this band “The Pink Floyd Sound”, after a couple of obscure blues men he had in his record collection. By 1966, the band became part of London’s “underground” scene, gained some high connections, and played some high profile gigs attended by celebrities. In early 1967, the band signed with EMI and their debut album was recorded at Abbey Road Studios with producer Norman Smith. The sessions had their share of turmoil as Barrett was unresponsive to direction and constructive criticism.

The sessions for The Piper At the Gates of Dawn came during the middle of a turbulent, exciting, and productive year for Pink Floyd, which also saw the release and charting of three non-album singles. “See Emily Play” was the highest charting on these early singles as the follow-up to “Arnold Layne”, a controversial song as it depicted a transvestite whose primary pastime was stealing women’s clothes and undergarments from washing lines and many English radio stations refused to play the song.

The album begins with “Astronomy Domine”, the ultimate space odyssey song with wild tremolo effects and a chanting vocal duet between Barrett and keyboardist Richard Wright. There is an extended instrumental section after first verse sequence before the song returns for the concluding sequence. the riff-driven “Lucifer Sam” follows with a cool, mid-sixties British groove, making the song a lot less psychedelic than those on the rest of the album.

“Matilda Mother” begins with some interplay between Waters’ bass and Wright’s organ, who plays a big role in the song by also taking on lead vocals. There are also some fine harmonies during the verses and a slow carousel-like sequence through the end. “Flaming” is another melody-driven song but with wild sound effects throughout as well as a bright acoustic guitar, overdubbed in the third and fourth verses and an odd, yet melodic middle break. “Pow R. Toc H.” is the first of two instrumentals on the album, with the heart of the song driven mainly by a blues riff (one of the few moments where Waters bass is well represented). This is a great early art piece by Pink Floyd, though there are times when the sound effects are just a tad overwhelming. According to drummer Nick Mason, the band members were present at Abbey Road when they watched The Beatles recording “Lovely Rita” for Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and decided to try voice effects and noises similar for “Pow R. Toc H.”

Barrett wrote eight of the album’s eleven songs along with contributing to two instrumentals which were credited to the whole band. Waters was credited with one composition, “Take Up Thy Stethoscope and Walk”. This closer of the first side is a more frenzied piece than anything else on the album, with Mason really shines on this track with a style of over-the-top drumming which should make Keith Moon proud. Rumor has it that the band insisted in contract negotiations that “Interstellar Overdrive” remain in experimental form on the debut album. The song, which became the the unofficial theme song of the underground event “the fourteen hour technicolor dream”, was the first recorded by the band in January. This instrumental starts strong, with a strong and catchy main riff, but within a minute and a half the song begins to deteriorate into a psychedelic collage of sound effects, which goes on for about seven minutes and may have be just a bit much for any sober listener.

Barrett takes over the rest of the album, with some fine and interesting compositions. “The Gnome” is an upbeat, acoustic folk song with some exaggerated vocals by Barrett and some excellent bass by Waters. “Chapter 24” is perhaps the first deeply philosophical song by a band that would make their reputation exploring such matters. Barrett’s melody floats above the transcending musical motif with the middle part dissolving with a Middle-Eastern sounding organ. The song was inspired by by text from chapter 24 of the ancient Chinese script I Ching (The Book of Changes).

“The Scarecrow” is built on a series of percussive effects by Mason and organ flights by Wright. These at first sound disparate, but are soon held together by layered vocals in concert with tightly strummed electric guitars. An acoustic montage is later overdubbed over the whole ensemble in the outro.

“Bike” is the most brilliant and chilling song on the album, and perhaps the quintessential Syd Barrett song. Lyrically, the song is metered like a 10-year-old’s boasting rant about disparate subjects during the verse and a melancholy chorus about a “girl who fits in with my world”. Knowing of Barrett’s eventual mental demise, the song has turned out to be extremely profound. Musically, the song is driven by good piano and effects by Wright throughout and rock driven rock verses with softer, melodic choruses through the song proper, which lasts less than two minutes. The song and album concludes with a psychedelic reprise of sound collages.

After the release of the album in August 1967, Pink Floyd continued to perform in London, drawing ever larger crowds. But Barrett’s mental state continued to deteriorate and soon he got to the point where he could not perform onstage. Aside from a few more single tracks and one song on the next album, A Saucerful of Secrets, Barrett would not perform with the band again, making The Piper At the Gates of Dawn, a truly unique work.

Source: https://www.classicrockreview.com/2012/07/1967-pink-floyd-piper/

Chapter 24 by Pink Floyd

A movement is accomplished in six stages
And the seventh brings return
The seven is the number of the young light
It forms when darkness is increased by one
Change returns success
Going and coming without error
Action brings good fortune
Sunset

The time is with the month of winter solstice
When the change is due to come
Thunder in the other course of heaven
Things cannot be destroyed once and for all
Change returns success
Going and coming without error
Action brings good fortune
Sunset, sunrise

A movement is accomplished in six stages
And the seventh brings return
The seven is the number of the young light
It forms when darkness is increased by one
Change returns success
Going and coming without error
Action brings good fortune
Sunset, sunrise, sunrise, sunset

just ONE…

WORLD, LIFE, PEACE, LOVE

One World by Dire Straits

Can’t get no sleeves for my records
Can’t get no laces for my shoes
Can’t get no fancy notes on my blue guitar

I can’t get no antidote for blues
Oh yeah, blues

I can’t find the reasons for your actions
Or I don’t much like the reasoning you use
Somehow your motives are impure
Or somehow I can’t find the cure

Can’t get no antidote for blues
Oh yeah, blues

They say it’s mostly vanity
That writes the plays we act
They tell me that’s what everybody knows
There’s no such thing as sanity
And that’s the sanest fact
That’s the way the story goes

Oh yeah

Oh, yeah

Blues

Can’t get no remedy on my TV
It’s nothing but the same old news
Well, they can’t find a way to be
One world in harmony

Can’t get no antidote for blues
Alright, yeah, blues

Blues

Oh yeah

Blues
Alright

One World (Not Three) by The Police

One world (not three)

One world is enough
For all of us
One world is enough
For all of us

It’s a subject we rarely mention
But when we do we have this little invention
By pretending they’re a different world from me
I show my responsibility

One world is enough
For all of us
One world is enough
For all of us

The third world breathes our air tomorrow
We live on the time we borrow
In our world there’s no time for sorrow
In their world there is no tomorrow

One world is enough
For all of us
One world is enough
For all of us

Lines are drawn upon the world
Before we get our flags unfurled
Whichever one we pick
It’s just a self deluding trick

One world is enough
For all of us
One world is enough
For all of us

I don’t want to bring a sour note
Remember this before you vote
We can all sink or we all float
‘Cause we’re all in the same big boat

One world is enough
For all of us
One world is enough
For all of us

One world is enough
For all of us
One world is enough
For all of us

One world is enough
For all of us

It may seem a million miles away
But it gets a little closer everyday
It may seem a million miles away
But it gets a little closer everyday
It may seem a million miles away
But it gets a little closer everyday

One world…

One World by de Billy Ocean

So many people
Living in the world today
Trying to find an answer
Searching for a better way
So much demonstrations
People voicing their opinion
We got to find the solution
What we need is a love revolution

‘Cause we got one world
So let’s take care of business
Don’t wait another day
We got one love, yeah
Keep on holding on
No letting go
We got one world, mmh
Delivering a message
I came here to tell you
We’ve got one dream, mmh
Brothers and sisters
You know what I mean

Callous people out there
In the world today
Will burst your bubble
Hurting (hurting) by the games they play
But I know (I know) and I feel (I see)
I see there’s something going on (yeah)
It’s time for us to turn it around (ooh-ooh)
We can’t afford to get it wrong

‘Cause we got one world
So let’s take care of business
Don’t wait another day
We got one love, mmh
Keep on holding on
No letting go
We got one world, eh
I’m delivering a message
I came here to tell you
We got one dream
Brothers and sisters
You know what I mean

One world, listen
One dream, one hope
One love, one chance
One mind, one faith
This human race
Oh, and this human race, oh-oh
One love, one hope
One dream, one love

We got one world, yeah
Let’s take care of business
Don’t wait another day
We got one love, mmh, yeah
Keep on holding on
No letting go
We got one world
Delivering a message
I came here to let you know
One dream, yeah
Brothers and sisters
You know what I mean

One world
One world, one love, one dream
You know what I mean
One love
Delivering a message
I came here to tell we got
One world
One dream, yeah
Delivering a message

One by U2

Is it getting better?
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you now
You got someone to blame?

You say, one love, one life (One life)
It’s one need in the night
One love (One love)
Get to share it
Leaves you darling
If you don’t care for it
Mary

Did I disappoint you?
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without

Well, it’s too late, tonight
To drag the past out into the light
We’re one, but we’re not the same
We get to carry each other, carry each other

One (One)
One (Oh, oh, one)
One (One, oh-oh)
One (Oh-oh)

Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
Have you come here to play Jesus?
To the lepers in your head

Well, did I ask too much? More than a lot?
You gave me nothing, now it’s all I got
We’re one but we’re not the same
See we, hurt each other then we do it again

You say, love is a temple, love is a higher law
Love is a temple, love is a higher law
You ask for me to enter but then you make me crawl
And I can’t keep holding on to what you’ve got
‘Cause all you got is hurt

One love, one blood
One life, you’ve got to do what you should
One life with each other
Sisters and my brothers
One life but we’re not the same
We get to carry each other, carry each other

One
One
One
One
One
One

One love, one love

Sorrow by Pink Floyd

The sweet smell of a great sorrow lies over the land
Plumes of smoke rise and merge into the leaden sky
A man lies and dreams of green fields and rivers
But awakes to a morning with no reason for waking

He’s haunted by the memory of a lost paradise
In his youth or a dream, he can’t be precise
He’s chained forever to a world that’s departed
It’s not enough, it’s not enough

His blood has frozen and curdled with fright
His knees have trembled and given way in the night
His hand has weakened at the moment of truth
His step has faltered

One world, one soul
Time pass, the river roll

And he talks to the river of lost love and dedication
And silent replies that swirl invitation
Flow dark and troubled to an oily sea
A grim intimation of what is to be

There’s an unceasing wind that blows through this night
And there’s dust in my eyes, that blinds my sight
And silence that speaks so much louder than words
Of promises broken

One Love by de Bob Marley & The Wailers

One love, one heart
Let’s get together and feel all right
Hear the children cryin’ (one love)
Hear the children cryin’ (one heart)
Sayin’ give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right
Sayin’ let’s get together and feel all right

Let them all pass all their dirty remarks (one love)
There is one question I’d really love to ask (one heart)
Is there a place for the hopeless sinners
Who has hurt all mankind just to save his own beliefs?

One love, what about the one heart, one heart
What about, people, let’s get together and feel all right
As it was in the beginning (one love)
So shall it be in the end (one heart)
All right! Give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right
Let’s get together and feel all right, one more thing

Let’s get together to fight this Holy Armagiddyon (one love)
So when the Man comes there will be no, no doom (one song)
Have pity on those whose chances grows t’inner
There ain’t no hiding place from the Father of Creation

Sayin’, one love, what about the one heart? (one heart)
What about the, let’s get together and feel all right
I’m pleadin’ to mankind (one love)
Oh, Lord (one heart) whoa

Give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right
Let’s get together and feel all right
Give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right
Let’s get together and feel all right

Centro di gravita permanente

Franco Battiato: la malattia, la musica e l’eterno enigma di un maestro senza confini

«Il silenzio del rumore / Delle valvole a pressione / I cilindri del calore / Serbatoi di produzione / Anche il tuo spazio è su misura / Non hai forza per tentare / Di cambiare il tuo avvenire / Per paura di scoprire / Libertà che non vuoi avere / Ti sei mai chiesto / Quale funzione hai?».

Così cantava Franco Battiato nello spettacolo «Pollution» (1972) ancor oggi un classico dello sperimentalismo musicale. È morto oggi — come ha reso noto la famiglia — dopo lunga malattia nella sua casa che era l’ex castello della famiglia Moncada a Milo, in Sicilia.

Battiato è stato uno degli artisti più significativi e complessi e versatili dell’universo artistico italiano.

Nei decenni a trionfare sia nella musica classica e sperimentale che nel pop, finendo più volte in testa alle classifiche con brani come «Bandiera bianca», o «L’era del cinghiale bianco». Pur avendo creato opere musicali complesse come «Gilgamesh» andato in scena all’Opera di Roma o la sonata per pianoforte «L’Egitto prima delle sabbie», Battiato è riuscito a vincere come autore il festival di Sanremo 1981, avendo composto con Giusto Pio e la stessa Alice il brano «Per Elisa».

Battiato viveva allora un momento magico al centro di un sodalizio artistico molto affiatato composto da lui, il violinista Giusto Pio, il produttore Angelo Carrara, la cantante Giuni Russo, il cantante Mino di Martino, il musicista Francesco Messina e il compositore e pianista Roberto Cacciapaglia.

La scomparsa del padre, il viaggio a Milano con la madre

Battiato era nato a Riposto, allora chiamata Ionia, il 23 marzo 1945.

A seguito della prematura scomparsa del padre si trasferisce con la madre a Milano.

Nel cabaret club 64, dove suona e canta conosce Paolo Poli, Enzo Jannacci, Renato Pozzetto, Bruno Lauzi e Giorgio Gaber con cui instaura una duratura amicizia.

Scrive con lui il brano «E allora dai» che, cantato da Gaber e da Caterina Caselli, va in gara a Sanremo 1967. Nel 1973 un operatore culturale e pubblicitario di nome Gianni Sassi cerca qualcosa di nuovo e dirompente per promuovere le ceramiche Iris, delle piastrelle di lusso che raffigurano fedelmente una zolla di terra appena arata. E trova sponda nel singolare artista siciliano innamorato dello stile di Karlheinz Stockhausen (conosciuto dopo un suo concerto a Torino)e Luciano Berio.

L’avanguardia

Battiato fa musiche e poesia d’avanguardia, sfidando nei concerti un pubblico poco avezzo a dissonanze e altre follie.

Con la stessa etichetta del maestro Pino Massara, la Bla Bla record, incide anche l’album «Fetus» che reca un feto umano in copertina e viene sequestrato. I suoi interessi vanno dalla musica lirica al pop e all’avanguardia.

È un outsider a tutto campo. Che la grande platea scopre soprattutto con gli album «L’era del cinghiale bianco», «La voce del Padrone» e «Up patriots to arms».

Ma la magia con cui lui maneggia i grovigli di fili dei rudimentali sintetizzatori dell’epoca è straordinaria come dimostrano le geometrie elettroniche di «Proprietad prohibila» nell’album «Clic», ancora oggi sigla di TG2 dossier.

Un magico e ipnotico crescendo che incanta ancora oggi. Uno degli album più rivelatori del suo percorso resta «Caffè de la Paix», dove «l’inconscio ci comunica frammenti di verità sepolte».

L‘enigma e la malattia

Sul piano umano e musicale Franco Battiato resta un enigma.

La sua creatività è sorretta da una dura disciplina spirituale.

I suoi percorsi musicali spesso hanno ispirazioni lontane, tortuose, e forme espressive ostiche che alludono a culture e simbologie remote e iniziatiche.

Frequenta assiduamente il filosofo Henri Thomasson, che firma molte canzoni con lo pseudonimo di Tommaso Tramonti.

A volte Battiato riesce ad essere oscuro e lontano (così lo vivemmo con «Gilgamesh» all’Opera di Roma), altre di una chiarezza cristallina (basti pensare a «Povera patria» in «Come un cammello in una grondaia»).

La fede in una immortalità immanente

Battiato impasta e mette in musica, scienza e mito, fede in un’immortalità immanente nel mistero della natura e dello spirito, nel rimpianto perenne di un ordine e di una felicità perduta ma che nel Gran Giorno per alcuni ritornerà.

Tema ben presente in «Lode all’inviolato».

In altri dischi Battiato invita a trascendere il corpo entrando in una sorta di sonno vegliante.

Battiato, che ha anche prodotto un disco di Milva con le sue canzoni e ha scritto successi estivi di Giuni Russo come «Un’estate al mare» è stato attivo su vari campi artistici: la pittura, il cinema con la colonna sonora del film «Una vita scellerata» (uscito nel 1990), incentrato sulla figura di Benvenuto Cellini. Negli ultimi anni aveva collaborato con il filosofo Manlio Sgalambro.

La devozione alla madre

Battiato era molto devoto alla madre. Quando comprò il castello dei Moncada a Milo, fece riconsacrare la cappella che faceva parte del complesso e ogni mattina un prete diceva messa per lei.

Nel restauro del castello Battiato sventrò le cantine creando una sala da ballo (adorava le danze sufi) di oltre 200 metri quadri con il parquet ricavato dal legno di rovere delle botti.

E a chi gli chiedeva «e il vino?» lui rispondeva: lo comprerò al supermercato.

Fonte: https://www.corriere.it/spettacoli/21_maggio_18/franco-battiato-l-eterno-enigma-infinito-un-maestro-senza-confini-4a2fae78-b7a1-11eb-add6-98a2b51489e2.shtml

Storia di Franco Battiato: gli amori, la spiritualità, le canzoni e il disgusto per i politici corrotti

Franco Battiato moriva il 18 maggio 2021. A un anno dalla scomparsa, Rai1 lo ricorda con il documentario “Il coraggio di essere Franco”. Ripercorriamo la sua storia: le canzoni indimenticabili come La Cura, la decisione di non prendere moglie e di non avere figli, la ricerca spirituale continua e il disgusto per la corruzione politica.

Franco Battiato è morto il 18 maggio 2021. A un anno dalla sua scomparsa, Rai1 lo ricorda con il documentario Il coraggio di essere Franco. Alessandro Preziosi, voce narrante, ripercorre la vita e la carriera del Maestro attraverso le testimonianze di amici, colleghi e della nipote Cristina. Un vissuto intenso quello dell’artista siciliano, annoiato dalla banalità della concretezza e proiettato verso quelle che definiva «sfere celesti», a cui si accostava tramite la meditazione e una continua ricerca spirituale. Era vegano «ma non stretto». Non prese mai moglie e non ebbe figli, perché non venisse violata la sua libertà e l’amore per la solitudine. Ha lasciato canzoni, che come molliche lucenti e preziose, ricondurranno sempre al genio di uno degli artisti più apprezzati di tutti i tempi.

L’infanzia e la decisione di lasciare la Sicilia

Franco Battiato è nato il 23 marzo 1945 a Ionia (oggi Giarre e Riposto, comuni che all’epoca vennero unificati), da papà Salvatore Battiato – detto Turi – e da mamma Grazia Patti. Dopo aver frequentato il liceo scientifico, decise di lasciare la sua Sicilia alla volta di Milano. Nella nebbia di quella città rivide un luogo per lui ideale, lo specchio che rifletteva e accoglieva il suo spirito solitario. Un amore che venne spezzato dopo oltre vent’anni dal disgusto che provava per la situazione politica e che lo portò a tornare in Sicilia. In un’intervista rilasciata nel 2010 presso la Casa Italiana Zerilli-Marimò dichiarò:

«Quando sono andato via dalla Sicilia avevo quasi 19 anni e sono andato via, senza neanche girarmi indietro. Euridice sarebbe stata salva (ride, ndr). Arrivai a Milano che era mezzanotte. Una nebbia totale. E ho detto: «Questa è casa mia». Restai a lungo, addirittura non avevo neanche più l’accento siciliano. Però bastò un mese di Sicilia e quando tornai a Milano, i miei amici mi dicevano: «Ma come caz** parli?». All’età di 42 anni, per via di alcuni gruppi politici, per me Milano era diventata una fogna. E allora decisi di ritornare in Sicilia».

La spiritualità e la tecnica di meditazione di Franco Battiato

Sin dalla giovinezza, Franco Battiato è stato contraddistinto da una forte spiritualità. Una ricerca che per l’artista ha avuto inizio quando aveva solo 7 anni. In un tema già si chiedeva: «Io chi sono?». Ogni mattina si svegliava all’alba, ascoltava musica classica per un paio d’ore e poi andava in veranda a meditare, con una tecnica che aveva messo a punto in anni di pratica. Ad AffariItaliani spiegò:

«Inizialmente bisogna imparare a decentrane tutti i propri muscoli. Così a poco a poco sono riuscito a governare il rilassamento del mio corpo: in questo modo non vi sono più blocchi di energie, e queste fluiscono liberamente in me. E solo allora non sei più in balia dei pensieri».

Negli anni ’70, iniziò ad approfondire diverse culture religiose, partendo dalla filosofia indiana, interessandosi poi al misticismo occidentale e infine al Sufismo. Un viaggio iniziato con una motivazione ben precisa: «Mi stava stretta la società in cui vivevo, con quei valori piccoli come il buon posto nella società, l’affermazione sociale, e stop».

Perché non si è mai sposato e non ha avuto figli

Franco Battiato ha sempre parlato di sé come di una persona che amava la solitudine e non poteva tollerare che qualcuno dipendesse da lui o invadesse i suoi spazi. A GQ espresse chiaramente il suo punto di vista sui rapporti amorosi: «Per me è fondamentale che la donna sia autonoma. Non potrei avere un rapporto con una donna che dipende da me. Una che ogni sera mi dice: “Che facciamo stasera?” Madonna santa! Un incubo!». Al Corriere raccontò che quando era giovane e suonava con il suo complesso, era sempre circondato da donne. Ne lasciò una solo perché mentre lui faceva la doccia, mangiò i suoi yogurt:

«Ecco, diciamo che anime gemelle non ne ho avute… Ma amiche degne di questo nome sì, e ogni tanto ce n’è qualcuna che viene a stare qui con me per cinque, dieci giorni. In camere completamente separate, però, per forza!».

Franco Battiato poteva però contare su una famiglia che lo amava profondamente: il fratello Michele, la nipote Cristina a cui era legatissimo e con cui trascorreva anche le vacanze e poi i nipoti, figli di Cristina.

Franco Battiato credeva nella reincarnazione
Franco Battiato ha più volte dichiarato di non temere la morte. L’artista credeva nella reincarnazione, motivo per il quale prestava grande attenzione a tutte le creature, persino alle zanzare. Al Corriere della Sera, nel 2015, ha espresso la sua convinzione su cosa accade dopo la morte:

«Se una persona ha un minimo di sensibilità, come fa a dire che veniamo dalle scimmie? Brutto cretino! dico io: le scimmie sono loro stesse esseri umani messi lì per un motivo. Quando tu ti comporti in modo tremendo, quando ammazzi qualcuno, poi rinasci come insetto, serpente o un altro animale… Ecco perché cammino per strada facendo attenzione a non calpestare neppure le formiche. Non faccio del male nemmeno alle zanzare. Oggi ci sono delle cose interessanti profumate per allontanarle…».

Villa Grazia a Milo, il suo rifugio

Franco Battiato non aveva dubbi circa le cose che gli davano felicità: «Il rapporto equilibrato con il resto del creato, con la natura. Cielo, nuvole, alberi, sono cose che riassestano l’uomo nella sua condizione reale». E tutto ciò poteva ammirarlo nella sua Villa Grazia a Milo. Un vero e proprio rifugio per lui, che gli permetteva di immergersi in una ricca vegetazione e godere della frescura dei pini secolari e delle palme, dei vivaci colori delle rose selvatiche e dei profumi dell’orto, tra pompelmi, mandarini, pomodori e patate:

«Prima di acquistare la dimora da dei nobili siciliani che ci venivano a svernare, mi sono preso tre notti per pensarci, poi ho sentito che potevo farlo. Era la fine degli anni Ottanta. Non ci vivo da solo, non me la sentirei: nella dependance vive una famiglia marocchina molto discreta che mi aiuta. E poi ho la cuoca, che cucina in modo divino».

L’eredità artistica: la denuncia politica di Povera Patria, l’amore universale de La Cura

Franco Battiato ha lasciato le sue canzoni in eredità a tutti coloro che lo hanno amato. Il suo repertorio, che si estende dai primi anni ’70 al 2019, è impossibile da sintetizzare senza dimenticare di menzionare brani e album di fondamentale importanza. Dalla sua genialità sono sbocciati successi senza tempo come La stagione dell’amore, E ti vengo a cercare, Cuccurucucù, Centro di gravità permanente, Voglio vederti danzare, Bandiera bianca e L’era del cinghiale bianco. Ma anche brani di grande impatto emotivo come La cura, di cui Battiato disse: «È una canzone in cui non viene mai pronunciata la parola amore, perché ne racchiude vari tipi, come tra padre e figlio, per esempio» o Povera patria, in cui esprimeva la sua indignazione per gli abusi di potere la corruzione dei politici: «Tra i governanti quanti perfetti e inutili buffoni». In un’occasione spiegò:

«Accendo la televisione e vedo questi politici scortati da guardie del corpo, sembrano più dei mafiosi che politici. Si muovono con un’arroganza disgustosa. Allora mi dico: ma non è meglio cambiare genere? Diventare una nuvola, che poi diventa pioggia e cade su un fiume, che poi va verso il mare. Mi piacerebbe cambiare genere se potessi, perché questi uomini sono fetenti».

Fonte: https://www.fanpage.it/spettacolo/personaggi/storia-di-franco-battiato-gli-amori-la-spiritualita-le-canzoni-e-il-disgusto-per-i-politici-corrotti/

Franco Battiato è stato l’effetto collaterale della musica italiana

Franco Battiato, oltre 70 anni di musica: impossibile non conoscere le sue hit è il titolo che un quotidiano nazionale ha deciso di dare alla notizia della sua morte. Lo rileggo più e più volte, e ancora fatico a capire come la parola hit possa essere accostata a Franco Battiato, neanche stessimo parlando di Fred De Palma. Allora cerco su Google: dicesi hit una canzone di gran successo. E fin qui siamo tutti d’accordo. Battiato è stato un artista di gran successo, oltre l’immaginabile, e ha avuto un impatto gigantesco su generazioni diverse proprio in virtù della sua abilità nel coltivare il pop, la canzone nazional popolare. Ma allora perché la parola “hit” dovrebbe farci così orrore? Presto detto: perché anche la canzone più sputtanata di Battiato era un immenso capolavoro culturale. Battiato non era il principio attivo del mercato discografico, Battiato era la controindicazione. Battiato è stato l’effetto collaterale della musica italiana, e chiunque abbia avuto modo di fare esperienza della sua musica capisce di cosa stiamo parlando.

Il livello di ascolto che impone ogni suo pezzo è diametralmente e concettualmente diverso da qualsiasi altra canzone che si possa definire hit. I suoi testi riflettono i suoi interessi, fra cui l’esoterismo, la teoretica filosofica, la mistica sufi e la meditazione orientale. Ha scritto testi di una profondità immensa con il filosofo Manlio Sgalambro, non certo Cristiano MalgioglioL’era del cinghiale biancoProspettiva NevskijCentro di gravità permanenteBandiera biancaCuccurucucùVoglio vederti danzareE ti vengo a cercarePovera patria, sono solo alcuni dei suoi più grandi successi. Eppure non riesco a definire nessuno di questi pezzi una hit, perché nonostante queste canzoni appartengano indissolubilmente alla cultura nazional popolare italiana, Battiato ha dato solo a pochi il privilegio di farne esperienza in maniera consapevole. Solo chi ha gli strumenti giusti ha potuto godere dell’immensità celata dietro un ritornello particolarmente orecchiabile, ed ha potuto coglierne il significato, le più piccole sfumature strumentali. Perché Battiato è una di quelle cose che accadono nella vita quando sei abbastanza maturo per comprendere, per sentire la vita intorno. Battiato ha insegnato al mondo il profondo rispetto per le parole, per il senso, per la profondità. E soprattutto, Battiato non era solo pop. Nella sua carriera è passato dal rock progressivo all’avanguardia colta, dalla canzone d’autore alla musica etnica, da quella elettronica all’opera lirica.

E oltre i suoi meriti di autore, il maestro era anche un grande interprete. Un sarto della musica. Cuciva i suoi vestiti sulle canzoni più belle della musica italiana e internazionale, e le faceva danzare come ballerine sulle punte. E so che può suonare come una bestemmia, ma Battiato interpretava De André spesso meglio di De André stesso. Oggi è morto (l’articolo è stato scritto a maggio 2021) e l’Italia è orfana di uno dei suoi più grandi artisti. In tv, alla radio, non sento che il suo capolavoro più grande: La cura. Nella mia vita l’ho sentita almeno una ventina di volte suonare impropriamente nei filmini imbarazzanti dei vari diciottesimi a cui sono andato. Stamattina ho avuto la stessa sensazione: quella di un Battiato usato, più che omaggiato. Sacrificato sull’altare del clickbait per il concetto stesso di hit. Sento il dovere morale di restituire al maestro un ritratto più ampio delle sue hit. Sento la necessità di ringraziarlo per averci dato gli strumenti, e averci accolti nel suo orticello. Battiato ha coltivato la canzone d’autore come fosse un giardino zen. E qui, tra le sue rose, celebrava la vita, la consapevolezza, la bellezza. La cura, in effetti, l’ha data lui a noi.

Fonte: https://www.heyjudemagazine.it/2022/03/23/franco-battiato-e-stato-leffetto-collaterale-della-musica-italiana/

Franco Battiato, ecco cosa resta del suo transito terrestre

È già passato un anno da quel 18 maggio, dal giorno in cui il cantacompositore più eclettico, innovativo, intransigente e coraggioso del panorama artistico italiano passava a miglior vita o, come forse avrebbe preferito dire lui, terminava la parabola del suo transito terrestre. Un anno nel quale i contributi alla sua persona e alla sua musica sono andati moltiplicandosi fino a coinvolgere anche commentatori, giornalisti e scrittori che mai prima d’allora si erano occupati dell’universo Battiato. Perciò, proprio perché giornalisticamente parlando di tutto è stato scritto, voglio oggi ricordare il musicista, regista e pittore siciliano non entrando nel merito della sua sterminata produzione artistica, nel cuore della quale tra libri e articoli si è entrati innumerevoli volte, ma, precedentemente sollecitato dalla giornalista del Quotidiano del Sud Elisabetta Mercuri, con un elenco di alcune delle sue qualità, quelle di cui il sottoscritto ha avuto modo, direttamente o indirettamente, di fare esperienza personale.

1) L’altruismo: se Franco Battiato si innamorava di qualcosa, se ne intravedeva la qualità, non badava ai numeri, ai contratti, alle logiche di mercato. Dall’alto della sua grandezza artistica, mediatica e commerciale non ha avuto alcun problema, innumerevoli volte, a dare una mano, anche consistente, a chi credeva meritorio di riceverla. Parlo, come anzidetto, per esperienza personale, perché Battiato non ha avuto alcun problema, nel lontano 2014, a mettersi a fare il “fonico” di un mio album (Klar), dandomi indicazioni sui volumi, sull’intonazione delle voci e sulla struttura dei brani, finanche scrivendo le note di alcuni incisi. Aveva apprezzato la mia musica, tanto per lui bastava, e questo nonostante la stessa fosse totalmente fuori mercato e non rispondesse ad alcuna logica commerciale. Qui, in questa semplicità, in questa autenticità, la sua grandezza.

2) La ferrea volontà: tutta la produzione di Battiato è interamente attraversata dal costante desiderio di evoluzione personale. Diceva sempre che era nato nel segno dell’Ariete ma che pian piano era riuscito ad emanciparsi dai limiti di quel segno zodiacale, invitando al tempo stesso gli altri a farlo con i propri. Questo desiderio di migliorarsi costantemente poi trascendeva la sfera esistenziale e si riversava in ogni sua attività, a partire da quella lavorativa: la sua musica si è continuamente evoluta, Battiato non si è mai lasciato catturare da uno stile o una forma specifici, e così facendo ha profondamente innovato il linguaggio della popular music degli ultimi 40 anni. Infiniti i musicisti, non solo italiani, che nella sua produzione hanno trovato fonte di profonda ispirazione.

3) La trasversalità: la sua musica parla a tutte le generazioni, la ascoltano i ragazzini, la ascoltano gli adulti, la ascoltano gli anziani. È musica evocativa, sia nelle sonorità, sia nei testi: Summer on a solitary beach, con quell’inciso motivico di sole 4 note leggermente variate nelle loro ripetizioni, è quanto di più evocativo, toccante, esistenziale e al tempo stesso vitale e dinamico si possa trovare nel variopinto repertorio della popular music. C’è insomma il ricordo, la lontananza, la nostalgia, il disincanto ma al tempo stesso la gioventù, lo slancio, l’incantesimo della vita. Per questo Battiato arriva a tutti: per ogni diversa età parla a una diversa parte di noi, ogni sua opera si offre a diverse letture possibili.

4) Il coraggio: nessun altro autore di canzoni, di popular music, è riuscito a veicolare contenuti tanto importanti da un punto di vista letterario, filosofico, mistico ed esoterico all’interno di contenitori finanche ballabili: qui la grandezza della sua operazione, di quella che definisco “Operazione Battiato”. Mentre gli altri cantavano, e imperterriti cantano ancora, cuore, amore, dolore, lui raggiungeva e continua a raggiungere le coscienze dei suoi ascoltatori con contenuti rivoluzionari, avanguardistici, perciò spiazzanti e alle volte equivocabili. È spesso stato detto: ci vogliono interi libri per capire il testo anche di un solo brano di Battiato. È vero, ma solo in parte: l’altra parte infatti è musicale, e la sua musica, sebbene mai banale, ha saputo quei testi grandemente veicolare.

5) L’amore per la dignità: “Per un gesto di dignità umana sarei capace di buttare tutta la mia produzione nella spazzatura”, e c’era da credergli, l’avrebbe fatto davvero l’uomo che senza mezzi termini aveva, da assessore alla cultura della regione Sicilia, denunciato la prostituzione affaristica della politica parlamentare italiana. Senza mezzi termini, con intransigenza, stoicamente, Battiato.

Fonte: https://www.ilfattoquotidiano.it/2022/05/18/franco-battiato-ecco-cosa-resta-del-suo-transito-terrestre/6594807/

FRANCO BATTIATO, NEL NOME DELLA MUSICA E DELLO SPIRITO

Si nesci arrinesci – dicono in Sicilia, cioè: se vai fuori, hai successo. A 19 anni, è il 1964, Franco Battiato uscì dalla Sicilia, per avere successo nel mondo. Suo padre, Turi, pure era uscito: era andato a Nuova Yorke, a fare il camionista e lo scaricatore di porto, ma ci era morto. Così, Battiato si prese la sua truscia e partì “verso le nebbie” di Milano: «Milano allora era una città di nebbia, e mi sono trovato benissimo. Mettevo a frutto la mia poca conoscenza della chitarra in un cabaret, il “Club 64”, dove c’erano Paolo Poli, Enzo Jannacci, Lino Toffolo, Renato Pozzetto e Bruno Lauzi. Io aprivo lo spettacolo con due o tre canzoni siciliane». Quelle sapeva.

Poi, è il 1967, si mise a fare canzoni di protesta – e chi non faceva canzoni di protesta, al tempo? Avevano fatto un duo, lui e il suo compaesano Gregorio Alicata, che erano nati nello stesso posto, solo che quando era nato Gregorio si chiamava Riposto che c’era il fascismo e quando era nato Franco si chiamava Ionia che il fascismo era finito – perché in Sicilia si cambia spesso nome alle cose, perché possano sembrare diverse, anche se poi sempre le stesse sono. Gregorio, che era un poco più grandicello e era “nisciuto” già prima di lui, lo aveva incoraggiato a partire. Così, avevano formato “Gli Ambulanti” – e andavano davanti le scuole e nei cabaret. Poi, con Gregorio le cose non erano andate lisce – che i siciliani sono così, oggi sembrano innamorati pazzi e il giorno dopo si odiano – e ognuno per la sua strada. La strada di Battiato si chiamava Giorgio Gaber che lo aveva notato e lo aveva invitato a andarlo a trovare e ne divenne una specie di mentore. E fu proprio Gaber che decise di chiamarlo Franco – perché in giro c’era Francesco Guccini e due “Francesco” magari che la gente si confondeva. E così Francesco Battiato divenne Franco Battiato – «Da un giorno all’altro, pure mia madre prese a chiamarmi Franco» – ma Franco o Francesco, cambiategli nome, sempre lui medesimo era: un genio. Dove c’era talento di natura, ma tanto tanto tanto lavoro, curiosità intellettuale, sperimentazione, rischio.

Certo, a pensare il Battiato spirituale e colto, ritirato e mistico degli ultimi anni, che aveva trasformato la sua Milo sotto l’Etna in una specie di Monte Athos della musica, viene difficile ricordare il Battiato dei primi anni Settanta. E forse è così che succede, che diventi vecchio e diventi davvero quello che sei e tutta la vita ti sei preparato a accogliere questa persona che ancora non conosci, ma che sta dentro di te. Eppure. Una volta raccontò in un’intervista («Esquire»): «Era tutto improvvisato, così come veniva: in maniera selvaggia, brutale. Tenevo il VCS (il sintetizzatore) fisso sui 10.000 hertz e c’era sempre questo suono lancinante – uiiiuuu-uiiiuuu – e poi gli altri mi venivano dietro facendo rumori e cose così. Usavamo anche lastre di metallo e oggetti vari, sempre tutto a volume altissimo, assordante. Anche le luci erano violente, con queste strobo accecanti sempre in movimento che non capivi nemmeno come facevi a muoverti, insomma, era un casino assoluto, totale. Poi tenevamo questa enorme croce sul palco che a un certo punto io prendevo e spaccavo davanti al pubblico – era un po’ una provocazione blasfema un po’ un messaggio del genere ‘liberatevi delle vostre ossessioni’, no? E il pubblico naturalmente impazziva. E quando dico che impazziva intendo che impazziva sul serio: mille, duemila persone in un locale che a un certo punto davano di matto e cominciavano a sfasciare tutto – poltrone, arredamento, pezzi di palco. E altre mille persone fuori che non erano riuscite a entrare e che premevano per farlo, così alla fine il casino si trasferiva anche all’aperto. Era follia pura, una roba allucinante!». Era stato uno dei primi a procurarsi quell’aggeggio per mille sterline, a Londra dove poi andò anche a esibirsi – alla Roundhouse, durante una rassegna di musica post-psichedelica europea – per beccarsi l’appellativo di “obscure sicilian freak”.  Poi, la svolta, Stockhausen – di cui divenne anche amico – e poi il primo disco a raggiungere un milione di copie: L’era del cinghiale bianco. Da lì – la storia la ricordiamo tutti. Lui la raccontava così a «Repubblica»: «Avevo bisogno di un pubblico. Per anni mi ero comportato come un recluso, da solo nel mio studio, a studiare e a comporre. Ho tentato la carta del successo commerciale praticamente per scherzo. E, incredibile a dirsi, mi è andata bene!»

Oggi, padre Antonio Spataro direttore della rivista gesuita «Civiltà Cattolica», un siciliano anche lui, che di Battiato era amico, non parla certo di quella enorme croce sul palco che veniva spaccata ma dice: «Era assolutamente unico nel suo genere, con una forte radice spirituale, più che religiosa, nella sua opera artistica. La sua assoluta e completa apertura alla dimensione della spiritualità è una rarità nel mondo musicale italiano. E il brano La cura, cui sono personalmente legato, è un vero gioiello che rivela la sua profondità spirituale e artistica, intrecciando l’umano e il divino». De La cura, padre Spataro fa una sorta di moderno Cantico dei Cantici – e forse non se ne allontana troppo, considerata com’è una delle più belle canzoni d’amore. Chissà se padre Spataro ricorda che a quel testo collaborò anche il filosofo Manlio Sgalambro, siciliano certo – questa è tutta una storia di siciliani nel mondo – “nichilista”, nietzschiano incallito. Ma sono i misteri della spiritualità, dell’umano e del divino, o come più laicamente si dice, dell’alto e del basso mescolati.

Battiato scriveva cose così (proprio ne La cura): «Vagavo per i campi del Tennessee / Come vi ero arrivato, chissà
 / Non hai fiori bianchi per me?» E spiegava: «Quando si intende adattare un testo alla musica si scopre che non è sempre possibile. Finché non si fa ricorso a quel genere di frasi che hanno solo una funzione sonora. Se si prova allora ad ascoltare, diventa chiaro il senso di quella parola, il perché di quella e non di un’altra». Quella parola, non un’altra: «Un giorno sulla prospettiva Nevski / per caso vi incontrai Igor Stravinsky».

A un certo punto, verso la fine degli anni Ottanta, se ne tornò in Sicilia. Ricorda oggi Pippo Baudo: «Era molto legato alla sua terra e non l’ha mai lasciata. Prima abitava nel centro storico di Catania, nella bellissima via Crociferi. Poi, per avere più tranquillità, si ritirò nella sua villa a Milo, il paese più alto sull’Etna, dove comprò un palmento». E qui compose dei lavori struggenti e bellissimi.

Tempo fa in un’intervista confessò: «Gli esseri umani non muoiono. Ci si trasforma. Sto lavorando per essere degno di questo passaggio».

Sono certo che fosse pronto.

Fonte: https://www.minimaetmoralia.it/wp/altro/franco-battiato-nel-nome-della-musica-e-dello-spirito/

Franco Battiato, il più grande

A chi chiedeva chi fosse il musicista più influente del pop italiano ho quasi sempre risposto senza esitazioni Franco Battiato, che da qualche tempo è anche la mia risposta alla domanda “qual è il tuo cantautore preferito?”. Ora che Battiato è morto, a 76 anni, dopo una lunga fase di riservato ritiro dalle scene seguita a un incidente e – ragionevolmente – a un aggravarsi delle sue condizioni di salute, possiamo serenamente esporci e affermare che sia stato il più grande.

Certo la musica pop non è una gara e questo tipo di affermazioni a effetto – specie in mortem – lascia un po’ il tempo che trova. Eppure ci sono delle ragioni per sostenerlo, ragioni che intrecciano in maniera inscindibile i fili della storia culturale (o almeno, della storia culturale della nostra canzone) e quelli di decenni di ascolti privati, di autoradio notturne, di canzoni cantate a squarciagola nelle docce e nelle discoteche di mezza Italia.

Battiato ha attraversato più di mezzo secolo di musica pop, dal beat inciso sui flexi-disc della Nuova Enigmistica Tascabile alla metà dei sessanta, ancora a nome Francesco Battiato, alle complesse opere liriche dedicati al pantheon sumero, dalle cerebrali sperimentazioni sui primi sintetizzatori alle orchestre d’archi, ai videoclip su TMC2. Rispetto a quella dei colleghi e coetanei, la musica di Battiato è invecchiata benissimo. O meglio, è forse apparsa vintage per qualche minuto negli anni novanta-primi duemila, ma è stata poi incorporata in un canone nostalgico che è oggi il suono del pop di buona parte del pianeta, dai The Giornalisti a Dua Lipa.

Battiato (e i suoi collaboratori: Angelo CarraraFrancesco MessinaGiusto Pio…) hanno creato questo suono per l’Italia. I dischi di Battiato suonavano da dio quando sono usciti, e suonano da dio ancora oggi. Molti classici dell’ultima parte del Novecento sono invecchiati nel sound: riascoltatevi oggi Anime salve, o lo stesso Creuza de mä, e avrete l’impressione di sentire musica del secolo scorso. Con La voce del padrone questo non succede, ma non succede nemmeno con capolavori forse meno celebrati ma altrettanto decisivi per l’arte fonografica nel nostro Paese, come Gommalacca – senza dubbio l’ultimo grande album (cronologicamente parlando) prodotto da Battiato.

Ricordo Gommalacca come il disco della mia adolescenza, che ascoltai dal vivo al mio primo concerto di Franco Battiato, a Torino alla fine degli anni novanta. Mi piaceva da matti all’epoca, da ragazzino un po’ snob verso la musica che ascoltavano i miei compagni di ginnasio, che Battiato fosse còlto ma anche un po’ fricchettone. Che citasse nomi fascinosi, che le sue canzoni sembrassero dei racconti pieni di indizi da decifrare: la storia di Shackleton, gli aborigeni d’Australia, Kundalini… per limitarsi al solo Gommalacca.

Ma allo stesso tempo Battiato era anche un musicista pop, e ai suoi concerti si ballava e si cantava. Nelle discoteche di provincia che avrei frequentato pochi anni dopo, verso il mattino, il DJ nostalgico metteva sempre “Centro di gravità permanente”, che era naturalmente filtrata anche presso un certo pubblico della techno. Nei primi duemila «Il ballo del potere» era uno standard dei Murazzi torinesi.

Questo accostamento alto-basso, còlto-pop, ha sempre accompagnato Battiato e quasi sempre è stato citato come l’elemento caratteristico del suo essere musicista. È così, ma credo che si sia manifestato in lui in maniera anomala e originale. I cantautori italiani – prendiamo la categoria così com’è per praticità, pur accettando anche qui l’anomalia Battiato – si sono raccontati in vari modi: come degli intellettuali, come dei poeti, come la voce degli ultimi o degli sconfitti (assunta però quasi sempre da una prospettiva privilegiata). Oppure, al contrario, come dei semplici artigiani – a sminuire, per strategia o per ritegno, uno statuto pubblico che li voleva invece “forti, invincibili, imbattibili, incorruttibili” (come da canzone di Edoardo Bennato).

Battiato è stato un ascoltato intellettuale pubblico, ma il tipo di messaggio che ha trasmesso ha sempre danzato sottilmente tra il discorso serio e l’ironia, tra l’arroganza mistica di chi sembrava aver capito tutto del mondo e la sensazione che, in fondo in fondo, ci stesse un po’ perculando quando diceva di sentirsi come un cammello in una grondaia, o di vagare per i campi del Tennessee (come vi era arrivato? Chissà).

“Capire Battiato”, come cantavano i Bluvertigo, è sempre stato un problema per chi cercava di farlo – ovvero per noi tutti fan di Battiato a un certo punto della nostra vita. I proverbiali fiumi di inchiostro spesi per tracciare le complesse radici filosofiche dei suoi testi hanno perlopiù tralasciato che quei testi ci giungevano come prodotto pop, addirittura ultra-pop in molti casi. Il Battiato del periodo Sgalambro (quello di dischi come L’ombrello e la macchina da cucire o L’imboscata) era un meccanismo abilmente costruito per farci pensare che quelle canzoni stessero effettivamente offrendoci uno squarcio filosofico di verità sul mondo, anche perché implicavano nel testo un filosofo “vero”, per quanto anche Sgalambro…

…ma in fondo erano “solo” canzoni. Dispositivi pensati per il nostro intrattenimento, per coinvolgerci, per ammaliarci. E ce la facevano alla grande, ad ammaliarci, proprio fingendo di essere dei piccoli trattati sul senso della vita. Chiunque volesse capire Battiato a partire dalla sua esplosione nel mainstream, ovvero dalla trilogia pop “perfetta” L’era del cinghiale bianco – Patriots – La voce del padrone (che è in realtà una tetralogia a cui andrebbe aggiunto l’ingiustamente sottovalutato L’arca di Noè) dovrebbe forse però farsi venire qualche legittimo dubbio.

E si torna a quella usurata opposizione tra “alto” e “basso” che tanto piace a noi teorici della cultura pop. Che in Battiato ci giunge già frullata in forma di pastiche, come quando si permette di inserire un frammento del Tannhaüser per poi passare a prendere in giro “l’impero della musica” e quegli “scemi che si muovono” a cui lui stesso appartiene, o quando intitola un brano “Frammenti” limitandosi, appunto, a mettere dei frammenti di cose che tutti noi conosciamo a memoria.

Battiato che balla nei video quando i cantautori dovevano stare seduti. Battiato che fa le canzoni nostalgiche degli anni cinquanta (i sax da vecchio rock’n’roll che punteggiano la tetralogia, i “Cuccuruccucù Paloma”) mettendoci però il suono new wave più alla moda. (A proposito: solo una deformazione tutta italiana ci fa pensare a Battiato nella categoria dei cantautori, quando per un lungo pezzo della sua storia è stato un musicista new wave).

Quelle canzoni ci bombardano di messaggi, di citazioni a effetto da riportare a penna nella smemoranda (per i millennials) o sui social (per i millennials invecchiati) ma ci stanno anche prendendo in giro. Pochi cantautori (ci sono ricascato…) hanno avuto l’ardire di prendere in giro i propri ascoltatori.

Lucio Dalla – altra grande anomalia – era ugualmente pop, era ugualmente attento di arrivare al grande pubblico, ma lo faceva con lo spirito di chi al pubblico tende una mano, raccontandone le storie (“Anna e Marco”, “Futura”…) e per così dire scendendo al suo livello. Battiato fa pop dal suo piedistallo, dalla sua “pedana” tra “fumi e raggi laser”, e non sembra fare nulla per andare incontro a chi lo adora, costringendolo anzi a sottoporsi a umilianti tentativi di esegesi. Destinati, inevitabilmente, a fallire.

Credo che il piacere dell’ascolto sia tutto lì, in fondo: forse uno può desiderare che il suo guru conosca tutte le risposte e abbia capito il senso della vita, ma il pop funziona in modo diverso. Per questo ho sempre pensato che “Povera patria” sia una bellissima canzone ma una pessima canzone di Battiato. Così volgare nel puntare il dito contro un nemico universale – la politica corrotta – e così priva di livelli multipli, di ironia… O del dubbio dell’ironia, che è diverso dall’ironia ma che è un meccanismo fantastico attraverso cui le canzoni funzionano. Sarà vero quello che dice il cantante? C’è qualcosa da scoprire in questa canzone? O forse possiamo semplicemente ascoltare, ballare, cantare?

Perché rimane e per sempre rimarrà – grazie a dio – il dubbio che il postmoderno Battiato ci stia solo prendendo in giro. Che non ci sia un messaggio da trovare, e che ci sia solo da ascoltare e provare piacere nel farlo.

Fonte: https://www.giornaledellamusica.it/articoli/franco-battiato-il-piu-grande

L’eredità artistica ed etica di Franco Battiato a un anno dalla sua scomparsa

E’già passato un anno dalla morte di Franco Battiato, il 18 maggio 2021: gli italiani hanno ascoltato per l’ultima volta la sua voce durante Sanremo 2020, grazie a Colapesce e Dimartino che, nella serata delle cover, hanno interpretato «Povera Patria», dando spazio alla voce del Maestro che ha sempre svolto un ruolo di affettuoso nume tutelare per le nuove generazioni di artisti siciliani.

E’ stato un anno doverosamente ricco di omaggi che non sono riusciti a colmare il senso di vuoto lasciato da un personaggio unico, uno studioso dagli orizzonti amplissimi che sapeva praticare l’arte della canzone pop ma che, grazie alla sua cultura dai vasti orizzonti, usava linguaggi e riferimenti diversissimi, sia in campo musicale che in altre forme di espressione artistica, come il cinema, la pittura, l’opera. Un’intelligenza raffinata e arguta che manca al Paese, come mancano il suo umorismo e la sua libertà di pensiero. 

Battiato aveva per i luoghi comuni del potere la stessa avversione che aveva nei confronti dell’industria: diceva senza mezzi termini di vergognarsi dei suoi grandi successi commerciali così come si divertiva a sottolineare gli svarioni dei discografici, come quello che promise di cambiare mestiere se «Il vento caldo dell’estate» fosse diventato un successo. «Quando arrivò al primo posto gli telefonai: era sempre seduto sulla sua poltrona» raccontava sibillino.

L’aplomb lo perdeva quando si parlava dello stato della Cultura nel nostro Paese, ma anche della situazione acustica dei teatri. In lui convivevano l’allievo di Stockhausen e l’autore di canzoni pop entrate nella storia del costume, il cultore di filosofie orientali, del Sufismo, della meditazione trascendentale, del pensiero di Gurdjeff e lo spirito del rock, l’amore e la conoscenza profonda della musica antica e classica e lo sperimentatore elettronico che negli anni ’70 si allineava al rock d’avanguardia, il cantautore di protesta, il pittore e il regista cinematografico. 

Era un uomo libero e un intellettuale che ha sempre guardato la società e il mondo da un punto di vista personale e originale, molto spesso in anticipo sui tempi. Così come è stato un precursore della musica elettronica, Battiato è stato un cultore di musica classica e sinfonica che nei suoi racconti sembrava monopolizzare i suoi ascolti nel tempo libero. Però la lista delle sue collaborazioni va da Claudio Baglioni ai CSI, da Enzo Avitabile a Pino Daniele, dai Bluvertigo a Tiziano Ferro, Celentano, Subsonica, Marta sui Tubi, senza contare il decisivo ruolo svolto nelle carriere di Alice e Giuni Russo. 

Non è certo un caso che continui a essere un punto di riferimento: i giovani vedono in lui un modello di originalità e di curiosità, quelli più grandi un difensore dell’intelligenza in un mondo che troppo spesso ne dimentica l’importanza.

Franco Battiato ha lasciato un’eredità straordinaria in termini artistici ed etici: cercare sempre qualcosa che possa portarci al di là della superficie, alla ricerca di un altrove che non sia soltanto una realtà ulteriore ma un modo diverso di affrontare la vita e di definire l’arte e il ruolo dell’artista.

Fonte: https://www.lasicilia.it/cultura/news/l-eredita-artistica-ed-etica-di-franco-battiato-a-un-anno-dalla-sua-scomparsa-1619486/

Franco Battiato, dentro l’ombra della Luce

E il mio maestro mi insegnò com’è difficile trovare l’alba dentro l’imbrunire…Si potrebbe già chiudere qui, tutto quello che c’è da dire su Franco Battiato, sull’apparente volgere alla fine del suo cammino, musicale, artistico, umano.In questa frase c’è la sintesi di tutto il suo mondo e il suo grande lascito.

L’ombra della Luce, il nascere e il morire, gli unici due momenti autenticamente reali, interrotti solo da qualche sprazzo di veglia.

L’artista che ha scritto il disco più pop della storia della musica italiana –La voce del padrone, il primo album italiano a vendere un milione di copie – in realtà ha vissuto tutto il suo percorso di successo lontano dai carri in maschera del pop, su una torre d’avorio, con un distacco ineguagliabile.

È stato sul palco 50 anni e nessuno ha mai visto o sentito il suo sudore. Si è nutrito dell’amore e della venerazione dei suoi fan adoranti – come ogni rock star – senza, però, mai scendere tra di loro, tra di noi…Niente è come sembra, niente è come appare, perché niente è reale.

Battiato è ancora vivo nel corpo ma, come il prode Barbarossa, che non muore ma dorme in una grotta, anche lui è in attesa di risvegliarsi quando arriverà un’epoca e un tempo a cui veramente appartiene e che gli appartiene. Spero che ritorni presto l’era del cinghiale bianco, cantava.

Della “sparizione” dell’artista, del suo “autoesilio”, si è detto già molto, ma anche questa volta senza riuscire ad afferrarlo. Nessuno è riuscito a trovare la chiave per sensazionalizzare il suo “ritiro”, come si fa solitamente con la vita di una star patinata. Nel suo caso si è lasciato perdere, dopo aver tentato invano ricostruzioni pruriginose o morbose. Le stelle nello spazio non sono ancora del tutto decifrabili e non sono ancora facilmente raggiungibili.

C’è chi lo vuole ricordare per il coraggioso concerto del ‘92 a Baghdad/Mesopotamia, durante l’embargo, e c’è chi lo vuole strumentalizzare per qualche frase sparsa su politici ladri o libertini. A turno tutti hanno tentato di portarlo da qualche parte, di tirarlo in mezzo, ma amava ricordare di essere un musicista e di stare sopra, molto sopra, alle stupide galline che si azzuffano per niente.

Definire Battiato un cantautore è riduttivo. Musicista, compositore, polistrumentista, arrangiatore, regista, scrittore, pittore, iniziato, sono solo etichette.

Battiato è stato certamente un rivoluzionario, un anticipatore, un visionario, un intellettuale vero, se questa parola ha ancora senso nel panorama desolante degli strani giorni che viviamo.

Anticipatore di generi, stili, e non solo. Alcune sue canzoni, ormai quarantenni, potrebbero essere state scritte ieri o addirittura oggi: eterne, senza spazio e senza tempo. Nel 1986, ad esempio, scriveva: “vuoto di senso crolla l’Occidente, soffocherà per ingordigia e assurda sete di potere – e dall’Oriente orde di fanatici”.In pochi sono riusciti a vedere e prevedere così lucidamente. E qual è il compito dell’intellettuale se non quello di raccontarci il mondo, prima che il mondo ci appaia? In molti scrivono, pochi hanno e sanno trasmettere una visione. Questi sono fari di luce, gli altri sono scrittori: ne è pieno il mondo.

Si è dibattuto a lungo persino sulle sue canzoni d’amore. Quelle che più facilmente sono arrivate e rimaste nel cuore, non erano semplici canzoni d’amore, non nell’idea che l’amore esista solo tra una persona amata e una che ama. Ogni volta che gli è stata chiesta una spiegazione, non ha mai risposto chiaramente. Memorabile la risposta a Luzzatto Fegiz (noto critico musicale) sul significato di Centro di gravità permanente: rispose che era riferita a una sua amica che cercava un posto dove fare la permanente ai capelli…

Lasciamo libera interpretazione alle cose che non abbiamo realmente voglia di spiegare: restano in noi e arrivano a chi devono arrivare.

Messaggio elitario sicuramente, ma grazie a lui sulla bocca di tutti, su tutte le spiagge, tutte le estati e persino in una famosa serie televisiva spagnola. Questa la grandezza del lascito di Battiato: per pochi, ma alla portata di tutti.

Fra cento anni, la sua opera così ampia – che va dall’elettronica alla musica sacra – verrà ancora studiata, come quella di un grande compositore di musica classica.

L’ombra che ora sembra calata sulla sua persona, è quella luce immensa che ha sempre cercato. Ci è riuscito anche questa volta, come quando decise a tavolino di vendere milioni di copie o vincere il festival di Sanremo (con Per Elisa) o di creare il perfetto tormentone: Un’estate al mare. È riuscito a vivere la vita che andava vissuta, dall’alba al crepuscolo, difendendosi dalle insidie di energie lunari. Battiato non ha scelto un’uscita sensazionale come tanti altri artisti; non si è sparato – questa parvenza di vita ha reso antiquato il suicidio – non è scappato, non si è ritirato in collina. Battiato riposa in attesa del prossimo passaggio – perché degna è la vita di colui che è sveglio e ancor di più di chi diventa saggio.

Fra pochi giorni, il 23 marzo, compirà il suo settantaseiesimo anno di transito terrestre. Nacque Francesco Battiato, da tutti conosciuto, come Franco, nome che gli consigliò Giorgio Gaber dopo la sua prima apparizione televisiva nel 1967 (ndr, per non confondersi con Francesco Guccini): “Da quel giorno in poi tutti mi chiamarono Franco, anche mia madre”.

Echi di mantra nel suono del suo nome…

Fonte: https://culturaidentita.it/franco-battiato-lombra-della-luce/

Un viaggio nella maestria (anche linguistica) di Franco Battiato

E così, Franco Battiato ci ha lasciati. Faccio fatica a crederci, perché le sue canzoni hanno accompagnato la mia vita, come credo quella di molte altre persone. Da ragazzina non lo apprezzavo troppo – i suoi testi mi parevano astrusi e distanti dalla mia esperienza di vita – ma crescendo, e ascoltando meglio non solo la musica, ma anche le parole, ho iniziato ad apprezzare la ricchezza dei riferimenti del cantante. Mi ricordo di lunghi viaggi con una macchina in prestito, nel cui mangianastri era perennemente inserita un’unica musicassetta: “L’era del cinghiale bianco”. Forse fu proprio viaggiando su per quei tornanti di montagna, accompagnata da quella cassetta, che ho fatto amicizia con la sua musica.

Ho sempre avuto la sensazione che Battiato sentisse tutto il mondo, e tutte le ere, come casa sua, e che in tutte si sentisse a proprio agio. Lo mostra, secondo me, la ricchezza di riferimenti geografici: dai campi del Tennessee ad Alexanderplatz, Berlino, dalle sponde del Mar Nero a Pechino, da Tunisi a Parigi. Un sito web, Mappiato, sta raccogliendo tutte le tracce geografiche della discografia battiatesca. Con le sue canzoni, il Maestro ha toccato i cinque continenti, compresa l’Isola Elefante, nell’Antartico, dove oggi si trova il monumento eretto in memoria di Shackleton.

Il viaggio di Battiato è geografico, certo, ma anche umano: sono molti i riferimenti a popoli, persone, personaggi: gesuìti (cioè ‘della compagnia di Gesù’, 1583) euclidèi (cioè razionali, rigorosi), danzatόri bùlgaribalinési (‘abitanti dell’isola di Bali), sciamàni (dall’inglese shaman, che è dal tunguso šamān, a sua volta dal pali [medio indiano] samana, derivato dal sanscrito śramana ‘monaco’, 1838), bόnzi (dal portoghese bonzo, dal giapponese bōzu, ‘monaco buddista’, 1549), Dervisches Tourners ossia dervìsci (dal persiano darviš ‘povero’, 1521, ‘membro della confraternita musulmana sufica dei Dervisci, che si propongono l’unione mistica con Dio mediante l’ascesi e la danza’) rotàntizìngari (dal greco. Atsíganoi, nome di una tribù dell’Asia Minore, 1470, ‘chi appartiene a una popolazione originaria dell’India, diffusasi in Europa fin dal XII secolo’) ribèllistudènti di Damàsco (capitale siriana, arabo Dimašq), squaw (adattamento inglese di una voce indiana delle tribù della famiglia algonchina, 1908, ‘sposa, moglie, nel linguaggio degli Indiani dell’America settentrionale’) pèlle di lùna, un mònaco birmàno (della Birmania, oggi Myanmar; il nome deriva dall’inglese Burman, 1828), geishe (vocabolo giapponese, propriamente ‘danzatrice’, composto di sha ‘persona’ e gei ‘d’arte, artistico’, 1905), prostitùte lìbichepròfughi (dal latino prŏfugu(m), da profŭgere ‘fuggire via’, sec. XIV) afgàni

Questi sono solo alcuni dei personaggi che conosciamo tramite le canzoni del Maestro, che sembrava avere un debole per creare immagini evocative semplicemente accostando un sostantivo a un aggettivo: e così, troviamo anche le sigarétte tùrche, i valzer (dal tedesco Walzer, da walzen ‘spianare, ballare’, 1826, ‘danza a coppie di origine tedesca, in tre tempi a movimento allegro o moderato’) viennési, le campàne tibetàne, le mùsiche balcàniche, le dànze sufi (derivato, attraverso l’inglese, dall’arabo ṣūfī, ‘coperto di lana’, da ṣūf ‘lana’, perché i devoti vestivano un saio di lana di cammello, 1494, ‘dottrina e organizzazione mistiche musulmane che ritengono possibile il contatto diretto con Dio attraverso mezzi estatici e meditazione’), le mètro giapponési, il pulvìscolo (dal latino pulvĭsculu(m), diminutivo di pŭlvis ‘polvere’, 1499) londinése, i ballétti rùssi. Con l’aggiunta di un semplice aggettivo, ecco che dei sostantivi tutto sommato normali, come le sigarette o il pulviscolo, diventano delle micro-polaroid di luoghi lontani e tradizioni esotiche.

I testi sono colmi di riferimenti culturali: dal “senso del possesso che fu prealessandrìno” al “coro delle sirene di Ulisse”) e pop (“with a little help from my friends” titolo di un brano dei Beatles contenuto nell’album “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”; “Le mille bolle blu”, canzone di Mina), con uno sguardo talvolta disincantato, “pratico”, sul presente (le bronchiti coi vapori e il Vicks Vaporubcontrollori di volo). Ma emerge anche un altro interesse di Battiato: quello per la scienza. A parte la ricerca del famoso cèntro di gravità (o baricèntro, ‘Punto di applicazione della risultante delle forze peso agenti su ogni singola parte costituente un corpo. In un solido omogeneo il baricentro coincide con il centro di simmetria’) permanènte e le corrènti gravitazionàli, c’è un brano intitolato direttamente Mòto browniano (dal nome di chi per primo lo studiò, il botanico scozzese Robert Brown (1773-1858), 1868, ‘movimento continuo e disordinato di particelle solide o liquide microscopiche in sospensione in un fluido, dovute all’agitazione termica delle molecole del fluido stesso’); e non basta: nel brano Fenomenologia sono inserite le due formulex1= A*sen (ωt) e x2= A*sen (ωt + γ), che rappresentano in due dimensioni le sinusoidali che compongono la doppia elica del DNA. Ma c’è di più: nel 1972 Battiato composte una canzone, “Pollution”, che di fatto è una piccola lezione di fisica sulla portata: “La portata di un condotto / è il volume liquido / Che passa in una sua sezione / Nell’unità di tempo: / E si ottiene moltiplicando / La sezione perpendicolare / Per la velocità che avrai del liquido. / A regime permanente / La portata è costante / Attraverso una sezione del condotto”. Non molti sarebbero stati in grado di musicare un simile testo!

Battiato non temeva di certo le parole difficili, auliche, specialistiche, rare. Nelle sue canzoni incontriamo cariocinèsi (composto di cario– e –cinesi, 1884), equivalente a mitòsi, ossia ‘l’insieme delle trasformazioni nucleari che, nel corso della moltiplicazione cellulare, consente di mantenere costante il numero dei cromosomi nelle cellule figlie’; fisiognòmica (dal greco physiognōmonía, 1579) ‘disciplina parascientifica che cerca di interpretare i caratteri di un individuo dall’aspetto esterno, specialmente dai tratti del viso’; forièro (dall’antico francese fourrier ‘foraggiatore’ che precedeva le truppe, 1557), ‘che precede e annuncia’; kathakali, un teatro-danza indiano, originario dello stato del Kerala e risalente a circa quattrocento anni fa; kundalini (voce sanscrita, propriamente ‘circolare’, 1985) ‘secondo l’induismo, energia presente in ogni essere umano che si manifesta come forza generativa’; mescalìna (dallo spagnolo mezcal, nome di un tipo di agave e quindi del liquore che se ne estrae: da mexcalli, voce indigena del Messico, 1957) ‘alcaloide estratto da una cactacea messicana e dotato di proprietà allucinogene’; sarcofagìa (che nel vocabolario non si trova, viene dal greco antico e significa ‘essere carnivori’).

Allo stesso modo, il Maestro amava cantare in molte lingue diverse. Talvolta, questa tendenza si manifesta attraverso testi in cui è comune il code-switching, cioè il passaggio, all’interno dello stesso periodo, da una lingua all’altra, in altri casi i testi sono integralmente cantati in altre lingue. Incontriamo degli inserti tedeschi in “Ein Tag aus dem Leben des kleinen Johannes”; il francese nel brano “La canzone dei vecchi amanti”; il portoghese in “Secunda feira”; l’inglese in “No time, no space”; lo spagnolo in “Sentimiento nuevo” e in molte canzoni che Battiato ha ricantato in lingua per la gioia dei suoi fan in Spagna; giapponese in “Le aquile volano a stormi”; “Fogh In Nakhal” è cantata interamente in arabo; “Credo” in latino; “Di passaggio” contiene dei versi in greco antico; “U cuntu” è in siciliano, come pure “Caliti junku”, canzone nella quale Battiato canta: “Un antico detto, cinese o tibetano, forse arabo-siciliano, dice così: Caliti junku ‘ca passa la China, caliti junku, da sira ‘a matina”.

La mia sensazione è che Franco Battiato, nel suo misticismo, nella sua perenne ricerca di un altrove e di un’alterità che però per lui erano casa, auspicasse davvero un ritorno all’“Era del cinghiale bianco”: un’epoca mitica, cantata dai Celti, in cui le persone mettevano – e forse metteranno – la sapienza e la conoscenza al primo posto, un’età dell’oro comune a tutte le culture, di pace e splendore.

Fonte: https://dizionaripiu.zanichelli.it/cultura-e-attualita/glossario/un-viaggio-nella-maestria-anche-linguistica-di-franco-battiato/

From 2019 to 2049 – Back to the Future

FUTURISTIC  Blade Runner

THE view of the future offered by Ridley Scott’s muddled yet mesmerizing »Blade Runner» is as intricately detailed as anything a science-fiction film has yet envisioned. The year is 2019, the place Los Angeles, the landscape garish but bleak. The city is a canyon bounded by industrial towers, some of which belch fire. Advertising billboards, which are everywhere, now feature lifelike electronic people who are the size of giants. The police cruise both horizontally and vertically on their patrol routes, but there is seldom anyone to arrest, because the place is much emptier than it used to be. In an age of space travel, anyone with the wherewithal has presumably gone away. Only the dregs remain.

»Blade Runner» begins with a stunning shot of this futuristic city, accompanied by the rumbling of Vangelis’s eerie, highly effective score. It proceeds to tell the story of Rick Deckard and his battle with the replicants, a story based on Philip K. Dick’s novel »Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?» In brief: replicants are manmade creatures that possess all human attributes except feelings. They have been built to serve as slaves in Earth colonies that are Off World, i.e., elsewhere. Whenever the replicants rebel, the job of eliminating them is given to a special, skilled hunter. This expert is called a blade runner.

Rick Deckard is the best of the blade runners, now retired. He is as hard-boiled as any film noir detective, with much the same world view. So when he is told, at the beginning of »Blade Runner,» that an especially dangerous group of replicants is on the loose, and is offered the job of hunting them, he can’t say no. Even in the murkiest reaches of science-fiction lore, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

»Blade Runner,» which opens today at the Criterion Center and other theaters, follows Deckard’s love affair with a beautiful replicant named Rachael, who is special assistant to the high-level industrialist who created her. It also follows Deckard’s tracking down of the runaways, most notably their white-haired, demoniclooking leader, Batty (Rutger Hauer). These events involve quite a bit of plot, but they’re nothing in the movie’s excessively busy overall scheme. »Blade Runner» is crammed to the gills with much more information than it can hold.

Science-fiction devotees may find »Blade Runner» a wonderfully meticulous movie and marvel at the comprehensiveness of its vision. Even those without a taste for gadgetry cannot fail to appreciate the degree of effort that has gone into constructing a film so ambitious and idiosyncratic. The special effects are by Douglas Trumbull, Richard Yuricich and David Dryer, and they are superb. So is Laurence G. Paull’s production design. But »Blade Runner» is a film that special effects could have easily run away with, and run away with it they have.

And it’s also a mess, at least as far as its narrative is concerned. Almost nothing is explained coherently, and the plot has great lapses, from the changeable nature of one key character to the frequent disappearances of another. The story lurches along awkwardly, helped not at all by some ponderous stabs at developing Deckard’s character. As an old-fashioned detective cruising his way through the space age, Deckard is both tedious and outre.

At several points in the story, Deckard is called on to wonder whether Rachael has feelings. This seems peculiar, because the icy, poised Rachael, played by Sean Young as a 1940’s heroine with spaceage trimmings, seems a lot more expressive than Deckard, who is played by Harrison Ford. Mr. Ford is, for a movie so darkly fanciful, rather a colorless hero; he fades too easily into the bleak background. And he is often upstaged by Rutger Hauer, who in this film and in »Night Hawks» appears to be specializing in fiendish roles. Mr. Hauer is properly cold-blooded here, but there is something almost humorous behind his nastiness. In any case, he is by far the most animated performer in a film intentionally populated by automatons.

Mr. Scott, who made his mark in »Alien» by showing a creature bursting forth from the body of one of its victims, tries hard to hit the same note here. One scene takes place in an eyeball factory. Two others show Deckard in vicious, sadistic fights with women. One of these fights features strange calisthenics and unearthly shrieks.

The end of the film is both gruesome and sentimental. Mr. Scott can’t have it both ways, any more than he can expect overdecoration to carry a film that has neither strong characters nor a strong story. That hasn’t stopped him from trying, even if it perhaps should have.

Source: https://www.nytimes.com/1982/06/25/movies/futuristic-blade-runner.html

Blade Runner’s chillingly prescient vision of the future

Can corporations become so powerful that they dictate the way we feel? Can machines get mad – like, really mad – at their makers? Can people learn to love machines?

These are a few of the questions raised by Ridley Scott’s influential sci-fi neo-noir film “Blade Runner” (1982), which imagines a corporation whose product tests the limits of the machine-man divide.

Looking back at the original theatrical release of “Blade Runner” – just as its sequel, “Blade Runner 2049” opens in theaters – I’m struck by the original’s ambivalence about technology and its chillingly prescient vision of corporate attempts to control human feelings.

From machine killer to machine lover

Even though the film was tepidly received at the time of its release, its detractors agreed that its imagining of Los Angeles in 2019 was wonderfully atmospheric and artfully disconcerting. Looming over a dingy, rain-soaked City of Angels is Tyrell Corporation, whose namesake, Dr. Tyrell (Joe Turkel), announces, “Commerce is our goal here at Tyrell. More human than human is our motto.”

Tyrell creates robots called replicants, which are difficult to differentiate from humans. They are designed to be worker-slaves – with designations like “combat model” or “pleasure model” – and to expire after four years.

Batty (Rutger Hauer) and Pris (Darryl Hannah) are two members of a small cohort of rebelling replicants who escape their enslavement and hope to extend their lives beyond the four years allotted them by their makers. These replicant models even possess fake memories, which Tyrell implanted as a way to buffer the machine’s anxieties. Instead, the memories create a longing for an unattainable future. The machines want to be treated like people, too.

Deckard (Harrison Ford), a policeman (and maybe a replicant too), is tasked with eliminating the escaped machines. During his search, he meets a special replicant who lacks the corporate safeguard of a four-year lifespan: the beautiful Rachael (Sean Young), who shoots and kills one of her own in order to save Deckard. This opens the door for Deckard to acknowledge growing feelings towards a machine who has developed the will to live and love beyond the existence imagined for her by Tyrell Corp.

The greatest challenge to Deckard comes from combat model Batty, who has demonstrably more passion for existence than the affectless Deckard.

The film’s climax is a duel to the death between Deckard and Batty, in which Batty ends up not just sparing but saving Deckard. As Deckard watches Batty expire, he envies the replicant’s lust for life at the very moment it escapes him. Batty seems more human than the humans in this world, but Tyrell’s motto is both clue and trap.

Deckard’s end-of-film decision to escape with Rachael defies the rules of the corporation and of society. But it’s also an acknowledgment of the successful, seamless integration of machine and human life.

“Blade Runner” imagines a world in which human machines are created to serve people, but Deckard’s interactions with these replicants reveals the thinness of the line: He goes from being on assignment as a machine killer to falling in love with a machine.

A world succumbing to machines

Today, the relationship between corporations, machines and humans defines modern life in ways that Ridley Scott – even in his wildest and most dystopic imagination – couldn’t have forecast in 1982.

In “Blade Runner,” implanted memories are propped up by coveted (but fake) family photos. Yet a world in which memory is fragile and malleable seems all too possible and familiar. Recent studies have shown that people’s memories are increasingly susceptible to being warped by social media misinformation, whether it’s stories of fake terrorist attacks or Muslims celebrating after 9/11. When this misinformation spreads on social media networks, it can create and reinforce false collective memories, fomenting a crisis of reality that can skew election results or whip up small town hysteria.

Meanwhile, Facebook has studied how it can manipulate the way its users feel – and yet over a billion people a day log on to willingly participate in its massive data collection efforts.

Our entrancement with technology might seem less dramatic than the full-blown love affair that Scott imagined, but it’s no less all-consuming. We often prioritize our smartphones over human social interactions, with millennials checking their phones over 150 times a day. In fact, even as people increasingly feel that they cannot live without their smartphones, many say that the devices are ruining their relationships.

And at a time when we’re faced with the likelihood of being unable to differentiate between what’s real and what’s fake – a world of Twitter bots and doctored photographs, trolling and faux-outrage, mechanical pets and plastic surgery – we might be well served by recalling Deckard’s first conversation upon arriving at Tyrell Corp. Spotting an owl, Deckard asks, “It’s artificial?” Rachael replies, not skipping a beat, “Of course it is.”

In “Blade Runner,” reality no longer really matters.

How much longer will it matter to us?

Source: https://theconversation.com/blade-runners-chillingly-prescient-vision-of-the-future-84973

TECHNODYSTOPIA: ARE WE HEADING TOWARDS A REAL-WORLD BLADE RUNNER?

In 1982, Blade Runner floored audiences with its technodystopian depiction of the future. Almost 40 years on, some of these projections seem eerily accurate

“Early in the 21st Century, THE TYRELL CORPORATION advanced robot evolution into the NEXUS phase – a being virtually identical to a human known as a Replicant. … After a bloody mutiny by a NEXUS 6 combat team in an Off-World colony, Replicants were declared illegal on earth – under penalty of death…This was not called execution. It was called retirement.”
– opening text of “Blade Runner” (1982)

Ridley Scott’s 1982 cult classic film, Blade Runner, takes us into a dystopian future that humankind has brought on itself through the rapid, unrestrained and ultimately chaotic development of new technologies.

First and foremost, this sci-fi noir film explores the dangers, uncertainties and moral and ethical ambiguities surrounding the creation of advanced Artificial Intelligence (AI).

The interactions between humans and the advanced androids, known as Replicants, portray a world in which the line between ‘real’ and ‘fake’ people is inextricably blurred.

In doing so, Blade Runner questions what it fundamentally means to be human, following four Replicants who have returned to Earth to meet their maker.

Blade Runner Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford) is then tasked with tracking down and eliminating the rogue AIs, who are asserting their right to live in a society that doesn’t recognise them as real people.

What is startling to remember is that the film was set in 2019. So today, well past that date, can the dark predictions of Blade Runner provoke a reflection and even a deeper understanding of our relationship with technology? How successful is art and film at predicting our future?

SCI-FI PREDICTING TECHNOLOGICAL FUTURES

The Replicants of Blade Runner, as the name suggests, are essentially AI systems given advanced bioengineered bodies designed to replicate the physical abilities and intellectual capacities of humans. They’re put in dangerous scenarios without the need to risk actual human lives.

Despite many advances in this technology, these highly intelligent androids are far from existing in our world. The technology today, three years after the setting of Blade Runner, is still far from creating actual Artificially Intelligent beings.

Beings like this – sometimes called general AI – are beyond the scope of our modern AI systems and technologies available today.

AI, as we know it, consists of technologies like machine learning algorithms, natural language processing and computer vision technologies. This can work in surprising and sophisticated ways by identifying patterns and correlations to predict outcomes.

But AI is very far from understanding humans or having its own thoughts and feelings. The robots we interact with are more likely to be the cute but inert Paro aged care seal or the somewhat creepy Boston Dynamic dancing dog.

While technologists might still mull over the existence of potentially dangerous ‘almost humans’ that are nearly impossible to distinguish from ‘real’ humans, experts in the field are more concerned about the hidden black box workings of manipulative and prejudiced algorithms that are making decisions about our jobs, money and freedom.

Experts are concerned too over the digital platforms sitting in moats of data that give them the ability to manipulate what we buy or how we vote.

ETHICAL IMPLICATIONS OF CREATING HUMAN-LIKE ROBOTS

Although Replicants may still only exist in the realms of fantasy, Blade Runner still prompts relevant questions about human-computer interactions and the ethics of AI.

In the world of Blade Runner, Replicants are simply tools that are to be used for the benefit of their owners. So, killing a Replicant isn’t referred to as execution like “real” people – they are “retired”. And yet, the design of the Replicants intrinsically, yet also paradoxically, challenges their status as mere non-human tools and property.

Replicants are purposefully designed to be “virtually identical” to humans. They look like humans, speak like humans and without investigation from a Blade Runner, are indistinguishable from humans.

And this idea goes strictly against ethical design for AI or robotic systems.

Many contemporary scholars of AI or robot ethics see something inherently deceptive about this mimicry, which both insults the human interacting with the robot and may also degrade the robot’s innate humanity.

What does it mean if, on deciding that a robot which strongly resembles a human is non-human, a human engages in cruel or vicious treatment of that robot? In the real world, it’s been suggested that one of the new ‘laws of robotics’ should require a robot to always identify itself as a robot, ultimately responsible to the humans who deployed it.

ROBOTS AND OUR RELATIONSHIPS WITH THEM

These questions are interesting in understanding our relationships with technology and what it is to be human. But the questions prompted by the Replicants and their relationship with Blade Runner also have real and current applications.

Should the chatbots we interact with dealing with banking, telco and airline providers identify themselves as artificial? What about Alexa? Google’s AI system, Duplex, was met with controversy after demonstrating it could book a restaurant because many felt that the deception involved in this practice was inherently wrong.

In Blade Runner, Deckard’s relationship with Rachael also reflects this concern, raising questions about whether AI should mimic human affection and emotion in their language.

The ethical and moral standing of a robot is questioned in many films, and in literature and art. And often sci-fi films like Blade Runner depict robots with genuine thoughts, feelings and emotions as well as the deeply human desire to fight for their own survival.

Although humanoid robots are not likely in the foreseeable future, we do need laws to deal with the consequences of the hidden black box algorithms that are increasingly informing government and private sector decisions. For humans, there are many laws and regulations that exist for our own protection – so should we have the same laws for robots?

Source: https://pursuit.unimelb.edu.au/articles/technodystopia-are-we-heading-towards-a-real-world-blade-runner

Baby, the Rain Must Fall

The visionary sci-fi movie “Blade Runner” has its own look, and a place in film history.

Ridley Scott, the director of the futuristic thriller “Blade Runner,” sets up the action with a crawl announcing that the time is early in the twenty-first century, and that a blade runner is a police officer who “retires”—i.e., kills—“replicants,” the powerful humanoids manufactured by genetic engineers, if they rebel against their drudgery in the space colonies and show up on Earth. A title informs us that we’re in Los Angeles in the year 2019, and then Scott plunges us into a hellish, claustrophobic city that has become a cross between Newark and old Singapore. The skies are polluted, and there’s a continual drenching rainfall. The air is so rotten that it’s dark outside, yet when we’re inside, the brightest lights are on the outside, from the giant searchlights scanning the city and shining in. A huge, squat pyramidal skyscraper (the new architecture appears to be Mayan and Egyptian in inspiration) houses the offices of the Tyrell Corporation, which produces those marvels of energy the replicants, who are faster and stronger than human beings, and even at the top, in the penthouse of Tyrell himself, there’s dust hanging in the smoky air. (You may find yourself idly wondering why this bigwig inventor can’t produce a humble little replicant to do some dusting.)

The congested-megalopolis sets are extraordinary, and they’re lovingly, perhaps obsessively, detailed; this is the future as a black market, made up of scrambled sordid aspects of the past—Chinatown, the Casbah, and Times Square, with an enormous, mesmerizing ad for Coca-Cola, and Art Deco neon signs everywhere, in a blur of languages. “Blade Runner,” which cost thirty million dollars, has its own look, and a visionary sci-fi movie that has its own look can’t be ignored—it has its place in film history. But we’re always aware of the sets as sets, partly because although the impasto of decay is fascinating, what we see doesn’t mean anything to us. (It’s 2019 back lot.) Ridley Scott isn’t great on mise en scène—we’re never sure exactly what part of the city we’re in, or where it is in relation to the scene before and the scene after. (Scott seems to be trapped in his own alleyways, without a map.) And we’re not caught up in the pulpy suspense plot, which involves the hero, Deckard (Harrison Ford), a former blade runner forced to come back to hunt down four murderous replicants who have blended into the swarming street life. (The term “blade runner” actually comes from the title of a William Burroughs novel, which has no connection with the movie.) It’s a very strange tenderloin that Ridley Scott and his associates have concocted; except for Deckard and stray Hari Krishna-ites and porcupine-headed punks, there are few Caucasians (and not many blacks, either). The population seems to be almost entirely ethnic—poor, hustling Asians and assorted foreigners, who are made to seem not quite degenerate, perhaps, but oddly subhuman. They’re all selling, dealing, struggling to get along; they never look up—they’re intent on what they’re involved in, like slot-machine zealots in Vegas. You know that Deckard is a breed apart, because he’s the only one you see who reads a newspaper. Nothing much is explained (except in that opening crawl), but we get the vague impression that the more prosperous, clean-cut types have gone off-world to some Scarsdale in space.

Here we are—only forty years from now—in a horrible electronic slum, and “Blade Runner” never asks, “How did this happen?” The picture treats this grimy, retrograde future as a given—a foregone conclusion, which we’re not meant to question. The presumption is that man is now fully realized as a spoiler of the earth. The sci-fi movies of the past were often utopian or cautionary; this film seems indifferent, blasé, and maybe, like some of the people in the audience, a little pleased by this view of a medieval future—satisfied in a slightly vengeful way. There’s a subject, though, lurking around the comic-strip edges: What does it mean to be human? Tracking down the replicants, who are assumed not to have any feelings, Deckard finds not only that they suffer and passionately want to live but that they are capable of acts of generosity. They have become far more human than the scavenging people left on Earth. Maybe Scott and the scriptwriters (Hampton Fancher and David Peoples), who adapted the 1968 novel “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?,” by the late Philip K. Dick, shied away from this subject because it has sticky, neo-Fascist aspects. But this underlying idea is the only promising one in the movie, and it has a strong visual base: when a manufactured person looks just like a person born of woman—when even the eyes don’t tell you which is which—how do you define the difference?

Scott’s creepy, oppressive vision requires some sort of overriding idea—something besides spoofy gimmicks, such as having Deckard narrate the movie in the loner-in-the-big-city manner of a Hammett or Chandler private eye. This voice-over, which is said to have been a late addition, sounds ludicrous, and it breaks the visual hold of the material. The dialogue isn’t well handled, either. Scott doesn’t seem to have a grasp of how to use words as part of the way a movie moves. “Blade Runner” is a suspenseless thriller; it appears to be a victim of its own imaginative use of hardware and miniatures and mattes. At some point, Scott and the others must have decided that the story was unimportant; maybe the booming, lewd and sultry score by Chariots-for-Hire Vangelis that seems to come out of the smoke convinced them that the audience would be moved even if vital parts of the story were trimmed. Vangelis gives the picture so much film noir overload that he fights Scott’s imagery; he chomps on it, stomps on it, and drowns it.

“Blade Runner” doesn’t engage you directly; it forces passivity on you. It sets you down in this lopsided maze of a city, with its post-human feeling, and keeps you persuaded that something bad is about to happen. Some of the scenes seem to have six subtexts but no text, and no context, either. There are suggestions of Nicolas Roeg in the odd, premonitory atmosphere, but Roeg gives promise of something perversely sexual. With Scott, it’s just something unpleasant or ugly. The dizzying architectural angles (we always seem to be looking down from perilous heights) and the buglike police cars that lift off in the street and rise straight up in the canyons between the tall buildings and drop down again give us a teasing kind of vertigo. Scott goes much further, though. He uses way-off-kilter angles that produce not nausea, exactly, but a queasiness that prepares us for the feelings of nausea that Deckard is then seen to have. And, perhaps because of the what-is-a-human-being remnant in the story, the picture keeps Deckard—and us—fixated on eyes. (The characters’ perambulations include a visit to the eyemaker who supplies the Tyrell genetic engineers with human eyes, and he turns out to be a wizened old Chinese gent—as if eyemaking were an ancient art. Maybe Tyrell picks up some used elbows in Saigon. His methods of operation for creating replicant slaves out of living cell tissue seem as haphazard as bodywork on wrecked cars.) In Nicolas Roeg’s films, the characters are drained, and they’re left soft and androgynous in an inviting way; Scott squashes his characters, and the dread that he sets up leads you to expect some release, and you know it’s not the release you want.

All we’ve got to hang on to is Deckard, and the moviemakers seem to have decided that his characterization was complete when they signed Harrison Ford for the role. Deckard’s bachelor pad is part of a 1924 Frank Lloyd Wright house with a Mayan motif. Apart from that, the only things we learn about him are that he has inexplicably latched on to private-eye lingo, that he was married, and that he’s tired of killing replicants—it has begun to sicken him. (The piano in his apartment has dozens of family pictures on it, but they’re curiously old-fashioned photos—they seem to go back to the nineteenth century—and we have no idea what happened to all those people.) The film’s visual scale makes the sloppy bit of plot about Deckard going from one oddball place to another as he tracks down the four replicants—two men, two women—seem sort of pitiable. But his encounters with the replicant women are sensationally, violently effective. As Zhora, who has found employment as an artificial-snake charmer, Joanna Cassidy has some of the fine torrid sluttiness she had in “The Late Show.” (Nobody is less like a humanoid than Joanna Cassidy; her Zhora wasn’t manufactured as an adult—she was formed by bitter experience, and that’s what gives her a screen presence.) And, in the one really shocking and magical sequence, Daryl Hannah, as the straw-haired, acrobatic Pris, does a punk variation on Olympia, the doll automaton of “The Tales of Hoffmann.”

The two male replicants give the movie problems. Leon (Brion James, who brings a sweaty wariness and suggestions of depth to the role) has found a factory job at the Tyrell Corporation itself, and his new employers, suspecting that he may be a renegade replicant, give him a highly sophisticated test. It checks his emotional responses by detecting the contractions of the pupils of his eyes as he attempts to deal with questions about his early life. But this replicant-detector test comes at the beginning of the picture, before we have registered that replicants have no early life. And it seems utterly pointless, since surely the Tyrell Corporation has photographic records of the models it has produced—and, in fact, when the police order Deckard to find and retire the four he is shown perfectly clear pictures of them. It might have been much cannier to save any testing until later in the movie, when Deckard has doubts about a very beautiful dark-eyed woman—Tyrell’s assistant, Rachael, played by Sean Young. Rachael, who has the eyes of an old Murine ad, seems more of a zombie than anyone else in the movie, because the director tries to pose her the way von Sternberg posed Dietrich, but she saves Deckard’s life, and even plays his piano. (She smokes, too, but then the whole atmosphere is smoking.) Rachael wears vamped-up versions of the mannish padded-shoulder suits and the sleek, stiff hairdos and ultra-glossy lipstick of career girls in forties movies; her shoulder comes into a room a long time before she does. And if Deckard had felt compelled to test her responses it could have been the occasion for some nifty repartee; she might have been spirited and touching. Her role is limply written, though; she’s cool at first, but she spends most of her screen time looking mysteriously afflicted—wet-eyed with yearning—and she never gets to deliver a zinger. I don’t think she even has a chance to laugh. The moviemakers haven’t learned that wonderful, simple trick of bringing a character close to the audience by giving him a joke or having him overreact to one. The people we’re watching are so remote from us they might be shadows of people who aren’t there.

The only character who gets to display a large range of emotions is the fourth of the killer replicants, and their leader—Roy Batty (the Crazed King?), played by the tall, blue-eyed blond Dutch actor Rutger Hauer, whose hair is lemon-white here. Hauer (who was Albert Speer in “Inside the Third Reich” on television last May) stares all the time; he also smiles ominously, hoo-hoos like a mad owl and howls like a wolf, and, at moments, appears to see himself as the god Pan, and as Christ crucified. He seems a shoo-in for this year’s Klaus Kinski Scenery-Chewing Award. As a humanoid in a homicidal rage because replicants are built to last only four years, he stalks through the movie like an evil Aryan superman; he brings the wrong kind of intensity to the role—an effete, self-aware irony so overscaled it’s Wagnerian. His gaga performance is an unconscious burlesque that apparently passes for great acting with the director, especially when Hauer turns noble sufferer and poses like a big hunk of sculpture. (It’s a wonder he doesn’t rust out in all that rain.) This sequence is particularly funny because there’s poor Harrison Ford, with the fingers of one hand broken, reduced to hanging on to bits of the cornice of a tall building by his one good hand—by then you’ve probably forgotten that he is Harrison Ford, the fellow who charms audiences by his boundless good humor—while the saucer-eyed Hauer rants and carries on. Ford is like Harold Lloyd stuck by mistake in the climax of “Duel in the Sun.”

Ridley Scott may not notice that when Hauer is onscreen the camera seems stalled and time breaks down, because the whole movie gives you a feeling of not getting anywhere. Deckard’s mission seems of no particular consequence. Whom is he trying to save? Those sewer-rat people in the city? They’re presented as so dehumanized that their life or death hardly matters. Deckard feels no more connection with them than Ridley Scott does. They’re just part of the film’s bluish-gray, heavy-metal chic—inertia made glamorous. Lead zeppelins could float in this smoggy air. And maybe in the moviemakers’ heads, too. Why is Deckard engaged in this urgent hunt? The replicants are due to expire anyway. All the moviemakers’ thinking must have gone into the sets. Apparently, the replicants have a motive for returning to Earth: they’re trying to reach Tyrell—they hope he can extend their life span. So if the police want to catch them, all they need to do is wait for them to show up at Tyrell’s place. And why hasn’t Deckard, the ace blade runner, figured out that if the replicants can’t have their lives extended they may want revenge for their slave existence, and that all he’s doing is protecting Tyrell? You can dope out how the story might have been presented, with Deckard as the patsy who does Tyrell’s dirty work; as it is, you can’t clear up why Tyrell isn’t better guarded—and why the movie doesn’t pull the plot strands together.

“Blade Runner” is musty even while you’re looking at it (and noting its relationship to Fritz Lang’s “Metropolis” and to von Sternberg’s lighting techniques, and maybe to Polanski’s “Chinatown” and “Fellini’s Roma,” and so on). There are some remarkable images—for example, when the camera plays over the iron grillwork of the famous Bradbury Building in Los Angeles the iron looks tortured into shape. These images are part of the sequences about a lonely, sickly young toymaker, Sebastian (William Sanderson), who lives in the deserted building. Sebastian has used the same techniques employed in producing replicants to make living toy companions for himself, and since the first appearance of these toys has some charm, we wait to see them in action again. When the innocent, friendly Sebastian is in danger, we expect the toys to come to his aid or be upset or, later, try to take reprisals for what happens to their creator, or at least grieve. We assume that moviemakers wouldn’t go to all the trouble of devising a whole batch of toy figures only to forget about them. But this movie loses track of the few expectations it sets up, and the formlessness adds to a viewer’s demoralization—the film itself seems part of the atmosphere of decay. “Blade Runner” has nothing to give the audience—not even a second of sorrow for Sebastian. It hasn’t been thought out in human terms. If anybody comes around with a test to detect humanoids, maybe Ridley Scott and his associates should hide. With all the smoke in this movie, you feel as if everyone connected with it needs to have his flue cleaned.

Source: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1982/07/12/baby-the-rain-must-fall

Are we living in a Blade Runner world?

The 1982 sci-fi film imagined a dystopian metropolis in November 2019. But, now we’ve caught up, to what extent did it really predict our present reality, asks David Barnett.

The city stretches as far as the eye can see; the lights in the packed-together buildings shine – unlike the stars which are invisible in the smog-filled night sky… Flames belch from gigantic industrial towers. A vehicle flies into the scene, then out again, heading towards two monstrous pyramids.

An increasingly anxious man undergoes a verbal test conducted by his supervisor at the Tyrell Corporation, housed in the vast ziggurats. It doesn’t end well. We cut to another flying car, negotiating the narrow avenues of the city, framed against a digital hoarding, storeys-tall, featuring an Asian woman advertising snack foods. A booming voice cheerfully tells the unseen but presumably multitudinous denizens of this strange future world that a new life awaits them in the off-world colonies.

Except, of course, it isn’t the future, not any more. This is Blade Runner, the 1982 movie directed by Ridley Scott: (very loosely) based on Philip K Dick’s 1968 novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, and telling the story of Rick Deckard, a cop who works for the LAPD, tracking down and ‘retiring’ replicants – genetically-engineered, almost-human artificial people whose presence on Earth is illegal, following a replicant revolt on one of Earth’s off-world colonies.

This may sound far-flung from our own reality, but as the opening credits tell us, the film is set in Los Angeles, November 2019. In that sense, Blade Runner is no longer science fiction. It’s a contemporary thriller. The question is: in the 37 years between Blade Runner’s release and its setting – our present – how close have we come to the future presented in the movie?

On one hand, there are parts of its vision of 2019 that feel jarringly old-fashioned. There is no internet, and when we first meet Deckard he’s reading an actual newspaper, sheltering from the rain by the window of a shop that is selling bulky old cathode-ray television sets. Meanwhile when Deckard performs the Voight-Kampff test – an examination designed to distinguish replicants from humans via their emotional responses to verbal questioning  – on Sean Young’s Rachael, the assistant of Eldon Tyrell, the boss of the company that makes replicants, she is smoking! A cigarette! In an office!

The world of Blade Runner is one in which the fictional Tyrell conglomerate dominates alongside other, real-life corporations, that feature on some of the film’s massive neon advertising hoardings – tempting fate as to whether the businesses active in 1982 would still be going in 2019. Coca-Cola was a fairly safe bet, but PanAm, whose logo we glimpse in the opening scene, wasn’t; the airline went out of business in 1991.

On the other hand, we are still catching up with much of its technology, of course – though some elements are now not far beyond the bounds of possibility. A German company, Lilium, announced last month that the flying car it is developing could be in use as a taxi service by the year 2025. We don’t have artificial humans, but we have been making huge strides in gene-editing, causing concern in some quarters. And we don’t need the Voight-Kampff test yet, but how many times have you been asked to mark all the traffic lights on a grid picture to prove you’re not a robot, and gain access to a website?

What the film gets right

However, beyond particular components, Blade Runner arguably gets something much more fundamental right, which is the world’s socio-political outlook in 2019 – and that isn’t particularly welcome, according to Michi Trota, who is a media critic and the non-fiction editor of the science-fiction periodical, Uncanny Magazine.

“It’s disappointing, to say the least, that what Blade Runner ‘predicted’ accurately is a dystopian landscape shaped by corporate influence and interests, mass industrialisation’s detrimental effect on the environment, the police state, and the whims of the rich and powerful resulting in chaos and violence, suffered by the socially marginalised.”

In the movie the replicants have a fail-safe programmed into them – a lifespan of just four years – to prevent a further revolution. Trota believes there is “something prescient in the replicants’ frustration and rage at their shortened lifespans, resulting from corporate greed and indifference, that’s echoed in the current state of US healthcare and globalised exploitation of workers.” She adds: “I’d have vastly preferred the flying cars instead.”

As for the devastating effects of pollution and climate change evident in Blade Runner, as well as its 2017 sequel Blade Runner 2049, “the environmental collapse the film so vividly depicts is not too far off from where we are today,” says science-fiction writer and software developer Matthew Kressel, pointing to the infamous 2013 picture of the Beijing smog that looks like a cut frame from the film. “And we’re currently undergoing the greatest mass extinction since the dinosaurs died out 65 million years ago. In addition, the film’s depiction of haves and have-nots, those who are able to live comfortable lives, while the rest live in squalor, is remarkably parallel to the immense disparity in wealth between the world’s richest and poorest today. In that sense, the film is quite accurate.”

Accurate about where, though? Blade Runner’s Los Angeles is a cultural melange, with heavy Eastern influences, and a street-level argot called Cityspeak that is a mish-mash of Japanese, Spanish, German, Korean, among other languages. Trota, who is Filipino-American, says the film is an example of “how pervasive the use of ‘exotic Asian pastiche’ is in science-fiction stories that seem to have no problem with taking the surface bits of non-European cultures to ‘spice things up’, while neglecting to include any significant characters of colour in those stories”.

As in Kressel’s comment above, Beijing has been a frequent reference point when discussing Blade Runner’s metropolis – and that’s where award-winning science-fiction author Mary Robinette Kowal has just returned from. Is the Chinese megacity more representative of the Blade Runner aesthetic than present-day LA, I wonder? “The smog was no joke, so in that respect, yes,” says Kowal. “But in the parts of Beijing that I was in, I saw a significant overlap of the old and the new. Each seemed equally celebrated. Aside from the air quality, it was a clean, modern city, interwoven with historic areas.”

What’s the point of sci-fi?

Is the question of whether Blade Runner in 1982 correctly predicted the world of 2019 even a valid one, though? Is it science fiction’s job to be predictive, or to just entertain? Or, perhaps, something more?

Kowal says she is less interested in the genre’s literally predictive qualities than in the opportunities it offers as “a playground for thought experiments. It allows us to tip our world to the side and look at the interconnected tissues and then draw logical chains of causality into the future. The best SF remains relevant, not because of the technology in it, but because of the questions it forces us to ask. Blade Runner, for instance, is asking about the morality of creating sentient life for the purpose of enslaving it.”

Trota agrees science fiction’s real potency lies in the wider philosophical issues it explores. “It can often be about the future, it can be ‘predictive’ but those predictions are also very much reflective of our grappling with present day issues, as well as our past. If there’s any ‘job’ that science fiction – and fantasy – has, to paraphrase authors Ijeoma Oluo and NK Jemisin, it’s to help us imagine entirely new ways of being, to move beyond reflexively recreating our past so we can envision other ways of living outside the systems, oppressions, and societal defaults we’ve internalised and normalised.”

Kowal’s latest novels, The Calculating Stars and The Fated Sky, envisage an alternate-history US, where a woman mathematician and pilot leads humanity’s mission to colonise other worlds, as an apocalyptic climate change bears down on the Earth. The author says that Blade Runner “shaped a lot of our ideas of what ‘the future’ looks like… If we think of broad strokes, I think it did surprisingly well. Pollution, talking to our computers, corporations running the country, and the ethical questions of who is considered a person. If we talk about specifics? Flying cars exist but are always going to be a terrible idea, so I’m fine with not having those in the mainstream.”

If not necessarily predictive, science fiction can also prove to have a symbiotic relationship with the present. Kowal says, “So many people in STEM fields cite science-fiction films or books as their inspiration for an invention. Did Star Trek invent the flip phone, or cause it to come into being? Did 1984 predict the Big Brother state or prevent it from being pervasive?”

And it can also provide a warning for us to mend our ways. Nobody, surely, would want to live in the November 2019 depicted by Blade Runner, would they? Don’t be too sure, says Kressel.

“In a way, Blade Runner can be thought of as the ultimate cautionary tale,” he says. “Has there ever been a vision so totally bleak, one that shows how environmental degradation, dehumanisation and personal estrangement are so harmful to the future of the world?

“And yet, if anything, Blade Runner just shows the failure of the premise that cautionary tales actually work. Instead, we have fetishised Blade Runner’s dystopian vision. Look at most art depicting the future across literature, film, visual art, and in almost all of them you will find echoes of Blade Runner’s bleak dystopia.

“Blade Runner made dystopias ‘cool’, and so here we are, careening toward environmental collapse one burned hectare of rainforest at a time. If anything, I think we should be looking at why we failed to heed its warning.”

Source: https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20191111-are-we-living-in-a-blade-runner-world

Blade Runner 2049: The Mysteries Deepen

The good news about life on Earth, thirty-two years from now, is that people still listen to Frank Sinatra. In “Blade Runner 2049,” the land is the color of a corpse, and the skies are no better. The only tree is sapless and dead, and the only farmer is harvesting weevils for protein. The Voice, however, is unimpaired. True, Sinatra is no more than a hologram, crooning to a couple of folks in the shell of a Las Vegas hot spot, and yet, when he sings the words “Set ’em up, Joe,” you soften and melt as if it were 1954 and he were singing them to Doris Day, hushing a crowded room, in “Young at Heart.”

By a nice twist, there is a Joe around. He’s with the L.A.P.D., and he’s officially called KD6.3-7 (Ryan Gosling), or K, for short, but somebody suggests Joe, and it lends him a little flavor. He needs a real name, not least because it makes him sound like a real person—shades of Pinocchio, who longed to be a real boy. In fact, K is a Blade Runner: a synthetic human known as a replicant, physically redoubtable and emotionally dry, whose job is to find and to “retire” (a ghoulish euphemism) any early-model replicants who are still out there. They have “open-ended lifespans,” and immortality, as ever, is not to be trusted. Such is the premise of Denis Villeneuve’s ambitious sequel to Ridley Scott’s “Blade Runner,” which came out in 1982 and was set, with startling powers of premonition, in 2019. It starred Harrison Ford as Deckard, a cop who hunted down rogue replicants across Los Angeles—a joyless Babel, blitzed by neon glare and lashed by the whip of dirty rain. That was the future back then. How’s it looking now?

Well, the rain hasn’t stopped. Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink; most of it is contaminated, and when K takes a shower it’s over in a two-second blast. The director of photography, Roger Deakins, delights in drowning our senses: enemies clash by night in a frothing torrent, at the foot of a dam, and, in one telling image, K’s boss, Lieutenant Joshi (Robin Wright), is barely visible through a window, such is the deluge streaming across the panes. “It is my job to keep order,” she says, and that order is coming adrift. K has been sent out of town to confront a hulking replicant named Sapper Morton. (He is played by Dave Bautista, who gets better and more solid, if that is possible, with every film.) What K discovers, buried on Morton’s property, is a box of bones, and what the bones reveal is unthinkable: a secret that could undermine the near-fascistic system, upheld by Joshi, whereby replicants do the bidding of humanity. If replicants were to rise up or—perish the thought—to reproduce, there might be no way to contain them.

Not that the film is a hymn to revolution. It runs for nearly three hours, and it looms as large as an epic, with a score, by Hans Zimmer and Benjamin Wallfisch, that feels at times like an onslaught of monumental thuds. Yet the bastions of power—the corporate ziggurats of L.A., cliff-high and elephant gray, which viewers of the first film will recall with awe—remain in place, unbreached, and the hordes at ground level seethe not with a lust for liberation but with a busy trade in high-tech assistance and lowly sexual favors. Moreover, the plot is a small and coiled affair, involving a missing child, and the mood is as inward as anything in the annals of Philip Marlowe, with a dose of Marlowe’s glum self-bullying, as K investigates not only historical crimes but his own potential presence in the labyrinth of the past. The movie doesn’t seem slow, but its clues are minuscule—a single piano key depressed beside its neighbors, a serial number visible only under a microscope—and the action sequences flare up against a backdrop of inaction and an existential dread of getting stuck. The result is at once consuming and confounding, a private puzzle cached inside a blockbuster.

One coup, for Villeneuve, is the return of Harrison Ford, as Deckard. The surprise was sprung in a trailer, months ago, raising expectations that the new movie might clear up the conundrum that has plagued the brains of “Blade Runner” fans since 1982: Is Deckard himself a replicant? I am pleased to report that I still can’t decide. Undying he may or may not be, but he is certainly aging, with a halting gait and a bottle of Johnnie Walker close at hand. He lives alone with—guess what—a shaggy dog, pouring whiskey onto the floor for the mutt to lap at. Ford is splendidly grizzled and gruff, giving the film a necessary rasp, and he even shakes up Ryan Gosling. I happen to like Gosling in hangdog mode, when he yields to the pressure of sentiment, as in “Blue Valentine” (2010), but many of his worshippers prefer the cool constraint that he showed in “Drive” (2011), and that is mostly what we get here. K is an android, after all, who can walk away from a bloody fight without a squeak of complaint, and one purpose of the film is to probe that calm façade. Hence the two scenes in which, after a mission, he is interrogated not by a superior but by a computer that stares at him, with an unblinking lens, and performs a “Post-Trauma Baseline Test.” K must respond to certain words and phrases: “Cells,” “Interlinked,” “A Tall White Fountain Played.” The first time he takes the test, he passes. Later in the film, he fails.

What the hell is going on here, and what does it tell us about the relation of “Blade Runner 2049” to the original? Decode the test, and you realize that the computer is quoting verse:

Cells interlinked within cells interlinked
Within one stem. And dreadfully distinct
Against the dark, a tall white fountain played.

The lines come from Nabokov’s “Pale Fire,” a novel that wraps a poem inside a commentary. The mixture is rich in murder and madness, and you can go crazy, too, piecing together the components of the book; what matters is that each gorges on the other, and so it is with the two parts of “Blade Runner.” The second film doesn’t explicate the first so much as compound its mystery, and, in some respects, I envy those who don’t have to wrestle with the comparison. Younger viewers who’ve never seen Scott’s movie will be granted a delicious jolt as the fully formed dystopia rises out of nowhere to greet their virginal gaze. They can relish the spectacle of K’s police car in flight, while we veterans get a kick out of the newfangled drone that detaches from its roof and, at K’s casual command, goes sniffing around like a gundog. And, if the newbies thrill to Sylvia Hoeks as a Terminator-style replicant, assigned to track the hero in his quest, try not to ruin their fun by mentioning Rutger Hauer, who, shouldering a similar role in 1982, brought us the poetry of implacability. The new film’s idea of an arch-villain is Jared Leto, who has milky orbs for eyes, and who gives the impression, as in last year’s “Suicide Squad,” of an actor straining a little too hard, with dialogue to match: “You do not know what pain is. You will learn.”

Despite all the overlaps, this is not a simulacrum of a Ridley Scott film. It is unmistakably a Denis Villeneuve film, inviting us to tumble, tense with anticipation, into his doomy clutches. “Prisoners” (2013) was as welcoming as a dungeon, and, in “Blade Runner 2049,” the light is no longer, as Nabokov had it, “dreadfully distinct / Against the dark,” for the darkness has overcome it. San Diego is a waste dump, and Las Vegas lurks in a tangerine dream of radioactive smog. And yet, within the gloom, what miracles unfold. Brace yourself for the delivery of a new replicant, not born as a baby but slithering out from a plastic sheath as an instant adult, slimy with fabricated vernix and quaking at the shock of being alive. Suddenly, the lofty questions that swarm around artificial intelligence—Could the feelings familiar to mankind abound within the man-made? Could an operating system grow a soul?—reach a breathtaking consummation, and become flesh.

More wondrous still is Ana de Armas, who plays Joi, a digital program that in turn plays K’s live-in girlfriend. It is no coincidence that Villeneuve’s best films, “Sicario” (2015) and “Arrival” (2016), feature a woman at their center, and, whenever Joi appears, the movie’s imaginative heart begins to race. Upon request, she manifests herself in K’s apartment, switching outfits in a shimmer—a vision that smacks of servility, except that it’s he who seems beholden to her. Gosling looks happiest in these scenes, perhaps because happiness, albeit of the simulated sort, hovers within K’s grasp. And what a simulation: at one point, Joi uses an Emanator, which allows her to escape her virtual self and to experience mortal sensations—the prick of rain on her skin, naturally, and a tangible embrace. Has science fiction, you want to ask, ever conjured a moment quite as romantic as this? And how can it possibly last? It can’t; K gets a voice mail that overrides Joi and freezes her, inches short of a kiss. Love is deleted, and the Blade Runner gets back to work. The future, unlike Heaven, can’t wait. 

Source: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/10/16/blade-runner-2049-the-mysteries-deepen

Blade Runner 2049 – and why eyes are so important in this vision of the future

Even a brief glimpse of Blade Runner 2049 takes you straight into Deckard’s world. Denis Villeneuve’s sequel to Ridley Scott’s sci-fi masterpiece gets the colour palette just right, perfectly capturing the tone of the original.

Achieving the look and feel of the original Blade Runner (1982) is essential because appearances, vision and eyes are key to both the experience and the story.

Blade Runner was ahead of the AI curve when it made sci-fi arguments about identity and philosophy a mainstream concern. Is Deckard a replicant? Do androids have souls? What makes us human?

In the original, seeking answers was all about looking at the eyes. The film’s Voight-Kampff “empathy test”, used by the Blade Runners to identify replicants, now has its own special place in popular culture. The striking image of a glorious blue iris reflecting fire and light has become a cinematic icon; and Rutger Hauer’s emotional final lines when his character, Roy Batty, succumbs to death are a sublime moment in film history:

I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.

Time to die.

And now Blade Runner 2049 appears primed to expand the exploration of eyes and identity with mind-bending visuals. In the neon flashes and noirish glimmers, Jared Leto’s character, Niander Wallace, muses on the act of creating replicants like a blind god. His white irises have a sinister and mysterious beauty, but they also belie any sense of limitation caused by his lack of sight – even though he can’t see, he has the “vision” to create or end life.

David Bowie was actually Villeneuve’s first choice for the Niander Wallace role. Seen as an influence upon Blade Runner “in many ways”, the late singer was also well-known for his distinctive mismatched eyes that gave him an otherworldly persona – an affect Leto created in his own way with “custom made contact lenses that turned his eyes totally opaque”.

Eye spy

Cinema has often used eyes as a visual code for character and morality. Traditionally, damaged eyes tend to represent “baddies” and corruption – suggesting an off-kilter world seen in a dark and dangerous way. The vicious scar Donald Pleasence has around his right eye as a highly memorable Ernst Blofeld in You Only Live Twice (1967) helps to make him an enduring Bond villain.

The Oscar winning Chinatown (1974), meanwhile, is full of cracked lenses, broken glasses and other means of distorting vision – ending with the disturbing shot of Faye Dunaway, as Evelyn Mulwray, with her eye socket blown apart by a bullet.

And as Carl Fogarty in A History of Violence (2005), Ed Harris relishes showing his scar tissue to the camera as he recalls his eye being ripped out with barbed wire.

Cinema also has its fair share of “old crones” with cataracts setting curses (Drag Me to Hell); blind priests who have forsaken their faith (Father Spiletto in The Omen), and “mutants” with unusual eyes spying on unwitting victims (The Hills Have Eyes).

Computers and robots add a different twist to this psychopathology. The calm red lens of HAL 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968); Yul Brenner’s blank metallic eyes in Westworld (1973), and the persistent red dot shining out of Arnie’s silver skull in the original Terminator (1984) all project fear through a sense of the uncanny.

If the thought of a non-human consciousness glimpsed through the eye as a “window to the soul” is consistently unnerving, it is because instead of a human connection there is something else there entirely: the terror and wonder of the unknown.

By contrast, heroes are more likely to benefit from enhanced vision. Christopher Reeve’s Superman (1978) famously has X-ray eyes, while Keanu Reeve’s “Neo” in The Matrix (1999) realises his destiny as “The One” only when he can visualise the code world and see how to change its rules from within.

New look

But our changing perception of eyes and how we see them is also visible onscreen. We now have popular blind superheroes like Daredevil, on film (2003) and TV (2015 onwards), and anti-heroes like Elliot in Mr Robot (2015 onwards) who “sees differently” due to a strange combination of dissociative identity disorder and next-level hacker skills. Rami Malek’s starring eyes, somewhere between the unblinking focus of a screen addict and the wide-eyed paranoia of a drug addict, add a mesmeric quality to his performance of Mr Robot’s complex persona.

Back in Deckard’s increasingly toxic world, it looks like Niander Wallace is set to become an iconic cinematic villain in a film already seen by some as a masterpiece. His cloudy eyes feel well suited to the shadowy undertones of Blade Runner 2049, while his ability to create artificial intelligence offer a dark vision of the future. However bleak an outlook Blade Runner 2049 might visualise, films that look as good as this make it hard to take your eyes off the screen – and offer a glimpse of our future.

Source: https://theconversation.com/blade-runner-2049-and-why-eyes-are-so-important-in-this-vision-of-the-future-85119

BLADE RUNNER 2049: IDENTITY, HUMANITY AND DISCRIMINATION

Blade Runner 2049, like the original, is about what it means to be human. But the ethical implications of cloning could prophesize an ethically fraught future

In this fictional future, bio-engineered humans are known as replicants. Blade Runners “retire” or kill these replicants when they become a threat to society. In both films, we are left wondering what difference there is between a human and a replicant. In the original, rogue replicant Roy Batty – played by Rutger Hauer –comes across as more human than the humans when he delivers his famous “Tears in the Rain” speech.

I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.

THE HUMAN QUESTION

The films raise fundamental questions about personal identity: who are we? What defines the existence of a person from one moment to the next?

Thematically, there is the suggestion that the biological mass, the body, is not what matters, but the mind. In the original, bioengineered Roy seems as human as Harrison Ford’s Rick Deckard – as human as someone could be.

In 2049, the idea is extended further still. Officer K – played by Ryan Gosling – has a girlfriend Joi (Ana de Armas) – she is a creation of Artificial Intelligence (AI) but seems as real as the other characters.

In the Blade Runner films, it is the psychological life, the mental states including dispositions, character and memories that matter, not whether one is a natural human or a bioengineered replicant, or even AI. This implies that AI, if it were to become conscious and have the same mental states as us, should be treated as one of us.

These issues of moral status already face us today.

Scientists in the US and Japan are creating pig-human chimeras using a procedure called blastocyst complementation. A pig embryo is taken and gene editing knocks out the genes for an organ, for example the liver.

In the future, a human skin cell could be taken from a person needing a liver transplant. This would be cloned to produce induced pluripotent stem cells of that person and would then be injected into the early pig embryo. The result would be a pig-human chimera where all the cells in the body are a mixture of pig and human, except the liver. The liver would be human and could then be extracted to save the life of a sick person.

The problem is that it is difficult to predict how human or pig the chimeric organs, including the brain, would be. It is possible the brain could be quite human, but the appearance be pig-like.

How such an animal ought to be treated, and whether it is ethical to take its liver, will depend on its mental states. It could be closer to human than to pig. It will, however, be extremely difficult to assess its psychological capabilities and mental states since it would not have direct language.

The pig-human chimera would be a kind of organ replicant. How it should be treated will depend not on its species membership, or what it looks like, but on what kind of mental states it has.

THE FUTURE OF DISCRIMINATION

Another issue raised in both films is the unjust treatment of the replicants because they are biologically different, though their mental lives turn out to be very similar to ours. In many ways, they are better than us, more humane.

Our biological origins are irrelevant to our moral status and how we ought to be treated.

I coined the term “clonism” – which describes the poor treatment of clones of existing people compared with non-clones. Clonism is what occurs in Nobel prize winning author, Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel, Never Let Me Go. This issue arose in debates around in vitro fertilisation before the 1978 birth of the world’s first IVF baby.

People worried that “test tube” babies would be discriminated against, teased or treated as socially inferior. They haven’t been and nor of course should they be – the process of conception is irrelevant to their moral status and rights.

This will come up if people are genetically selected or even born as the result of gene editing. What was science fiction in 1982 is fast becoming a reality. The prospect of bioengineering human beings using gene editing is with us.

One possible use would be to prevent catastrophic genetic disease in cases where couples have a sole remaining embryo during IVF. But the possibilities could extend to endowing humans with unprecedented abilities as genes could be transferred or introduced from any part of the animal or plant kingdom.

AN INNER LIFE

The moral of the Blade Runner films is that what matters is the quality of mental life, not its biological origins, or even whether it is “original.” In the future, new life forms will exist with mental lives, some of these will be biological in origin and others will arise from AI.

These lives ought to be respected and treated according to psychological properties, not according to physical appearance or the origin of their “hardware.”

In the years since 1982 when Blade Runner was first made, cloning of human beings either by nuclear transfer or embryo splitting has become possible. Genetic selection using whole genome analysis of every gene in the genome is on the horizon.

Gene editing is being done on human embryos and artificial intelligence is increasing exponentially in power. Yet a failure of philosophical understanding of identity and moral status pervades our discussion of these life changing advances in science. Our scientific powers have inordinately increased in the last 35 years but our moral insight has progressed very little.

Source: https://pursuit.unimelb.edu.au/articles/blade-runner-2049-identity-humanity-and-discrimination

e C h O e S

’70s Pink Floyd Songs That We Will Always Remember

Their Glory Years

The 1970s was a glorious era in rock but Pink Floyd rose up and became one of prog-rock’s titans with a string of classic hits that reaffirmed their status as rockstars. Founder and frontman Syd Barrett left in 1968 due to his deteriorating mental health and his unreliability during live performances. Roger Waters stepped up and took on the role of primary lyricist. He was also mostly responsible for coming up with their iconic concept albums.

5. Echoes (Meddle, 1971)

The highlight of their sixth album Meddle, the song takes up the entire side two and clocks in at 23 minutes & 31 seconds. From the structure and texture to Gilmour’s stunning solo, Echoes evolved from some of their live performances. Its working title was Return To The Sun Of Nothing and if you think the song seems deep, that’s because it is. Waters wanted to describe “The potential that human beings have for recognizing each other’s humanity and responding to it, with empathy rather than antipathy.”

4. Shine On You Crazy Diamond (Wish You Were Here, 1975)

A tribute to Syd Barrett, it’s slow and dramatic. And it perfectly conveyed Waters’ distress at seeing Barrett’s state when he wandered into their recording studio. Separated in two parts, the epic track bookends their ninth album Wish You Were Here. It’s one of the most arresting and emotive pieces in Pink Floyd’s catalog. Not surprisingly, this was also difficult to record.

3. Money (The Dark Side Of The Moon, 1973)

In the early ’70s, Pink Floyd were at their creative peak and Money is one of the proofs. From the unusual time signature to the guitar riffs and bass line, it’s as glorious as it can get. Throw in some extended guitar solos by Gilmour and we just couldn’t ask for more. In an interview with Guitar World, Gilmour revealed: “I just wanted to make a dramatic effect with the three solos. The first solo is ADT’d – Artificially Double Tracked. I think I did the first two solos on a Fender Stratocaster, but the last one was done on a different guitar – a Lewis, which was made by some guy in Vancouver. It had a whole two octaves on the neck, which meant I could get up to notes that I couldn’t play on a Stratocaster.”

2. Wish You Were Here (Wish You Were Here, 1975)

Pink Floyd can go from dreamy to fiery but for one of their most hauntingly beautiful pieces, it’s both emotive and poignant. According to Waters, this is another song inspired by Barrett whose battle with his mental health was well-known. Even with plenty of masterpieces on their catalog, this is actually one of the few times when both Waters and Gilmour wrote a song together. Gilmour called it one of their best songs “because of its resonance and the emotional weight it carries.”

1. Comfortably Numb (The Wall, 1979)

This rock anthem perfectly defines Pink Floyd’s sound. It’s one of their most popular and enduring songs. A lot of people mistakenly believed it’s about drugs but Waters has repeatedly denied that and even explained what it’s about. Speaking to Guitar World about his iconic solo, Gilmour said: “I just went out into the studio and banged out 5 or 6 solos. From there I just followed my usual procedure, which is to listen back to each solo and mark out bar lines, saying which bits are good.”

Source: https://societyofrock.com/70s-pink-floyd-songs-that-we-will-always-remember/#:~:text=The%201970s%20was%20a%20glorious,his%20unreliability%20during%20live%20performances.

Looking back at Pink Floyd’s ambitious experiment, ‘Meddle‘ 50 years later

By 1971, Pink Floyd were one of the biggest bands in the world and drowning in touring commitments. They were restricted to only snippets of studio time as they tried to write and record Meddle. The story goes that, while messing around in the Abbey Road studio, Pink Floyd happened upon one note that would form a 23-minute song and define their output as one of the finest prog-rock bands of all time. ‘Echoes’ was the song, and it is just one part of why Meddle is one of the band’s best records.

With limited time and resources, the band’s experimental edge came to slice through the muck and deliver an LP worthy of their high praise. 50 years later, and it appears as though Meddle’s presence in the pantheon of The Floyd is ever-growing, with countless generations resisting the album to witness what accurate, precise and potent musical experimentation is.

No clue and no direction are usually two facets one would like to keep away from the art of making music. But, in the case of Pink Floyd and backed by the talents of the musicians at hand, Roger Waters, David Gilmour, Rick Wright and Nick Mason composed a series of novel sound experiments that would eventually turn into ‘Echoes’. This 23-minute opus would define the entire album. The record is considered a transitional moment for the group, after they had left Syd Barrett’s style behind and before Roger Waters took over lyrical duties, Meddleis blissful in its envelopment of the listener.

The band used several experimental methods to start creating the album. One such method was to ask each band member to play on a track without any knowledge of what the rest of the group had played or would play. The bandmates were also asked to experiment with tempo, with simple directions like “first two minutes romantic, next two up-tempo” being the only notes. The early experiments, titled Nothings, was soon developed into Son of Nothings, which, in turn, was followed by Return of the Son of Nothings as the working title of the LP, before they became a single side of the record, ‘Echoes’.

These experiments would not cease on the flipside of the album. ‘one of These Days’, the album opener, would feature Mason maliciously saying into the mic: “One of these days I’m going to cut you into little pieces.” It drawls on as the bassline builds to an unfathomable climax. It, alongside ‘Echoes’, has become a signature favourite for Floyd’s fans. But the rest of the album is potent and powerful, providing a sincere reflection of Pink Floyd in their expressive pomp.

Simply put, this album was the moment when Pink Floyd moved out of the traditional rock sphere and towards forging a new genre in prog-rock. Initially, the group had been expanding the psyche-rock sound but now jumped out of the realm of rock and towards a new and progressive musical style.

Using everyday objects and brand new techniques, the group were very much on the path towards greatness. In fact, it was the first step towards their most beautiful records, and without Meddle, many of them would not have been made at all. This album is the foundation stone for all of that work, and everybody else’s within the prog-rock arena.

Source: https://faroutmagazine.co.uk/pink-floyd-album-meddle-50-years-later/

Classics Revisited: Pink Floyd – ‘Meddle’

Anytime I happen to listen to Meddle, or hear any of its strange and – quite frankly, confusing – array of tracks, I appreciate more and more the circumstantial limbo that this weird and beautiful album found itself conceived within (hear me out – the context is important, and slightly intriguing) – and how this ultimately birthed what is now considered one of Pink Floyd’s greatest achievements.

It’s no secret that Pink Floyd were going through a rough, and creatively inconsistent patch following the nervous breakdown and departure of founding member, frontman, and writer Syd Barrett in 1968. With new talent in the form of David Gilmour, who would later fuel Floyd’s more accessible and famous sound, they were yet to release a palpable, consistent third album – and so the group were let loose upon Abbey Road studios in early 1971, collaborating properly as a band for the first time. And in the improvisational revelry, in the search for an elusive, mysterious sound, unfolded Meddle, released in October of 1971.

I say all of this because Meddle as an album – to me at least – makes no sense. The album comprises an eclectic side A of five contrasting tracks, and a side B of only one song – the epic, mesmerising, 23-minute-long Echoes, somewhere between prog-rock and post-rock: art-rock and soundscape. Ranging from the intensity of the opening track One of These Days, to the melodic, lackadaisical central songs – music akin to floating on the clouds – and eventually, back to Echoes, which shatters the peace and resonates with a fervid grandeur that’ll somehow make you wish the 23 minutes (and 33 seconds) would never end.

In fact, it’s really not fair of me to group the central four tracks together so haphazardly. The soothing A Pillow of Winds, calms us down from the intensity: a more accessible track which slows the pace of the album down – followed by the beautiful Fearless, famously finishing with a rendition of the Liverpool anthem You’ll Never Walk Alone. After that we have the bluesy San Tropez, a track I can only describe positively and using the words ‘little ditty’; and 5th comes the only weakness of the album, a simple song called Seamus (About a dog of the same name): a joke track Gilmour included, meant as a small respite, but which ultimately fell short and failed to provide any real substance to the creatively dense Meddle (Gilmour later said of the song: “I guess it wasn’t really as funny to everyone else [as] it was to us»). Finally Echoes hits – powerful, grand and a little terrifying. All I’ll say is it’s really a must-listen track.

Yet, despite all of this perplexity, Floyd manages to tie each estranged and mystifying track into something more powerful than the sum of its parts – and in doing so, produces what can only be considered as a classic – an essential album which paved the way for a multitude of avant-garde genres and artists (admittedly Echoes does this almost all by itself), and showed the world the true potential of the group.

Meddle – sonically and contextually – falls between a classically Pink Floyd sound, and something entirely different. Echoes itself could be considered a standalone achievement, but the rest of the album brings together the remaining enigmatic tracks which act as a lead up to the grand finale, and should be enjoyed almost (but not quite) as much. This album will forever hold a special place for me as it was one of the cornerstone albums I listened to in school, which would pave the way for my own passion for experimental and strange music, a love which I hold to this day.

Source: https://www.themicmagazine.co.uk/post/classics-revisited-pink-floyd-meddle

Echoes by Pink Floyd

Overhead the albatross
Hangs motionless upon the air
And deep beneath the rolling waves
In labyrinths of coral caves
The echo of a distant time
Comes willowing across the sand
And everything is green and submarine

And no one showed us to the land
And no one knows the where’s or why’s
But something stirs and something tries
And starts to climb toward the light

Strangers passing in the street
By chance, two separate glances meet
And I am you and what I see is me
And do I take you by the hand
And lead you through the land
And help me understand the best I can?

And no one calls us to move on
And no one forces down our eyes
No one speaks and no one tries
No one flies around the sun

Cloudless everyday
You fall upon my waking eyes
Inviting and inciting me to rise
And through the window in the wall
Come streaming in on sunlight wings
A million bright ambassadors of morning

And no one sings me lullabies
And no one makes me close my eyes
So I throw the windows wide
And call to you across the sky

Us + Them (The Bright Side of the World)

The Meaning Behind the Band Name: Pink Floyd

The seeds of the band known today as Pink Floyd were first sewn in the mid-1960s. The band, which formed formally in 1965, has gone on to make some of the most impactful and beloved albums of all time (The Dark Side of the Moon, anyone?).

But what about their name? What about the moniker Pink Floyd? What does it mean? Who is Floyd and why is he pink?

Humble Rock Beginnings

The English rock band was formed in London in 1965. The group quickly rose to popularity for its inventive, psychedelic style that featured long experimental guitar solos and longer songs. Mixed with philosophical lyrics, the band was both entertaining and thought-provoking.

Founded by Syd Barrett, Nick Mason, Roger Waters, and Richard Wright, the band had several names before landing on the one we now know today. The band released its first album The Piper at the Gates of Dawn in 1967. Guitarist David Gilmour joined that same year and Barrett left in 1968, suffering from mental illness and drug use.

The band released The Dark Side of the Moon in 1973, Wish You Were Here in 1975, Animals in 1977, and The Wall in 1979. What a remarkable run of music.

Different Names

Waters and Mason met in school in London. They first played together in a group called the Sigma 6. Waters played lead guitar, Mason drummed and Wright was on rhythm guitar. Later, during those formative years, Sigma 6 went through some other name changes, including Meggadeaths, the Abdabs, and the Screaming Abdabs. Also: Leonard’s Lodgers and the Spectrum Five. Finally, they landed on the name the Tea Set.

1965: Pink Floyd

That year, Barrett, now in the group, took over on lead guitar. The group then rebranded itself in late 1965, first referring to themselves as the Pink Floyd Sound. Later it was The Pink Floyd and after that, it was shortened simply to Pink Floyd.

According to lore, Barrett came up with the name in the spur of the moment when he found out there was another band called the Tea Set, which was slated to perform at one of their gigs. The name Pink Floyd comes from the given names of two prominent blues musicians, who Barrett loved: Pink Anderson and Floyd Council.

Today

Today, the band is revered. And like other bands who have names that seemingly make little sense on the face of it, Pink Floyd is both odd and mysterious and ubiquitous and taken at face value. Say the name to any music fan and they’re likely to light up before spewing their favorite album and song titles from the progressive rock group.

Source: https://americansongwriter.com/the-meaning-behind-the-band-name-pink-floyd/

What Makes Pink Floyd Such a Unique Band?

Pink Floyd’s music not only established a genre but managed to remain timeless. It embodied an era and captured an emotion that no other band could. Pink Floyd sought to encapsulate something that no one could or will likely ever replicate.

Despite this, it can be easy for the band to be judged on face value solely for its music. Sadly, that means it just gets thrown in with other great bands of its decade. But the real beauty of Pink Floyd doesn’t show on the surface. It exists behind the notes and words that the band uses. Here’s how that makes Pink Floyd such a unique band.

The Band is Authentic with Their Message

There’s  only so many themes that a band can write their music about. Eventually, they run the risk of sounding like their predecessors. 

Whether it’s a desire to target mass appeal or a lack of creative direction, most bands start to adhere to a basic cookie-cutter formula.

But not Pink Floyd. The band never sought to hide behind a comfortable domain for the sake of commercial success. They have remained true to their message by expressing it as authentically as they can through their music.

They use their music to spread their convictions and philosophical perspectives to the world. And not for the sake of vanity or monetary benefit but because it’s the right thing to do. 

You don’t have to look any further than albums like ‘Wish You Were Here’. It explores the band’s disillusionment with the music industry, the loss of a band member, and a feeling of creative stagnation between band members.

Many bands would be willing to keep their two worlds separate for the sake of maintaining their image. But for Pink Floyd, these worlds are one and the same. And they can’t help but speak out about them. 

Dense, Rich Arrangements

Rock bands tend to have a fairly simple lineup. All it takes is a few guitars, a bass, a drum kit, and a vocalist. That’s nothing too impressive. But being able to create the grand sound that Pink Floyd does, certainly is. 

You can pick any album out of Pink Floyd’s extensive discography and find fully-fledged song arrangements that sound open but populated. 

It’s a unique space opera experience with distant keyboard synths, a steady centering bass, reverberating drum sounds, intimate acoustic guitar scrapes, yearning vocals, and time stretching guitar solos—all in one track. 

The fact that the band was able to create such soundscapes with a few instruments is incredible in its own right. But more so for giving the listener that sounds so center stage. 

It’s a feeling of seeing someone drift away while lingering on to their memory. Nothing else has ever come quite like it before. 

They Pioneered Their Genre

For an artist, it takes a lot to be established in a genre. It takes even more to be established in a genre that is yet to exist. But Pink Floyd made it happen all the same. This is what earned them their spotlight and cemented their place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. 

To date, Pink Floyd is credited with the conception of two very important genres; psychedelic space rock and blues-based early progressive rock. This has not only birthed an entire sphere of music, but it has also given inspiration to many artists such as the likes of David Bowie and Radiohead.

This is what set them apart from bands that existed in their time. They didn’t just choose a sound and work within its creative confines. The sound chose them, and it empowered their approach to build it according to their own path. Not something that’s all too commonly seen. 

Surreal Live Performances

It’s one thing to have strong musical appeal and meaningful messages. It’s another to provide an experience that is rarely found elsewhere. Yet Pink Floyd has done it all the time over the course of their long standing career. 

Ask any Pink Floyd fan, and they’ll tell you that their live performances are a step above the rest. The band does this by adding sensory elements to supplement their music. You’ll find things like lasers, lights, on-stage sets, and dioramas, providing you a unique experience. 

Audience engagement is a big part of what makes Pink Floyd’s shows stand out. Many of their concerts have gone down in rock history as unmissable experiences that have built the reputation of being magical. 

Some notable examples include using a giant cardboard representation of a cardboard wall for The Wall’s live performance or using an inflatable pig to represent capitalist imagery. All of which makes the price of admission more than worth it. 

Albums That Revolve Around a Theme

Pink Floyd is arguably among the first to cement the idea of what an album truly represents. Up until then, albums were just considered to be a basic collection of different tracks that fed the same musical style. But that changed when Pink Floyd showed up. 

Rather than using albums as a packaging method for songs, the band used it to drive a single idea that resonated through each track. By doing this, Pink Floyd managed to convey strong themes and messages through their work. 

Albums like The Wall and Dark Side of the Moon stand tall as exemplary works of art that transcend their musical shell. If you wanted to listen to any of these albums, you wouldn’t just listen to a few tracks. The optimum experience would be to finish an album in one sitting from start to finish.  

Almost any Pink Floyd album could stand on its own legs with its themes alone. The Wall presented the pressure of success and feeling distanced. Animals was a retelling of Orwellian societal politics. Dark Side of the Moon was a window into the experience of being driven mad with isolation.  

They’re Comfortable Being Themselve

In the music industry, there are a host of expectations and burdens that plague artists. Sometimes it’s the pressure from the production side of things; other times, it’s the fans. But it almost always results in an artist playing by the rules to avoid anyone’s ire. 

It takes an exceptional quality of transparency to understand that things are not ideal and yet accept them. Somehow, Pink Floyd managed to do it. That’s what has carried the band through countless lineup changes, personal spats, legal troubles, and outside criticism. 

Pink Floyd aren’t reluctant to express their genuine thoughts and stand up against what bothers them. Through a large body of their work, they have leveled their frustration at themselves, their fans, the music industry, and humanity in general. Not once have they felt half heated or regretful of what they want to express. That’s what makes the music stand the test of time. 

Guitar Solos with Depth

Guitar solos are to rock music what a fish is to water; inseparable. What sets Pink Floyd a cut above the rest is its ability to add a lot of depth to its instrumentation. That means featuring guitar solos that sound out of this world. 

There are usually three guitar players that come to mind when you think of a characteristic Pink Floyd solo: Syd Barrett, Roger Waters, and David Gilmour. And each of them have been able to inject their personality into the band with their soloing approaches. 

Above all, the most memorable solos usually tend to be associated with David Gilmour. His ability to use a basic pentatonic scale to extract and instill emotion really can’t be understated. 

On albums like The Dark Side of the Moon, Gilmour created solos that feel like they extend to the far reaches of space before being dissipated; a feeling that adds to the album’s idea of empty space and isolation. 

Their Evolution through the Years

Very few bands ever get to experience playing long enough to see stylistic evolution. Luckily, Pink Floyd has been around since 1965. That puts it at a good half-century of making, playing, and releasing music to the public. 

What’s important to notice is not how long they’ve been active. but how they’ve evolved over this time. 

Each era of Pink Floyd has had a front runner. And each one of these front runners has contributed something unique to the band. 

The Syd Barrett era shaped it by adding the guitarist’s imaginative touch to each song’s narrative. Roger Waters added to this by adding conceptual elements to the band’s albums. Finally, David Gilmour set the stage for sparse guitar arrangements with meaningful song wording. 

But instead of laying waste to an old approach, the band build its foundation on it. You’re able to track the final sound of the band based solely on its evolutionary path.

Profound lyrics 

Pink Floyd has always been lauded for its ability to be profound yet irreverent with its wording and imagery. Nowhere does it hit home as much as with the band’s lyrics. 

A lot of the band’s lyrics read out like poetic passages. And the messages they convey are some of the most relatable and relevant experiences. 

Here’s a section from The Final Cut about showcasing insecurities:

“And if I show you my dark side

Will you still hold me tonight?

And if I open my heart to you

And show you my weak side

What would you do?

Would you sell your story to Rolling Stone?

Would you take the children away

And leave me alone?

And smile in reassurance

As you whisper down the phone?

Would you send me packing?

Or would you take me home? 

These lyrics speak to the uncertainty of human nature. They ask the question of laying your true self bare while not knowing the outcome that follows it. 

At times, their lyrics get away from the philosophical and enter the real world. Here’s another piece from Have a Cigar:

“The band is just fantastic, that is really what I think,

Oh, by the way, which one’s Pink?”

This one is based on a real interaction that the band has with a producer. It shows the band’s disdain for the music industry that focuses on success rather than the music or the artist itself. Case in point, the producer in these lyrics shows his ignorance by assuming that Pink Floyd is the name of a person in the band.

They Function at Their Own Pace

Over the years, Pink Floyd has gotten both critical acclaim and criticism in the same vein. But the band’s vision has always seemed to follow its own time and space. A quality that has really made it feel otherworldly. 

Look no further than the 60s, where Pink Floyd saw its conception. You either had slow singer-songwriter artists or upbeat rock bands making headway. Setting yourself up as a down tempo progressive rock band with heavy lyrical themes and electronic elements seems so impossible.

But conventional industry success could never predict that the band would make it anyway by following their own unique approach. And it stood corrected. 

They Capture the Human Experience

Above all, what really makes Pink Floyd unique is how it’s captured a haunting feeling of nihilism and futility of the human experience. 

Balancing these perspectives takes more than just a little awareness. Few others would be able to tread that line carefully. 

Works like ‘The Wall’ paint a bleak picture of pain and agony in the larger search for acceptance. Despite achieving fame and popularity, Pink Floyd’s feelings of uncertainty, self-loathing, and dissidence are ever-present. And they are captured in their most purest form. 

From an outsider’s perspective, it’s hard to imagine how such a feeling of disdain could be channeled to make such beautiful art. But there it is. Floyd is able to take some out of the most agonizing human experiences and present them in a way that doesn’t rub anyone the wrong way. 

Source: https://soundsongwriting.com/what-makes-pink-floyd-such-a-unique-band/

The Story of Pink Floyd The Dark Side of the Moon

How did an album about mental illness, mortality and the need for human empathy become one of the most classic, iconic albums of all time staying on the US Billboard Charts for 741 weeks (14 years)?

With their album “Meddle” and the side-long masterpiece “Echoes”, Pink Floyd had established themselves as an anonymous super-group in an age of flamboyant rockers like Led Zeppelin and The Who. After the departure of Syd Barrett, Roger Waters had increasingly asserted the helm as musical director and “The Dark Side of the Moon” was the first album for which he dictated all the themes and wrote all the lyrics.

Written in a direct way, Waters reflected, “Its driven by emotion. There’s nothing plastic about it, nothing contrived” and called it “an expression of political, philosophical, humanitarian empathy that was desperate to get out.”

The album was recorded at Abbey Road where the band liked to play cricket matches against the staff and was engineered by Alan Parsons. The band pushed the limits of 16-track analogue studio technology and used keyboards, sequencers and sound effects which were groundbreaking at the time.

The sonics on the album are just as important as the lyrics and each reinforce the other as David Gilmour explained, “Roger and Nick tend to make the tapes or effects like the heartbeat on the LP… The heartbeat alludes to the human condition and sets the mood for the music, which describes the emotions experienced during a lifetime. Amid the chaos there is beauty and hope for mankind. The effects are purely to help the listener understand what the whole thing is about.”

Waters described the urgent message behind the album: “This is not a rehearsal. As far as we know – and I know there are some Hindus that would disagree with this – you only get one shot, and you’ve got to make choices based on whatever moral, philosophical or political position you may adopt…If ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’ is anything, it is an exhortation to join the flow of the river of natural history in a way that’s positive…”

Source: https://classicalbumsundays.com/pink-floyd-the-dark/

The making of Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side Of The Moon: lyrically bleak, musically bonkers and, somehow, the 4th best-selling album of all time

Almost 50 years since its release, Pink Floyd‘s groundbreaking eighth album, Dark Side Of The Moon, remains a monumental achievement in the history of rock music. Despite never reaching number one in the UK, and spending just one week at the summit in the US, it has since notched up 937 weeks (that’s 18 years) in the Billboard 200 Albums chart, and sold more than 45m copies worldwide. It was also recently voted the best rock album of all time by Classic Rock readers, and it’s fair to say those guys know their shakes when it comes to quality music.

The album’s story starts in a poky studio in west London in 1971, when the band embarked upon 12 days in a rehearsal room at Decca Studios in Broadhurst Gardens, West Hampstead, London. They were working on a suite of music under the title Eclipse – which would, in due course, evolve into Dark Side Of The Moon.

«It began in a little rehearsal room in London,» said David Gilmour of the album’s early days. «We had quite a few pieces of music, some of which were left over from previous things.»

«I think we had already started improvising around some pieces at Broadhurst Gardens,» confirms Roger Waters. «After I had written a couple of the lyrics for the songs, I suddenly thought, I know what would be good: to make a whole record about the different pressures that apply in modern life.»

The album slowly began to take shape. By the time 1972 rolled around, rehearsals had moved to the Rolling Stones’ rehearsal facility; a disused Victorian warehouse at 47 Bermondsey Street, South London. A grand enough setting for a creative project which would eventually come to eclipse Floyd’s previous output in terms of both its scale and ambition. «We started with the idea of what the album was going to be about: the stresses and strains on our lives,» says Nick Mason.

«We were there for a little while, writing pieces of music and jamming,» adds Gilmour. «It was a very dark room.»

Two weeks later, Pink Floyd began a 16-date UK tour at The Dome, Brighton, which included the first live performance of Eclipse, now renamed Dark Side Of The Moon – A Piece For Assorted Lunatics. Naturally, the band decided their new material required an ambitious, demanding new stage set up to match. However, it was a move their technical teams weren’t quite ready for yet. The performance was cut short midway through Money due to tech problems. 

«In those days we didn’t understand how to separate power sufficiently between sound and lights,» explains former Floyd roadie Mick Kluczynski. «It was the very first show any band had done with a lighting rig that was powerful enough to make a difference. So we had this wonderful situation where the fans were actually inside the auditorium, and we had [sound engineers] Bill Kelsey and Dave Martin at either side of the stage screaming at each other in front of the crowd, having an argument.»

«A pulsating bass beat, pre-recorded, pounded around the hall’s speaker system. A voice declared Chapter five, verses 15 to 17 from the Book Of Athenians,» wrote former NME journalist Tony Stewart at the time. «The organ built up; suddenly it soared, like a jumbo jet leaving Heathrow; the lights, just behind the equipment, rose like an elevator. Floyd were on stage playing a medium-paced piece… The Floyd inventiveness had returned, and it astounded the capacity house… The number broke down thirty minutes through.»

Not to be deterred, Floyd continued on their tour well into February, playing Dark Side Of The Moon in a nascent stage of completion by this point. «The actual song, Eclipse, wasn’t performed live until Bristol Colston Hall, on February 5,» says Waters. «I can remember one afternoon rolling up and saying: “I’ve written an ending.” Which was what’s now called Eclipse, or Dark Side. So that’s when we started performing the piece called Eclipse. It probably did have Brain Damage, but it didn’t have ‘All that you touch, all that you see, all that you taste.’

«It was a hell of a good way to develop a record,» says Mason. «You really get familiar with it; you learn the pieces you like and what you don’t like. And it’s quite interesting for the audience to hear a piece developed. If people saw it four times it would have been very different each time.»

However, as February drew to a close, work on the recording of DSOTM was derailed by the obligation to record Obscured By Clouds, the soundtrack to the film La Vallée, followed by sporadic touring. The sessions eventually resumed at Abbey Road studios in May. Working titles for existing songs included Travel (eventually Breathe), Religion (The Great Gig In The Sky) and Lunatic (Brain Damage). 

«Recording was lengthy but not fraught, not agonised over at all,» says Mason of the sessions. «We were working really well as a band.»

«I was definitely less dominant than I later became,» agrees Waters. «We were pulling together pretty cohesively. Dave sang Breathe much better than I could have. His voice suited the song. I don’t remember any ego problems about who sang what at that point. There was a balance.»

This balance, and the ease the band felt with one another, was reflected in the finished product. A harmonious record which flowed from beginning to end, it captured a rare snapshot of a band working at the peak of their creativity. Though it was a complex body of work, much of its success came from its deceptive lyrical simplicity. «Roger tried, definitely, in his lyrics, to make them very simple, straightforward, and easy to understand,» says Gilmour. «Partly because people read things into other lyrics that weren’t there.»

From this basis, the songs started to take shape. First up was Us And Them. «Rick [Wright] wrote the chord sequence for Us And Them and I used it as a vehicle,» says Waters. «The first verse is about going to war, how on the front line we don’t get much chance to communicate with one another, because someone else has decided that we shouldn’t. The second verse is about civil liberties, racism and colour prejudice. The last verse is about passing a tramp in the street and not helping.»

Next up was Money. «I knew there had to be a song about money in the piece, and I thought the tune could be about money,» says Waters. «Having decided that, it was extremely easy to make up a seven-beat intro that went well with it.»

«Roger and I constructed the tape loop for Money in our home studios and then took it to Abbey Road,» remembers Mason. «I had drilled holes in old pennies and then threaded them onto strings; they gave one sound on the loop of seven. Roger had recorded coins swirling around in the mixing bowl Judy [his first wife] used for her pottery. The tearing paper effect was created very simply in front of a microphone, and the faithful sound library supplied the cash registers.»

«Mason was always the guiding light in matters to do with the overall atmosphere,» remembers DSOTM engineer Alan Parsons. «He was very good on sound effects and psychedelia and mind-expanding experiences.»

Next, the band turned their attention to Time. The music was credited to the whole band but with lyrics by Waters. «Alan Parsons was a very good engineer,» remembers Gilmour. «He had one or two production ideas that were very good. In a clock shop in Hampstead he had recorded the ticking clocks and made these tapes up to offer us an idea, which was great.»

«Those big, grand keyboard chords are mine,» said Rick Wright at the time. «Dave used to complain I’d write in these hard keys and weird major and minor sevenths, which is difficult to play on a guitar.»

The band had just began work on The Great Gig In The Sky as the middle of the year loomed into view, and recording was again soon derailed because of touring, holidays and other commitments which kept the band occupied for much of the year.

Sporadic sessions were held in Abbey Road during October, during the first of which Dick Parry, an old friend of the band’s from Cambridge, overdubbed sax solos to Money and Us And Them. Later in the month a quartet of female session vocalists – Doris Troy, Lesley Duncan, Liza Strike and Barry St John – were brought in to embellish Us And ThemBrain Damage and Eclipse

«They weren’t very friendly,» said Duncan looking back. «They were cold, rather clinical. They didn’t emanate any kind of warmth… They just said what they wanted and we did it… There were no smiles. We were all quite relieved to get out.»

Still, with their help, the finished album was starting to take shape. Waters completed work on The Great Gig In The Sky – a sensitive contemplation of death that ends up in a place you’d never expect given the pretty keyboards that Richard Wright brings to the tune’s first minute. «Are you afraid of dying?» Waters asked. «The fear of death is a major part of many lives, and as the record was at least partially about that. That question was asked, but not specifically to fit into this song.»

Of course, one of TGGITS‘ most memorable moments was provided by a third party. «When I arrived they explained the concept of the album to me and played me Rick Wright’s chord sequence,» says vocalist Clare Torry. «They said: ‘We want some singing on it,’ but didn’t know what they wanted. So I suggested going out into the studio and trying a few things. I started off using words, but they said: ‘Oh no, we don’t want any words.’ So the only thing I could think of was to make myself sound like an instrument, a guitar or whatever, and not to think like a vocalist. I did that and they loved it.

«I did three or four takes very quickly, it was left totally up to me, and they said: ‘Thank you very much.’ In fact, other than Dave Gilmour, I had the impression that they were infinitely bored with the whole thing, and when I left I remember thinking to myself: ‘That will never see the light of day.’ If I’d known then what I know now I would have done something about organising copyright or publishing; I would be a wealthy woman now. The session fee in 1973 was fifteen pounds, but as it was Sunday I charged a double fee of thirty pounds. Which I invested wisely, of course.»

(In 2004, Torry sued Pink Floyd, arguing that her contribution to The Great Gig in the Sky constituted co-authorship. The band and record company EMI settled out of court, and the song is now credited to both Wright and Torry.)

It was 1973 by the time the final round of recording sessions began in Abbey Road Studio 2 in late January, focusing on Brain DamageEclipse and the instrumental Any Colour You Like. “It was – ‘We’ve got nothing in this space… What can we do? We’ll have a jam.’” Remembers Mason. «And that’s what Any Colour You Like was – it’s just two chords. It starts off with the synth, which sets the mood. And you have this extraordinary guitar solo from Dave.»

«I wrote Brain Damage at home,» says Waters. «The grass [mentioned in the lyric] was the square in between the River Cam and King’s College chapel [in Cambridge]. The lunatic was Syd [Barrett], really. He was obviously in my mind.»

The most innovative addition to DSOTM came as the sessions were ending, when Roger Waters hit on the idea of posing questions to Abbey Road staffers, Floyd crew members and other studio visitors. Their answers were recorded, and then edited and woven into the tracks at various points throughout the album. «We did about twenty people,» says Waters. «The interviewees all had cards with questions printed on them like: ‘Have you ever been violent?’, ‘When was the last time you thumped someone?’ and ‘Were you in the right?’ and so on.»

«Roger wanted to use things in the songs to get responses from people,» says Gilmour. «We interviewed quite a few people that way, mostly roadies and roadies’ girlfriends, and Gerry [O’Driscoll], the Irish doorman. We also had Paul and Linda McCartney interviewed, but they’re much too good at being evasive for their answers to be usable.

«Gerry the doorman said: ‘There is no da’k side o’ de moon, really, it’s all da’k.’ And stuff like that, when you put it into a context on the record, suddenly developed its own much more powerful meaning.»

The final Abbey Road session was held in Studio 2 on February 1st, 1973. «We’d finished mixing all the tracks, but until the very last day we’d never heard them as the continuous piece we’d been imagining for more than a year,» says Gilmour. «We had to literally snip bits of tape, cut in the linking passages and stick the ends back together. Finally, you sit back and listen all the way through at enormous volume. I can remember it. It was really exciting.»

The Dark Side Of The Moon was released in the US on March 17 and in the UK on the 24th. Four days later it hit No.1 in the US Billboard chart. In the UK it peaked at No.2. «We’d cracked it,» says Waters. «We’d won the pools. What are you supposed to do after that?»

Sadly, the album marked the start of a creative struggle within the band which would come to plague their work and eventually end in their acrimonious demise. 

«Dark Side Of The Moon was the last willing collaboration,» says Waters. «After that, everything with the band was like drawing teeth; ten years of hanging on to the married name and not having the courage to get divorced, to let go. Ten years of bloody hell. It was all just terrible. Awful. Terrible.»

Source: https://www.loudersound.com/features/the-making-of-pink-floyds-dark-side-of-the-moon

The Meaning of Pink Floyd’s «Dark Side of the Moon»

Pink Floyd and Dark Side of the Moon Background

In early 1973, British experimental rock band Pink Floyd released their 8th album, Dark Side of the Moon, arguably the greatest rock album ever created. Since its release, it has become a cornerstone to 20th-century culture and provided great inspiration to artists within and outside of music. Its success encouraged other musicians to explore more progressive styles of music, and it raised the bar for recorded sound for future albums.

The hard work that Pink Floyd put into this album paid off financially as Dark Side of the Moon became one of the best-selling albums of all time. After its release, it went to number one on the Billboard chart for one week, but it ended up staying on the Billboard charts for a consecutive 741 weeks (or just over 14 years). This feat would make the album one of the top 25 best-selling albums ever.

Dark Side of the Moon has endured through the years because it is such a well-written and thought-out concept album. A concept album is an album where all (or most) of the songs on that album revolve around a story or a theme. This is a contrast to most studio albums which just lay out a series of songs that are often unconnected or unrelated with the exception of the fact that they are on the same album.

Knowing that Dark Side of the Moon is a concept album has given rise to a number of theories about what the album’s concept is, and or, what the meaning of the album is. The band has given partial explanations to some of the songs and the album as a whole, but for the most part, they have left it up to listeners to decide for themselves.

What Is Dark Side of the Moon About?

So what is the meaning of Dark Side of the Moon?

Dark Side of the Moon is a concept album that discusses the philosophical and physical ideas that can lead to a person’s insanity, and ultimately, an unfulfilled life.

The album is a cautionary tale in two parts; the first half describes living a life that goes unfulfilled. This part of the album consists of the following tracks:

  • «Speak To Me/Breathe»
  • «On The Run»
  • «Time/Breathe Reprise»
  • «Great Gig In The Sky»

The second half of the album consists of individual songs about different ideas and concepts that are detrimental to society and can lead to madness. These songs are:

  • «Money»
  • «Us and Them»
  • «A Color You Like»
  • «Brain Damage»
  • «Eclipse»

The philosophical ideas in the second half of the album are a sort of madness in their own right. They are also the root causes to the problem mentioned in the first half of the album that focuses on living an unfulfilled life.

What Does the Album Title Mean?

As one of the voices at the end of the album states:

«There is no dark side of the moon, really. Matter of fact, it’s all dark.»

What is the title of the album referring to? What is the dark side of the moon a metaphor for?

It’s a metaphor for darkness—the darkness (or different ideas) that can destroy all of the positive emotions and ideas that are a part of humanity. In effect, the darkness represents insanity. But like in reality, the light portrayed by the moon is really an illusion. So it would appear that the album, which seems to take the dark side of the moon concept to heart, is suggesting is that everyone on some level is insane or will have to deal with madness.

Dark Side of the Moon seems to specifically suggest that there are two types of insanity. The first type of insanity mentioned on the album suggests people go insane by riding the tide. Or specifically speaking, people are insane for doing what they’re told all of the time and just accepting life for what it is.

The second type of insanity mentioned on the album suggests that the people that don’t ride the tide realize that the people riding the tide are insane. In turn, their efforts to try to convince people not to ride the tide or their resistance to the tide itself causes them to go insane.

Below is an in-depth look at the nine tracks that make up Dark Side of the Moon.

«Speak to Me» Lyrics

I’ve been mad for fucking years, absolutely years, been over the edge for yonks, been working me buns off for bands…

I’ve always been mad, I know I’ve been mad, like the
most of us…very hard to explain why you’re mad, even if you’re not mad…

«Breathe» Lyrics

Breathe, breathe in the air.
Don’t be afraid to care.
Leave but don’t leave me.
Look around and choose your own ground.

Long you live and high you fly
And smiles you’ll give and tears you’ll cry
And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be.

Run, rabbit, run.
Dig that hole, forget the sun,
And when at last the work is done
Don’t sit down it’s time to dig another one.

For long you live and high you fly
But only if you ride the tide
And balanced on the biggest wave
You race towards an early grave.

«Speak to Me» Analysis

«Speak to Me» kicks off the album. The voices that are speaking are clearly discussing the issue of insanity. More interesting than the voices though are the sounds in the background. The bass drum is beating a pulse that resembles the beating of a human heart. Slowly the cash registers from Money and the clocks from Time enter the song along with other ambient effects that are used in other songs on the album.

The heart beat will return prominently at the end of the album. The heart beat is a metaphor for life and all the songs that occur in between the heart beats are acting as the substance, or what’s inside, of life.

«Breathe» Analysis

The lyrics in «Breathe» seem to imply two different lifestyles which are the follower (or the rabbit) and the chooser.

The chooser will be able to live a long life, but because they aren’t riding the tide they will only see what they choose to see. In this context, the song is implying that choosing can be limiting. They are also limited by their physical experiences as the lyrics suggest touching and seeing is all life is to them. To many humans this may be true, but for many there is more to life than what can be touched or seen.

If you ride the tide you will see new things because you are just going with the flow. The rabbits in the song suggests that if a person’s life philosophy is to ride the tide then you will live a short life. However, a draw back to this ride the tide mentality can be you expend their life being a laborer (or digging holes) or getting stuck doing mundane tasks over and over again.

«On the Run» Lyrics

Voice at the beginning: Is a recording of a voice at an airport listing various travel related information.

Two thirds of the way through the song another voice says: Live for today, gone tomorrow, that’s me, Hahaha!

Hahahaha!

«On the Run» Analysis

«On the Run» is mostly instrumental, with the exception of a few voices and a recording that lists flights from an airport scattered throughout the song. Either way, the passage of time is a key element to this track.

The other key element is the anxiety-driven pulse and the stressful ambient sounds that come in and out of the song. As the follow-up to «Breathe,» the anxiety of «On the Run» seems to be a metaphor for the anxiety and stress that can be congruent with a person’s life.

«Time» Lyrics

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it’s sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you’re older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.

Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I’d something more to say.

«Breathe Reprise» Lyrics

Home, home again.
I like to be here when I can.
When I come home cold and tired
It’s good to warm my bones beside the fire.
Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells.

«Time» Analysis

This is a song about wasting your life doing nothing or about wasting your life doing boring and little things. A lot of people miss the opportunity to live their lives to the fullest. The idea of regret for not taking advantage of living your life is one of the tragedies of human nature that is explored thoroughly in this song.

The first verse talks about wasting your youth, which leads into the first chorus that discusses not having anyone to show you the way. This first section ends with the person in the song realizing he has been missing out on life, that he was supposed to find his own way, not be shown a way. This is a real-life revelation for a lot of people in the world.

The second verse discusses this person who has woken up and is now looking to catch up with his/her lost time. However, the physical aspects of getting older are catching up. In the final chorus, the person realizes he wasted too much of his life and is disappointed with his/her life. The person the song is speaking about presumably dies having said little when the potential to say more was always there.

Anxiety and stress, like the previous song, are underlying themes in this song, too, as the clocks, in the beginning, have a jarring effect on the listener. The jarring clocks could mean the song is meant to metaphorically wake people up that are not living their lives, or it can be continuing the anxiety and stress-driven themes from «On the Run.»

«Breathe Reprise» Analysis

Time transitions nicely into a reprise of the first song, «Breathe.» This rendition of Breathe talks about relief and finding a way to deal with all of the stress put forth in the previous songs, «On the Run» and «Time.»

The two methods of relief that are specifically discussed are home, mentioned in the lines, «home… home again, I like to be here when I can,» and religion with the lines, «The tolling of the iron bell calls the faithful to their knees to hear the softly spoken magic spells.»

«Great Gig in the Sky» Lyrics

Recorded voice:

And I am not frightened of dying, any time will do, I
don’t mind. Why should I be frightened of dying?
There’s no reason for it, you’ve gotta go sometime.

If you can hear this whispering you are dying.

I never said I was frightened of dying.

Vocals:

Ahhhh Ahhhh Ahhhhh….. for a long time.

«Great Gig in the Sky» Analysis

Another mostly instrumental song, «Great Gig in the Sky» has some recorded voices and a lady singer that wails on the song’s two-chord refrain. The voices in «Great Gig in the Sky» talk about death and not being afraid of dying, which is ultimately what this song is about—death.

People are either afraid of dying, or they’re not, and that would appear to be the message trying to be conveyed in this song. The first person to speak on this song says he is not afraid of dying, and it sounds convincing. In the second half of the song, a lady says, «I was never frightened of dying.» This is said very quietly and with less confidence than the person who said it at the beginning of the song.

The two interviews show the contrasting views on death between people. The dialogue transitions to the wailing, which at times sounds powerful and beautiful (not afraid of dying), and other times it sounds fearful and anxiety driven (afraid of dying). Or simply put: you are, or you are not afraid of dying. Both ideas seem to be conveyed by the dialogue and the wailing vocals.

The end of this song ends the physical life/living section of the album. The next half of the album focuses on ideas or the madness that can drive a person to live an unfulfilled life. Living an unfulfilled life is a type of insanity and the thorough exploration of what an unfulfilled life is on the first half of the album ties itself nicely with the second half of the album that explores insanity in a more philosophical way.

«Money» Lyrics

Money, get away.
Get a good job with good pay and you’re okay.
Money, it’s a gas.
Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash.
New car, caviar, four star daydream,
Think I’ll buy me a football team.

Money, get back.
I’m all right Jack keep your hands off of my stack.
Money, it’s a hit.
Don’t give me that do goody good bullshit.
I’m in the high-fidelity first class traveling set
And I think I need a Lear jet.

Money, it’s a crime.
Share it fairly but don’t take a slice of my pie.
Money, so they say
Is the root of all evil today.
But if you ask for a raise it’s no surprise that they’re
giving none away. Away. Away. Away….

Voices at the End:

Huh I was in the right!
Yes, absolutely in the right!
I certainly was in the right!
You was definitely in the right. That geezer was cruising for a bruising.
Yeah!
Why does anyone do anything?
I don’t know, I was really drunk at the time!

I was just telling him, he couldn’t get into number two. He was asking
why he wasn’t coming up on freely, after I was yelling and
screaming and telling him why he wasn’t coming up on freely.
It came as a heavy blow, but we sorted the matter out

«Money» Analysis

The second half of the album begins with «Money.» At this point in listening to all of the songs on the album there are no clear breaks, each song fades into one another except in between «Great Gig in the Sky» and «Money.» The break here happens out of necessity due to records in 1973 needing to be flipped over, and if you were listening to this on vinyl this is where you would flip the record.

Pink Floyd takes advantage of the limits of technology during this time period (or the necessary pause in the album) to change how they are going to continue discussing the topic of insanity and living an unfulfilled life. The first half of the album takes a more hands-on and personal experience with the subject matter, while the second half of the album explores the subject matter in more philosophical type of setting.

Continuing on with individual songs, «Money» is about greed and the illusion of a life well lived that comes with having an excess of wealth.

The first verse of the song focuses on the excesses of money, consumerism, and peoples desire to grab and horde as much cash or wealth as possible.

The second verse continues with the subject of the desire to grab more money, while also introducing the lengths people will go to in order to protect the money and possessions they have acquired.

The third and final verse focuses on the negative philosophical issues that money brings to a society, which include the ideas that ordinary people will never be able to increase their stash of money to match the wealthy, and the idea that money is the root of all evil.

The cash registers and money sounds that are used to underscore the whole song sound mechanical and lifeless. The mechanical money sounds are like a metaphor for the way people mechanically work the same job day in and day out for 40 plus years. People, of course, work harder, motivated by earning more money, but a lot of people ultimately waste their lives with this mentality. So the idea with the song «Money» is that the concept of wealth is one of the illusions or ideas that can be the cause of a person wasting their life, or it can be used to ruin the lives of others.

As «Money» fades out, a spoken voice dialogue describing a fight begins. This is a segue into «Us and Them,» which deals with conflict. Its inclusion on «Money» instead of «Us and Them» suggests that money is also a cause of conflict.

«Us and Them» Lyrics

Us, and them
And after all we’re only ordinary men.
Me, and you.
God only knows it’s not what we would choose to do.
Forward he cried from the rear
and the front rank died.
And the general sat and the lines on the map
moved from side to side.
Black and blue
And who knows which is which and who is who.
Up and down.
But in the end it’s only round and round.
Haven’t you heard it’s a battle of words
The poster bearer cried.
Listen son, said the man with the gun
There’s room for you inside.

I mean, they’re not gonna kill ya, so if you give ‘em a quick short,
sharp, shock, they won’t do it again. Dig it? I mean he get off
lightly, ‘cos I would’ve given him a thrashing – I only hit him once!
It was only a difference of opinion, but really…I mean good manners
don’t cost nothing do they, eh?

Down and out
It can’t be helped but there’s a lot of it about.
With, without.
And who’ll deny it’s what the fighting’s all about?
Out of the way, it’s a busy day
I’ve got things on my mind.
For the want of the price of tea and a slice
The old man died.

«Us and Them» Analysis

«Us and Them» is a song about conflict and fighting. Underlying the idea of a fight/conflict is the idea that fighting is usually between two choices or two sides, or philosophically speaking, what can be called a black and white type of mentality. The song seems to mock the black or white mentality that exists in society and states that there can be more than two choices.

The first verse and chorus talk about conflict from the viewpoint of a war. So this part of the song explores the physical side of conflict. The first verse also notes how the idea of conflict goes against the ideas of God and religion. Again, like in «Money,» it’s the people in power (the General) who are safe, while the ordinary working-class people get killed serving that higher power.

The second verse and chorus talk about conflict from a philosophical point of view or a verbal point of view. This verse, more than any other verse, mocks the idea of a black and white mentality with the lines, «Black and blue…And who knows which is which and who is who.» This line is effectively saying that it’s pointless to remove the degrees of separation between different people and different ideas. Life is too complicated to be dumbed down to black and blue. The ending idea of this section is that there can be a way to work things out and include everybody, which is described with the line, «There’s room for you inside.»

A spoken word segment makes up the next part of the song. The people talking here are discussing a fight one of the people speaking got into, which ties nicely into the conflict theme.

The final verse talks about what conflict in society is (generally speaking) about. According to «Us and Them,» conflict is about being with or without. This can include being with or without possessions, resources, etc. From this broader point of view, it lumps a song like «Money» into a subcategory of conflict.

The final chorus talks about how most people seem to avoid or ignore anything that is related to conflict, whether it be the physical acts of conflict or the philosophical ideas or arguments that lead to conflict. The price for ignoring conflicts appears to be heavy as another image of a common person dies in the song with the line, «For the want of the price of tea and a slice…The old man died.» Conflict can cut lives short, denying people the opportunity to live a fulfilling life.

«Any Color You Like» Lyrics

Instrumental

«Any Color You Like» Analysis

«Any Color You Like» is the final instrumental track on Dark Side of the Moon. This is the only purely instrumental song on the album as there is no singing and no voices. The title and its position within the order of the album give the strongest clues as to what this song is about.

Fading in after the conclusion of «Us and Them,» and with a title like «Any Color You Like,» the song would appear to be a sarcastic remark suggesting the lack of choices that are available to a person during the course of their life. The underscoring idea of «Us and Them» is related to the dangers of a black and white mentality, and «Any Color You Like» seems to carry that idea over into this song.

«Brain Damage» Lyrics

The lunatic is on the grass.
The lunatic is on the grass.
Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs.
Got to keep the loonies on the path.

The lunatic is in the hall.
The lunatics are in my hall.
The paper holds their folded faces to the floor
And every day the paper boy brings more.

And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too
I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.

The lunatic is in my head.
The lunatic is in my head
You raise the blade, you make the change
You re-arrange me ‘til I’m sane.
You lock the door
And throw away the key
There’s someone in my head but it’s not me.

And if the cloud bursts, thunder in your ear
You shout and no one seems to hear.
And if the band you’re in starts playing different tunes
I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.

I can’t think of anything to say except…
I think it’s marvelous! Hahaha!

«Brain Damage» Analysis

«Brain Damage» is about losing your mind and going insane.

The first verse talks about insanity that is caused by happening what’s outside your head, with the line,«The lunatic is in the grass.» This would be the type of insanity that people see in the physical world, it’s a type of tangible insanity.

The second verse continues in this vain, but brings the insanity into a more personal area with the lines, «The lunatic is in my hall.» The lyrics have moved insanity from the outer and wider world in the first verse to the private home of the person in the second verse. This type of insanity is a bit more personal and it sounds a lot more disconcerting.

The first chorus talks about finally having a mental breakdown, potentially much earlier than a person should have a breakdown. After the mental breakdown, the final line of the chorus says, «I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.» The dark side of the moon mentioned in this song is a place for insanity and ideas that are destructive. Of course since the moon is always dark, its also suggesting everyone to a certain point is mad.

The final verse now moves insanity to its most personal location, inside your head with the line, «The lunatic is in my head.» The verse suggests that the person who is losing his mind will pay any price in order to make him/her sane again, and subsequently they will isolate themselves in order to stop any further destruction of themselves or others.

The final chorus again elaborates on having a mental breakdown. With the line, «And if the band you’re in starts playing different tunes… I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon,» it would appear that the madness was caused by not being able to align your views with the views of everyone else, or most likely society in general. Ultimately that line in the song seems to suggest that people go crazy by resisting what they are told to do all of the time.

However, the previous songs in the album, «Money,» «Us and Them,» and «Any Color You Like» discuss the ideas that everyone in society go along with that are insane. From a larger perspective, it seems you are insane by following the ideas discussed in «Money,» «Us and Them,» and «Any Color You Like,» or you go insane by resisting them like in «Brain Damage.»

«Eclipse» Lyrics

All that you touch
All that you see
All that you taste
All you feel.
All that you love
All that you hate
All you distrust
All you save.
All that you give
All that you deal
All that you buy,
beg, borrow or steal.
All you create
All you destroy
All that you do
All that you say.
All that you eat
And everyone you meet
All that you slight
And everyone you fight.
All that is now
All that is gone
All that’s to come
and everything under the sun is in tune
but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.

There is no dark side of the moon really. Matter of fact it’s all dark.

«Eclipse» Lyrics

If there is one word to describe the song «Eclipse,» it would have to be the word all. It’s used twenty times in the song, and the word you would be a close second as it’s used eighteen times.

With «Eclipse» being the final song on the album, it uses many universal messages to describe the human experience the words all, and you serve to underscore the point that this song, this album, is about every human living on Earth. Musically, it’s an epic song with lots of background harmonies and a massive soundscape to give listeners not only a musical climax to the album but a universal sound that ties the previous thematic ideas under one idea.

The key to «Eclipse» is the final few lines, «All that’s to come and everything under the sun is in tune, but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.» This line begins by suggesting this song could go on forever (All that’s to come), and metaphorically speaking, all of these basic human experiences are represented by the sun. They are mostly positive human experiences, and they are frequently associated with living a life that is, for the most part, enjoyable. But the album ends with the sun being eclipsed by the moon.

The darkness caused by the moon, or the moon itself, is basically a symbolic representation of all the dangerous ideas that are destructive to humanity. These dangerous ideas can block out the sun or halt the living of a fulfilling life. The previous songs on the album build to this point. There is hope in the sun, but there will always be a dark side of the moon, which is a symbolic representation of the banes of humanity.

Source: https://spinditty.com/genres/The-Meaning-of-Pink-Floyds-Dark-Side-of-the-Moon

Behind the music: The cultural impact and sound revolution of Pink Floyd’s ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’

The 1970s classic still holds much relevance in progressive rock music and pop culture. We revisit the sound and the making of one of the most memorable albums in the history of rock.

The Dark Side of the Moon is a powerful and beautifully mixed album released in March 1973; it is also British band Pink Floyd’s eighth studio album. 

“I’ve been mad for fucking years, absolutely years, been over the edge for yonks,” says Pink Floyd’s production and tour manager at the time, Chris Adamson, on the first track, Speak to Me, setting the tone for the entire album.

The band’s drummer, Nick Mason, is credited as the writer of the song, which in the radio cut version is combined with Breathe (In the Air), and dubbed Speak to Me/Breathe; the two songs transition into each other, Breathe as an intro to Speak to Me.  

The album takes listeners across various emotions and stages of human life, beginning and ending with a heartbeat. The themes revolve around conflict, morality, greed, time and mental illness. The album was conceptualised through live performances on Floyd’s extensive 1972 tour of Britain and built on experimentation, psychedelic instrumentals and empathy.

A groundbreaking album

The Dark Side of the Moon has paved the way for much of the alternative or experimental rock sounds we enjoy today. From Tame Impala and Radiohead, to Dream Theater and Porcupine Tree, all have been influenced by the British band, with vocalist and guitarist David Gilmour, Roger Waters on bass and vocals, Mason on drums and percussion and Richard Wright on the organ, piano and electronic piano. 

The almost 47-year-old album also features Dick Parry on the commercial successful Money and Us and Them, playing the saxophone. 

In an interview with online music publication Louder Sound, Gilmour says he regards the album as a watershed moment for the band, that “obviously it was the breakthrough moment and was terrific, and we suddenly moved up from the medium-time to the mega-time”.

That move was partly because of the sound and partly owing to the powerful lyrics by Waters. In a 2003 documentary about the making of the album, Gilmour says: “The big move forward for The Dark Side of the Moon was Roger’s coming of age lyrically.”

As a creative force for Pink Floyd, Waters’s writing showed an existential and intense view of the world. He managed to centre the album on loosely connected themes that are relatable – greed, mental health, death and the exhaustion that comes from travel. 

It’s also the first Floyd album on which Waters was the sole lyricist. Gilmour has always contributed to the band’s songwriting process along with former frontman, the late Syd Barrett – who was also the lead guitarist in the 60s and a co-founder, but was ousted in 1968 due to his excessive LSD use. Much of the mental health references on the album were inspired by what Barrett was going through. 

In 1971, the band started to rehearse in a small studio in west London, working under the title Eclipse (the title of the last track of the album) which would eventually develop on stage into The Dark Side of the Moon.

The following year the band started to rehearse at the Rolling Stones’ old Victorian warehouse in South London as well as at the famous Abbey Road Studios.

The psychedelic sounds of The Dark Side of the Moon definitely had influences on counterculture at the time. The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame credits Pink Floyd with carving out new spaces in the industry: “Pink Floyd were the architects of two major music movements – psychedelic space-rock and blues-based progressive rock – and became known for their biting political, social and emotional commentary”; a great balance of new sounds – mainly developed through live performances during their 16-date UK tour – and hard topics that weren’t explored much in their time.

The album’s success was extensive. From breaking charting records by being on the Billboard 200 for more than 950 weeks to becoming one of the biggest bestselling albums of all times and 15-times platinum, it was nothing short of gargantuan. 

The album cover and its presence in pop culture 

The prism artwork for the album cover is an iconic and elegant design. One of the most recognisable album covers in music, it became a signature logo for the band. 

It was designed by the late graphic designer Storm Thorgerson and his team at Hipgnosis (a design company that was just as experimental as the album they designed for). 

The triangle with rainbow-coloured light coming through was inspired by a picture Thorgerson saw in a textbook. The design was unanimously approved by all band members. The artwork has a space-like feel to it, almost representing the out-of-the-world sonic output of the album itself – the light through the prism shines right through the physical album cover. The multicoloured lighting in the band’s shows is also represented on the cover. A perfect link between album art, music and production of their live shows. 

In 2017, the Victoria and Albert Museum paid tribute to the album and Pink Floyd by hosting an exhibition that honoured the groundbreaking originality of their live concerts – how they pioneered psychedelic light shows, with special effects and elaborate stage constructions. The exhibition also showed original designs and photographs of the band. The elaborate, surreal exhibition showed just how impactful their work was and how the legacy of the band is heavily linked to the success of The Dark Side of The Moon – a project as culturally impactful as anything seen in alternative rock music and contemporary pop culture. 

Source: https://www.dailymaverick.co.za/article/2021-02-02-behind-the-music-the-cultural-impact-and-sound-revolution-of-pink-floyds-the-dark-side-of-the-moon/

Us and Them by Pink Floyd

This began as a piano piece Rick Wright came up with while working on the soundtrack to the 1970 movie Zabriskie Point. It didn’t make the soundtrack, but they worked with it at the Dark Side of the Moon sessions and it eventually became this song. The director of Zabriskie Point, Michelangelo Antonioni, rejected the song for being «beautiful, but too sad… it makes me think of church.»

Zabriskie Point was one of the first soundtracks Pink Floyd worked on. They put a lot of work into it, but the director ended up using only 3 of their songs. Floyd also worked on soundtracks for the movies MoreThe Valley, and Tonight Let’s All Make Love In London.

The band refereed to this as «The Violence Sequence» because they worked on it for a very violent scene in the movie.

Dave Gilmour sings lead, but this song was written by Roger Waters and Pink Floyd keyboard player Rick Wright. Some of Wright’s other songwriting credits include «Breathe,» «Great Big Gid In The Sky,» and «One Of These Days,» but by the late ’70s Waters ended up doing most of the writing himself, and he wrote all the songs on their 1983 album The Final Cut. Talking about Wright’s compositions, Waters said in a 2003 interview with Uncut: «He would write odd bits. He secreted them away and put them on those solo albums he made and were never heard. He never shared them. It was unbelievably stupid. I never understood why he did that. I’m sure there were two or three decent chord sequences. If he’d given them to me, I would have been very, very happy to make something with them.»

One of Pink Floyd’s first uses of female backup singers. They brought in Liza Strike, Leslie Duncan and Doris Troy to sing harmonies. Troy had a hit on her own with «Just One Look.»

Like other songs on the album, this contains the ramblings of random voices. Roger Waters made flashcards with questions on them and recorded different people around the studio answering them. He showed one to a weird roadie for another band named Roger The Hat, who got the question «When was the last time you thumped somebody.» His answer made it onto this song, which is the part about giving someone a «short, sharp shock.»

Along with «Money,» this was one of 2 songs on the album to use a sax, which was played by Dick Parry.

The engineer for the album was Alan Parsons, who also worked on The Beatles’ Abbey Road album. Some of the production techniques on this are similar to the suite of songs at the end of that album, especially «Sun King.» Parsons went on to form his own band called The Alan Parsons Project, which had a hit in 1982 with «Eye In The Sky

Pink Floyd’s record company was originally hesitant to release this track because it was felt that the signature melody line was extremely depressing. >>

In the Dark Side of the Rainbow theory (that Dark Side of the Moon acts as a soundtrack to The Wizard Of Oz), the line, «And who knows which is which and who is who,» occurs after the Wicked Witch of the West appears and she is first seen with Dorothy and Glinda, the good witch on the opposite side of the screen. >>

When this was recorded, Rick Wright played the song’s jazz-influenced grand piano to what he thought was the rest of the band playing in the next studio. In fact they weren’t present and it was a recording made earlier. What started as a prank became, according to Alan Parsons in Mojo magazine, «one of the best things Rick ever did.»

Source: https://www.songfacts.com/facts/pink-floyd/us-and-them

Us and Them by Pink Floyd

Us (us, us, us, us) and them (them, them, them, them)
And after all we’re only ordinary men
Me
And you (you, you, you)
God only knows
It’s not what we would choose (choose, choose) to do (to do, to do)
Forward he cried from the rear
And the front rank died
And the general sat
And the lines on the map
Moved from side to side
Black (black, black, black)
And blue (blue, blue)
And who knows which is which and who is who
Up (up, up, up, up)
And down (down, down, down, down)
And in the end it’s only round ‘n round (round, round, round)
Haven’t you heard it’s a battle of words
The poster bearer cried
«Listen son», said the man with the gun
There’s room for you inside

«I mean, they’re not gonna kill ya
So if you give ‘em a quick short, sharp, shock
They won’t do it again. Dig it?
I mean he get off lightly, ‘cause I would’ve given him a thrashing
I only hit him once! It was only a difference of opinion, but really
I mean good manners don’t cost nothing do they, eh?»

Down (down, down, down, down)
And out (out, out, out, out)
It can’t be helped that there’s a lot of it about
With (with, with, with), without
And who’ll deny it’s what the fighting’s all about?
Out of the way
It’s a busy day
I’ve got things on my mind
For the want of the price
Of tea and a slice
The old man died

In the pub

About Middleton

Middleton is a town in South Lancashire, now Greater Manchester. Its historic centre sits on a low hill overlooking the area. It is  dubbed the ‘Golden Cluster’ because of the outstanding quality of the heritage clustered there. To the immediate south of this is a largely modern shopping area, so it is a place of two parts.

Historically rural, Middleton is now largely suburban with two large leafy estates dominating. Alkrington Garden Village, to the south, was one of the first garden suburbs in the country designed by Thomas Adams of Letchworth Garden City fame. Langley, to the north west, is one of the last planned garden suburbs built in the 1950s by Manchester City Council.

Middleton is significant for the quality of its architectural heritage with several outstanding buildings – a medieval ‘hall’ church, a Renaissance school, one of the first Palladian houses in England, a pioneering Victorian church and the first modern movement board school in England. Schools are a speciality with the Golden Cluster containing five, roughly one for each historic period from medieval to modern times.

For most of its history, Middleton was a large country parish of eight townships spread across northern Manchester towards Bolton. A town began to develop only in late Georgian times with the building of two small estates of hand loom weavers houses. Cotton and silk factories quickly followed and the Middleton of today began to emerge. However, Middleton had a radical tradition, which in Victorian times sought to retain the rural qualities of the area. Consequently, today’s historic centre is full of green spaces complemented with Arts and Crafts buildings designed by Edgar Wood, the internationally important architect.

In the Victorian era government was reorganised and Middleton lost five of its townships to other boroughs – Pilsworth, Ainsworth, Ashworth, Birtle and Bamford and Great Lever. However, the remaining three, Middleton, Hopwood and Thornham gained two new ones – Alkrington and Tonge formerly part of Prestwich. In 1974, Middleton became part of the Metropolitan Borough of Rochdale so was reunited with Ashworth, Birtle and Bamford, though they are now considered as Rochdale, having previously been part of Heywood.

Source: https://middletonheritage.co.uk/middleton/about-middleton/

Things to do in Middleton (Gt Mcr), Greater Manchester

Middleton is more than just another 19th century industrial Lancashire town; it is an ancient place and has much that remains from an illustrious past. Middleton’s conservation area is based around St. Leonard’s Church, the Old Grammar School and the Old Boar’s Head Inn. Some of the houses in this area date back to the times when Middleton was famous for its silk industry. The influence of one of the town’s most famous sons, architect Edgar Wood, is still apparent in the form of many of his buildings.

St Leonard’s Parish Church dates from 1524, but you can still see the tower and porch from cardinal Langley’s church built in 1412. It has one of the three remaining wooden church towers in Britain. An interesting feature is the stained glass window dedicated to the Middleton Archers, who fought at the battle of Flodden Field, which is thought to be the oldest war memorial in existence.

Edgar Wood an architect of international repute, lived and worked almost entirely in his native Middleton. Wood designed almost 100 buildings in the town, among his finest creations are the Methodist Church and Almshouses.

Visitors can also see the legacies of its other famous resident, Cardinal Thomas Langley, Prince Bishop of Durham and Chancellor of England. In 1412 Thomas Langley had the Parish Church of Middleton, his home town, rebuilt and he also endowed a charity school. This was the original foundation of Middleton Grammar School. The school has recently been beautifully restored and is open to the public Tuesday-Saturday 1.30pm. – 4pm.

The town centre includes a spacious indoor shopping centre with a wide range of high street names and smaller, independent retailers as well as an outdoor market.

Middleton Leisure Centre offers facilities for swimming, squash and a sauna suite.

Nearby are Alkrington Woods, a Nature Reserve at Hopwood Clough, a Sculpture Trail and delightful parks.

Source: https://www.aboutbritain.com/towns/middleton.asp

Middleton

Located seven miles south of Rochdale, Middleton has the appearance of a «typical» Lancashire industrial town, but Middleton is far from typical. The town has an ancient past and remnants of it remain into the 21st century.

The history of Middleton is closely associated with the lives of four of its residents.

The early years are associated with Thomas Langley, who was Prince Bishop of Durham from 1406 until 1437 and three times Lord Chancellor of England. Evidence of Langley’s influence in Middleton can be seen in the Parish Church, St. Leonard’s. In 1412 Langley rebuilt what was a Norman Church and consecrated it. The church has a wooden tower, one of only three in the country. The exact reason for the wooden tower is unclear. It was suggested that there was concern that the ground was too soft to support a stone structure, but that seems unlikely. It may be as simple as the fact that it was less expensive to build. It also has a stained glass window depicting Middleton Archers who fought at the Battle of Flodden Field, as such is it regarded as the oldest war memorial in existence.

Langley was also responsible for founding the Middleton Grammar School. He added a chantry to the church with the intention of it being used for the education of local children. In 1572 Queen Elizabeth I granted letters of patent to the school, and a new school building was completed by 1586.

In 1438 Sir Ralph Assheton began the 327 year tenure over the Middleton estate by the Assheton family. The family, like all families, seems to have had its high and low points. Sir Ralph left a rather sinister impression of people and was known as the «Black Knight of Assheton». In fact, a 500 year old tradition in Ashton-under-Lyne of parading a straw figure through the town, known as «Riding the Black Lad», is connected with Sir Ralph. The ceremony commemorates the hatred borne by the residents who suffered his cruelty and oppression. On the other end of the scale Ralph’s grandson led the famous Middleton bowmen at the Battle of Flodden in 1513 for which he received a knighthood. Assheton’s archers were part of an English army that met the Scottish Stuart Army led by James IV of Scotland. The disastrous confrontation on the 9th of September 1513, on Brankstone Moor, resulted in the death of 10,000 Scots and James IV himself. After the battle Assheton dedicated his standard and armour to «St. Leonard of Middleton» and they were placed in the Parish Church. The Middleton estate stayed in the Assheton family until, in the absence of a male heir, a daughter of the family married Lord Suffield. and the Suffields became the lords of Middleton manor.

There are a number of artifacts of the Asshetons in the Middleton Parish Church, including brasses of Richard Assheton and his wife dated 1618. Their children are shown on a separate brass. There is another brass of a priest investments which is inscribed in Latin, «Master Edmund Assheton, Rector of this Church» and dated 1522. This was the brother of Sir Richard Assheton of Flodden Field.

Middleton Hall, the home of the Assheton family, was already falling into rack-and-ruin by the end of the 18th century. It was partially rebuilt, but then in 1845 it was demolished and a cotton mill was erected on the land.

Samuel Bamford, who is buried in the church yard and commemorated by a memorial erected over his grave, was prominent in the struggle for repeal of the Corn Laws and electoral reform. He organized a Hampton Club in Middleton for local people wishing to debate the issue of universal sufferage. He led a group of Middleton people to the meeting on St. Peter’s Field which turned into the Peterloo Massacre. Bamford was a poet and a respected writer of Lancashire dialect.

Life around the country and particularly in Lancashire was often turbulent during the period when Bamford lived in Middleton. There were a number of issues which from time to time escalated to violence. The textile industry was going through a period of change as hand spinning and weaving was being replaced by steam powered, mill-based, mechanization. This changed the economics of the trade and prices paid for cloth spiraled downwards. Hand weavers faced poverty and saw the machines as their nemesis.

There were numerous incidents of vandalism where groups of workers broke into mills and destroyed machinery. These men were named after a young man from Leicester who had taken a hammer to «square his needles» destroying a knitting machine. His name was Ludlam and the machine vandals were known as Luddites. In 1812 several thousand Luddites were reported to have surrounded the mill of Daniel Burton and Sons. When the mob attacked the mill, they were repelled by defenders who were lying in wait for them. Four men were killed by gun fire from the mill and a number injured. The mob reacted by turning their attention to Burton’s home burning it to the ground. This precipitated the dispatching of cavalry from Manchester to bring an end to the unrest.

The fourth person to touch the town of Middleton was Edgar Wood. Born in the 19th century, Wood was apprenticed to a firm of Manchester architects and, during the early years of the 20th century, applied his considerable skill to the design and construction of buildings in Middleton, Huddersfield, and Manchester. His handiwork can be seen throughout Middleton in the form of private homes, shops, schools, and churches.

Long Street in Middleton contains a number of links to the town’s history. On the west side of the street lies Edgar Wood’s Long Street Weslyan Church and schools built in 1899 (above). This is Wood’s largest church. Constructed in brick and red sandstone; it is an imaginative combination of free-Gothic style with influences from Wood’s interest in Art Nouveau. Wood also designed the Manchester and Salford Bank which is located a short walk from the church.

Further up Long Street from the church, on the same side, is the Old Boar’s Head Inn which, according to the stone lintel in the cellar, dates back to 1632. The building is part of an ancient row of cottages and operated as a coaching inn. Sam Bamford held his audience in sway at the Old Boar’s Head.

Across the street from the Old Boar’s Head you will find Jubilee Park. Alderman Thomas Broadbent Wood commissioned his son Edgar to design a flight of steps to lead up to a contemplation spot in the park.

At the top of the steps is the inscription:

«Who works not for his fellows starves his soul.
His thoughts grow poor and dwindle and his
heart grudges each beat, as misers do a dole.»

Jubilee Park was opened in 1889 to commemorate the Golden Jubilee of Queen Victoria. It comprises 11.6 acres in the middle of the town and in the heart of Middleton’s Conservation Area.

Source: https://manchesterhistory.net/rochdale/COMMUNITIES/middleton.html

Inside ‘haunted’ 900-year-old Manchester pub where glasses ‘explode’ and ‘odd things happen’

A «nice old pub» in Manchester has been the centre of haunting tales and ghost stories for hundreds of years.

The Ring O’Bells pub in Middleton was built on an ancient Druid temple and dates back to the 12th century.

Legend has it that the pub is haunted by the ghost of a cavalier named Edward, murdered by Cromwell’s Army when they passed through the town.

He’s said to have appeared wearing royalist uniform in front of regulars and landlords, and punters have also reported witnessing glasses sliding along the bar and hearing heavy footsteps and peculiar noises.

Historically, the pub’s foundations are thought to date all the way back to Saxon times.

The Manchester Evening News spoke to The Ring O’Bells pub to hear about the history and haunting tales of the site – and what it is really like.

Roger Haynes first came into the «nice old pub» as a patron in 1979 and has been tenant for the last 11 years.

He said he personally doesn’t believe in ghosts or the haunting stories of the pub, but that «odd things do happen» at The Ring O’Bells.

Mr Haynes told the Manchester Evening News: «There’s been a pub on this site for hundreds of years.

«We’re built on an old Anglo-Saxon site because where the pub is used to be the original centre of Middleton. That’s why there’s a church opposite.

«There’s always been rumours of people being buried under the pub and things like that. I personally don’t believe in it – it’s a question of whether you believe or disbelieve.

«Things happen. Amazon had been here filming as part of a TV programme and for some particular reason a pint moved on its own across the table.

«I’ve had glasses falling off and smashing for no reason and just breaking on the shelf with nobody near them, so odd things do happen.

«I have a shelf behind the bar and all it has on it is Coca-Cola glasses and all of a sudden there’s an almighty bang and the glass in the middle just exploded.

«I can’t say for any reason why that happened- nobody knocked it, nobody banged it, nobody was near it. If it fell off the shelf I’d think it’s not been back properly.»

Roger said there’s an old room in the pub that’s always colder than any other place even in the summer and that his last dog would also bark in the corner of the lounge as if he could «see something or sense something.»

He said curious customers have come in asking about paranormal activity at The Ring O’Bells and that in the past, ghost hunts hosted by other groups have taken place.

Roger said: «Some people come along and have a look.

«They say they can sense something here but there’s obviously people who believe in ghosts.

«I’m sure they could be but until you can actually show it me and stuff like that I’ll just remain on the fence.

«I don’t believe in it at all personally. People do come in to do the local history and I will give people if they wish to a tour of the cellar which I have done.

«People who come in and believe in hauntings always say it’s a really spooky feel and it’s definitely got an atmosphere, but I personally don’t feel anything at all.

«I live here and sleep here and work here so if I hear any noises I put it down to being an old building, but somebody else might put that down to another reason.»

Source: https://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/news/nostalgia/inside-haunted-900-year-old-21914907

There was a first time

Manchester

Manchestercity and metropolitan borough in the metropolitan county of Greater Manchester urban county, northwestern England. Most of the city, including the historic core, is in the historic county of Lancashire, but it includes an area south of the River Mersey in the historic county of Cheshire. Manchester is the nucleus of the largest metropolitan area in the north of England, and it remains an important regional city, but it has lost the extraordinary vitality and unique influence that put it at the forefront of the Industrial Revolution.

Manchester was an urban prototype: in many respects it could claim to be the first of the new generation of huge industrial cities created in the Western world during the past 250 years. In 1717 it was merely a market town of 10,000 people, but by 1851 its textile (chiefly cotton) industries had so prospered that it had become a manufacturing and commercial city of more than 300,000 inhabitants, already spilling out its suburbs and absorbing its industrial satellites. By the beginning of the 20th century, salients of urban growth linked Manchester to the ring of cotton-manufacturing towns—BoltonRochdale, and Oldham, for example—that almost surround the city, and a new form of urban development, a conurbation, or metropolitan area, was evolving. By 1911 it had a population of 2,350,000. In the following years, however, the pace of growth slowed dramatically. If the 19th century was Manchester’s golden age, when it was indisputably Britain’s second city, the 20th century was marked by increasing industrial problems associated with the decline of the textile trades (the result of foreign competition and technological obsolescence). Area city, 45 square miles (116 square km); Greater Manchester metropolitan county, 493 square miles (1,276 square km). Pop. (2001) city, 392,419; Greater Manchester metropolitan county, 2,482,328; (2011) city, 503,127; Greater Manchester metropolitan county, 2,682,528.

Physical and human geography

The landscape

The city site

Manchester occupies a featureless plain made up of river gravels and the glacially transported debris known as drift. It lies at a height of 133 feet (40 metres) above sea level, enclosed by the slopes of the Pennine range on the east and the upland spur of Rossendale on the north. Much of the plain is underlain by coal measures; mining was once widespread but had ceased by the end of the 20th century. Within this physical unit, known as the Manchester embayment, the city’s metropolitan area evolved. Manchester, the central city, is situated on the east bank of the River Irwell and has an elongated north-south extent, the result of late 19th- and early 20th-century territorial expansion. In 1930 the city extended its boundaries far to the south beyond the River Mersey, to annex 9 square miles (23 square km) of the northern portion of the former administrative county of Cheshire. Two large metropolitan boroughs adjoin the city of Manchester on the west and southwest: Salford and Trafford. Together these three administrative units form the chief concentration of commercial employment. From this core, suburbs have spread far to the west and south, chiefly within the unitary authority of Cheshire East. To the north and east of Manchester, smaller industrial towns and villages, mixed with suburban development, merge into one another and extend as a continuous urban area to the foot of the encircling upland. Close to the upland margin lies a ring of large towns, which were traditionally the major centres of the cotton-spinning industry—Bolton, Bury, and Rochdale to the north and Oldham, Ashton-under-Lyne, and Stockport to the east.

The urban structure of metropolitan Manchester is determined largely by its industrial zones. By far the most important of these is the one bisecting it from east to west. This contains most of the heavier industry—petrochemicals on the Ship Canal near Irlam, electrical engineering in Trafford Park and Salford, and machine tools and metal fabrication in eastern Manchester. Industry in the south is confined to a few compact, largely planned factory estates, notably at Altrincham and Wythenshawe. North and east of Manchester, ribbons of long-established industry follow every railway, river valley, and abandoned canal. The electrochemical industries of the Irwell valley, the dyestuffs of the Irk, and, everywhere, the old textile mills (many converted to new industrial uses) are the dominant features.

Climate

Manchester’s climate is most kindly described as mild, moist, and misty. The temperate climate is without extremes: winters are mild, with a January mean temperature in the high 30s °F (about 4 °C), and summers are cool, with a July mean temperature in the high 50s °F (about 15 °C). Occasional high-pressure systems produce cold, clear spells in winter or hot droughts in summer, but these rarely persist. Winds from the west and south prevail, and these bathe the city in frequent gentle rain derived from the almost constant succession of Atlantic weather systems. The annual rainfall, 32 inches (818 mm), is not notably high by the standards of western Britain, but it occurs on no less than half of the days in an average year. There is little reliable seasonal variation, but the months of March through May offer the best chance of prolonged dry spells.

The wet Atlantic air banked against the Pennine slopes to the east of the city produces extreme cloudiness; on about 70 percent of the days of the year, the afternoon sky is at least half covered by cloud. This limits sunshine, which was further reduced by air pollution during the decades of the city’s industrial prosperity. Up to about 1960 the city centre recorded the abnormally low total of only 970 sunshine hours annually. Foul fogs were another problem of the man-made industrial climate. Manchester then had an average of 55 days of serious fog in a typical year, and the death rate from respiratory diseases surged following these fog episodes. But the city’s peculiarly sunless and fog-bound winter climate was transformed by effective air-pollution control. Annual hours of bright sunshine have risen to about 1,300, and serious fogs have been reduced to about 20 days each year. This has been a major factor in reducing the incidence of two formerly endemic diseases, bronchitis and tuberculosis, which had given the city an unenviably high death rate.

Architecture and the face of the city

Manchester’s extraordinary 19th-century wealth left a permanent record in an architectural variety and virtuosity that makes the city centre an outdoor museum of styles from Greek classical to early tall steel-framed structures. Commercial firms vied to commission the best architects to design offices and warehouses of ornate splendour, and the public buildings were intended to outshine London’s. Thus, banks occupied Greek temples or turreted Gothic castles, and warehouses were given the facades of Venetian palaces. The offices of the Ship Canal Company were given a Grecian colonnade perched high above street level, and the Town Hall, designed by Alfred Waterhouse, is regarded as perhaps the ultimate in Victorian Gothic fantasies.

Conserving this priceless architectural heritage has presented great problems. Many of the buildings are protected landmarks but are unsuited to modern commercial needs, though some imaginative conversions have taken place. The Royal Exchange, once the hub of the textile trade, contains as the old trading floor the largest room in Europe; it now houses a freestanding theatre-in-the-round. The old Central Station, a huge glazed train shed, has been converted into an exhibition centre. A complex of buildings at Castlefield, including the world’s oldest railway station, has been developed as a regional museum of science and industry.

A wave of office redevelopment in the 1960s and ’70s added many steel-and-glass structures to the Manchester skyline. One of the earliest is Manchester’s tallest building, the Co-operative Insurance Society tower, at 400 feet (122 metres).

As new shopping centres began to develop in outlying areas, the level of retail trade in the city centre suffered. This led to the development of a large enclosed shopping precinct, the Arndale Centre, which contains a significant proportion of the total retail activity in the city centre. As it grew, however, older shopping streets suffered by the shift of businesses, so that parts of the city core have a run-down, half-abandoned appearance; but this is part of the process by which the Victorian central business district is reshaping itself to meet modern needs.

The people

Greater Manchester is one of the world’s most compact and crowded metropolitan areas. The overcrowded conditions explain the chief demographic trend of recent years, that of population loss by out-migration. Manchester city itself lost almost one-third of its population to migration between 1961 and 1981, one of the highest rates of migrational loss among all British cities. Natural increase is below the national average, for the migration is chiefly of young families of child-bearing age, leaving an older population in the core cities. Thus overall population decline is serious. This trend is also widespread in the other old industrial towns of the conurbation.

Much of this migration is to suburban areas, though there is also an interregional loss of population to more prosperous areas of Britain, and the “dormitory” districts of the fringes (and especially the geographic and historic county of Cheshire to the south) are growing strongly. Thus, the metropolitan area is decentralizing quickly, and its overall population trend is more favourable than those of its major constituent cities. Total metropolitan population has been virtually stable since 1961, with the low rate of natural increase being entirely offset by net out-migration.

Increasingly, families living in decaying substandard housing have been rehoused. Manchester has exported population to overspill estates at Middleton and Hyde, and Salford families have moved to Worsley. All of these are large schemes, involving population transfers of at least 10,000, and all lie within the metropolitan area. There also has been movement to the New Town project at Warrington, a major development point on the Ship Canal, 18 miles (29 km) west of Manchester. Within the city there has been massive redevelopment. The Hulme scheme of the early 1970s involved the rehousing of a population of almost 60,000.

Like many British cities, Manchester experimented in the 1960s with high-rise housing to accommodate families from the slum clearance zones. In the past, row houses had been the traditional housing form in low-income areas of the inner city, and the new high-rise schemes proved to be a social failure—some were demolished within a decade of construction. The emphasis of city planning was shifted from total clearance and replacement of old housing to its conservation and improvement through Housing Action Areas. Thus, old housing is given new life, and the community is kept together: where new dwellings are built, they are the modern equivalent of the traditional row houses.

The out-migration has been partly counterbalanced by in-migration from Commonwealth countries, particularly from the West Indies and the Indian subcontinent. Manchester itself has a multiracial immigrant community, which is chiefly concentrated in the Moss Side area. Some of the textile towns, too, have attracted Commonwealth immigrants, chiefly Indian and Pakistani textile workers. The metropolitan area as a whole has been one of the main magnets to Commonwealth immigrants in Britain.

The economy of Manchester

Industry

There has long been a contrast between the economies of the core city (Manchester itself, together with the industrial areas of Salford and Stretford) and the textile towns that form the northern and eastern margins of the urban cluster. Until the 1960s the latter had narrowly based economies largely dependent on the textile trade, which still provided more than half the employment of women. The former, however, had an economy of greater diversity: manufacturing was varied (including printing and the production of engineering and electrical products, chemicals, and clothing), and a broad range of service activities gave stability to the economy. This old pattern of contrast was breaking down in the late 20th century, as the core city lost factory employment at a rapid rate and became increasingly dependent on services while the peripheral towns acquired greater industrial diversity and thus a securer (and locally expanding) manufacturing base.

The entire metropolitan area of Greater Manchester has undergone major economic changes. The textile industry has been reduced to a mere vestige of the enormous manufacture that once underpinned the economy of the city. It continues to decline, despite diversification from cotton to man-made fibres and resultant close links with the chemical industry. The surviving mills have been reequipped for high productivity, but this, too, has had the effect of reducing labour demand. The clothing industry has declined with the textile industry but has remained a significant employer of women, chiefly in many small workshops in the inner city. Much more serious has been the sharp contraction of more modern industries that until the 1970s had served as replacements for the old industries. The decline in engineering, one of the main sources of jobs for men, is especially serious. Within the chemical industry the main growth has been in the production of fine chemicals and pharmaceuticals, with research laboratories located in parkland at Alderley, on the southern fringe. The paper and printing industry is stable, reflecting Manchester’s status as the second centre, after Greater London, of newspaper production in England.

Manchester’s economy has been moving from an industrial to a postindustrial nature. Services have become the chief employers, with the “thinking” rather than the manual services undergoing expansion. Some services, such as transport and distribution, are declining, but the professions, finance and banking, administration, and general personal services are growing with explosive force. Most of these growth points require well-qualified workers: the declining demand for manual skills and the shift to mental skills have caused selective unemployment, which is clearly a persistent social problem.

The conversion of Manchester into a service city is not an entirely new trend, since the city has been the regional capital of northwestern England for two centuries. The process, however, has been quickened by the rapid decline of industry in the inner city. Clearance of the slum tracts and their subsequent redevelopment have removed entire urban districts that once housed many hundreds of small firms. Nearly half of the employment once available in manufacturing in the inner areas has disappeared. In these districts a disadvantaged and ethnically mixed community experiences unemployment rates that are at least twice the city average.

Part of this loss of factory work in the inner city has been the result of the movement of firms to the fringe of the urban area, not only to planned industrial estates but also to the cotton mills left empty by the decline of the textile trades. Hundreds of mills have been converted to other uses, thereby providing the cheap factory-floor space necessary to young and struggling firms, so that the textile towns have in some degree replaced the inner city as an industrial nursery in which it is possible for new firms to become established.

Trade and transportation

Apart from its massive volume of retail and wholesale trade, Manchester has a number of distinctions as a regional service centre. It houses a branch of the Bank of England and the Northern Stock Exchange, the headquarters of the Co-operative Wholesale Society, and one of the major provincial crown courts. Its airport at Ringway, 10 miles (16 km) south of the city, is the leading British terminal outside London in the volume of international traffic handled and in the diversity of both its European and its transatlantic services. Ringway is owned by the city and is the country’s second airfreight terminal.

From 1894 to 1986 Manchester was a seaport, with a group of docks at the head of the 37-mile (60-km) Ship Canal. The growth in the size of shipping, together with changes in the pattern of maritime trade, led to a slow decline in the use of the waterway, and by the mid-1980s the upper parts had been closed to traffic. The lower reaches of the canal remained open and busy, serving the needs of bankside industries, especially the huge oil-refining and chemicals complex at Ellesmere Port. New industrial and commercial uses for the derelict terminal docks have been developed.

Public transport in Greater Manchester is coordinated by a Passenger Transport Executive, and it relies heavily on an integrated system of bus routes. The system faces private competition, however, especially from flexible minibus services. The city is also served by a dense network of commuter rail services.

Administration and social conditions

Government

Although the metropolitan area of Greater Manchester is a single cohesive socioeconomic unit, its local government has been fragmented for much of its history. The dominant unit is the metropolitan borough of Manchester, which carries the financial burden of supplying central facilities (major museums and libraries and the airport) for the area as a whole. There are nine other metropolitan boroughs, each independent and able to develop its own social, educational, and planning policies.

The Local Government Act of 1972 (in effect from 1974) created a metropolitan county of Greater Manchester, divided into metropolitan boroughs, including the city of Manchester. The county administered a number of general services (e.g., strategic planning, transport, and recreation), while the boroughs handled the main range of services (e.g., education, housing, and most personal and household services). The metropolitan county of Greater Manchester lost its administrative powers in 1986, however. Some of the general services that it had provided were taken over by specialist successor authorities, but many of its administrative powers passed to the city of Manchester and the other individual metropolitan boroughs, which are in effect now unitary authorities.

Education and social services

Of all Manchester’s pioneer cultural achievements, none has prospered more than the Victoria University of Manchester. After its foundation in 1851 at a site in Quay Street, the college received a charter in 1872 and began growth on its present site in 1873. By 1880 it had combined with member colleges in both Leeds and Liverpool to form a federal institution. Since becoming a separate body again in 1903, the university has grown to become one of the largest in Britain. The faculty of technology has become autonomous as an Institute of Science and Technology, and, with the establishment of the University of Salford in 1967 and the growth of a large polytechnic, there are now four institutions of higher learning in and near the city.

The city provides the complete range of social and welfare services within the British system, but its special strength lies in health services and medical education. The Victoria University of Manchester has the largest medical school in western Europe; it is linked to three large groups of teaching hospitals that provide specialist treatment. One of the most distinguished of these is the Christie Hospital, a major centre for cancer research.

Cultural life

The cultural life of Manchester suffered some losses during the 20th century. For example, its prestigious newspaper, The Guardian, has (in the Mancunian view) fled to London and dropped the city’s name from its title. However, the Lowry, an architecturally innovative centre for the visual and performing arts, opened in 2000 and signaled the city’s cultural revival at the beginning of the 21st century. Music maintains its strength. The Hallé concerts reached their centenary in 1958, and the orchestra continues to maintain its international reputation.

The city has a large number of private, public, and specialized libraries. The municipal library, with more than 25 branches, has its headquarters at St. Peter’s Square. Manchester also houses the notable John Ryland University Library (now part of the Victoria University of Manchester library) and Chetham’s Library, one of the first free public libraries in Europe.

Among the galleries and museums, the Whitworth Art Gallery and the Manchester City Art Gallery are particularly well known. The latter contains a fine collection of paintings, sculpture, silver, and pottery and is supplemented by several branch galleries. The Manchester Museum has special exhibits of Egyptian and Japanese objects, as well as natural history collections and an aquarium. The Museum of Science and Industry highlights Manchester’s industrial heritage.

There are two major football (soccer) clubs. And, at the grounds of the Old Trafford Cricket Club, test matches are played against overseas cricket teams visiting Great Britain. Manchester also has an active pop music scene, which revolved around Factory Records in the 1980s and has given rise to several influential rock bands, including Joy Division, the Smiths, and Oasis.

History

Early settlement and medieval growth

Early in the Roman conquest of Britain, a fort was established (AD 78–86) on a low sandstone plateau at the confluence of the Rivers Medlock and Irwell. In its first form, the fort was a simple field fortification of shallow ditches, earth banks, and timber palisades. By the early 3rd century, it had been rebuilt in stone and contained a number of buildings; excavations have uncovered evidence of substantial activity. A vicus (Latin: “row of houses”) of merchants and craftsmen had grown outside the walls, along the well-made road to York. But Roman occupation left no permanent imprint, except to give the modern city its name, derived from Mamucium (“Place of the Breastlike Hill”). There is no evidence of occupation after the 4th century, and the site seems to have lain empty for 500 years. In 919 the West Saxon king Edward the Elder sent a force to repair the Roman site as a defense against the Norsemen, and some traces of this reoccupation have been discovered. By then, however, the growth of Manchester had recommenced almost a mile from the fort, at the junction of the Rivers Irk and Irwell near the present cathedral.

The Norman barony of Manchester was one of the largest landholdings in Lancashire, and its lords built a fortified hall close to the church. During the 13th century, Manchester began its transition from village to town, and sometime before 1301 a charter was granted. Although Manchester was acquiring regional importance, it was subordinate to its near neighbour, Salford, which was the capital manor of the hundred (district) and which had an earlier borough charter. The full development of the medieval borough followed the establishment in 1421 of a college of priests to take charge of the church. Part of the college survives as Chetham’s Hospital, while a free church school set up in 1506 became the Manchester Grammar School in 1515, founded by Hugh Oldham, bishop of Exeter.

Evolution of the modern city

By the 16th century Manchester was a flourishing market borough important in the wool trade, exporting cloth to Europe via London. By 1620 a new industrial era had begun with the weaving of fustian, a cloth with a linen warp but a cotton weft. This was the origin of the cotton industry that was to transform southern Lancashire after 1770. As the trade grew, Manchester expanded and “improvements” were added, including the fine square and church of St. Ann (1712).

From the 1760s onward, growth quickened with the onset of the Industrial Revolution. The first canal, bringing cheap coal from Worsley, reached the town in 1762; later extended, it linked Manchester with the Mersey and Liverpool by 1776 and so served the import-export needs of the cotton industry. Manchester’s first cotton mill was built in the early 1780s. By 1800 Manchester was said to be “steam mill mad,” and by 1830 there were 99 cotton-spinning mills. The world’s first modern railway, the Liverpool and Manchester, was opened in 1830, and by the 1850s the greater part of the present railway system of the city was complete. Despite its growth to a population of more than 70,000 by 1801, the town had no system of government and was still managed, like a village, by a manorial court leet (a court held semiannually by the lord of the manor or his steward to conduct local government). A police force was established in 1792, but not until 1838 did a charter of incorporation set up an elected council and a system of local government.

Manchester’s economic history during the second half of the 19th century was one of growth and diversification. The city became less important as a cotton-manufacturing centre than as the commercial and financial nucleus of the trade; on the floor of the Royal Exchange, the yarn and cloth of the entire industry was bought and sold. From an early textile-machinery industry, many specialized types of engineering developed. Products included steam engines and locomotives, armaments, machine tools, and, later, those of electrical engineering. The opening of the 37-mile Manchester Ship Canal (1894) linked Manchester, via the Mersey estuary at Eastham, to the Irish Sea and the world markets beyond. By 1910 Manchester had become the fourth port of the country, and alongside the docks, at Trafford Park, the first (and still the largest) industrial estate in Britain was developed. New industries also took sites there, with a prominent role played by such American companies as Westinghouse and Ford, the latter moving to Essex in 1929. At its height, more than 50,000 workers were accommodated within factories of the estate, though that number later declined.

The Manchester of the 19th century was a city of enormous vitality not only in its economic growth but also in its political, cultural, and intellectual life. The Manchester Guardian became Britain’s leading provincial newspaper, achieving international influence, while the Hallé Orchestra was its equal in the world of music. Owens College (now known as Victoria University of Manchester) became the nucleus of the first and largest of the great English civic universities, while the academic success of the Manchester Grammar School made it something of a model in the development of selective secondary education in England. Politically, Victorian Manchester often led the nation: in the agitation for parliamentary reform and for free trade, its influence was crucial. The Peterloo Massacre of 1819 arose from a peaceful political assembly, held on fields near the city, to demand parliamentary reform. In the period 1842–44 the German social philosopher Friedrich Engels lived in Manchester, and his influential book Condition of the Working Class in England (1845) was based on his experiences there. Among its other intellectual achievements were John Dalton’s development of the atomic theory as the foundation of modern chemistry and the work of the “Manchester school” in the application of economic principles to the problems of commerce, industry, and government.

There was a price to be paid for this precocious growth. In its urban fabric, inner Manchester remained essentially a 19th-century city, and by the late 20th century it faced massive redevelopment problems. An industrial collar of obsolescent factory zones encircled the city centre, and huge areas of old slum housing survived with little renewal into the 1960s. Manchester, then, is a city in transition: its face is being transformed by redevelopment, and its dependence on the insecure base of the textile industries is declining with the growth of a much broader economic structure.

Source: https://www.britannica.com/topic/University-of-Manchester

20 Top Facts About Manchester You Never Knew

1. Manchester was named after breasts

When the Romans first arrived in Manchester in AD79, they built a fort on the banks of the River Medlock. The settlement was between two hills, that in their opinion looked a bit like breasts.

They named the place ‘Mamucium’, which translated as “breast shaped hills”. Much later in history when The Normans arrived to establish a new settlement, they kept part of the original name but added Chester at the end, denoting that it was a site of a Roman fort. The city from that point forward became know as Manchester.

However, these facts are at odds with the infamous Mark Kennedy’s Afflecks Palace mosaic in the city’s Northern Quarter that states that on the sixth day, God created Manchester!

2. Birthplace of the Industrial Revolution

Manchester is where the Industrial Revolution first started and it is the world’s first proper industrial city.

At the beginning of the 18th century, Manchester was a picturesque market town, with a population spread across only a small number of streets. Demand for cotton and coal changed all that and rapidly transformed the place into the world’s first industrial city.

The opening of the Bridgewater Canal in 1761 to transport coal from the mines in Worsley to Manchester marks the beginning of the Industrial Revolution.

The invention of steam powered engines and the growing demand for cotton, rocketed Manchester to the forefront of the global textile industry.

Manchester grew at an astounding rate, and the booming economy attracted migrants from all over the UK. Manchester was given city status in 1853.

3. Cottonopolis

In the 19th century Manchester was nicknamed “Cottonopolis”.

The advent of the world’s first steam-driven textile mills spurred many cotton mills to start opening around the city. By 1853, there were a total of 108 mills in Manchester.

The hills that surround Manchester are green for a reason. The ever so damp climate provided the area with the optimum conditions for processing cotton. The moist atmosphere prevented the cotton fibres from splitting and the nearby rivers and waterways powered the mills and factories.

80% of the world’s cotton would be manufactured in the city and then transported via the world’s first railway to the docks in Liverpool for distribution across the globe.

By 1894, the Victorians had built a canal to transport textiles and other goods to Liverpool. The Manchester Ship Canal is a wide, 36-mile long river navigation. At the time of its completion, it was the largest navigation canal in the world, and made Manchester one of the largest ports in Britain.

If you ever go to Australia and are looking for any kind of textile such as bed sheets, you will be sent to the ‘Manchester Department’ of the store. This is all because the textiles would arrive in Australia by ship and all the boxes had ‘Manchester’ printed on them.

4. Curry Mile

Manchester’s Curry Mile in Rusholme hosts the largest concentration of Indian restaurants outside of the Asian continent.

The famous Curry Mile however is only actually about half a mile long!

You’ll find a huge selection of Indian restaurants where you can get a tasty curry at all times of the night and day. It also has a great selection of Middle Eastern restaurants too, so there is plenty of choice if you are after something spicy.

5. Splitting the Atom

Manchester is famous for its universities. Many famous scientists studied and worked there and many students went on to do great things.

Physics and chemistry are areas that put the city on the scientific map. John Dalton worked and lived in the city as did James Chadwick and JJ Thompson.

In 1917, Ernest Rutherford who was teaching at the University of Manchester split the atom for the first time.

This significant breakthrough has revolutionised the world in many ways, enabling the development of nuclear power and techniques such radiotherapy to treat cancer.

Born in New Zealand, he was Chair of Physics at the University, and in 1908 won the Nobel prize for Chemistry.

Another famous scientist, James Joule was born in neighbouring City of Salford in Greater Manchester and lived south of the city in Sale.

Also talking of science, The University of Manchester is the place where graphene was discovered in 2004. A material 200 times stronger than steel and lighter than paper, it’s a game changer for the future as its uses are so wide-ranging.

6. First Public Library

Chetham’s library, near Victoria Station was the world’s first free library. It was opened to the public in Manchester in 1653.

It has been in use ever since and holds 100,000 books including 60,000 that were published before 1851.

7. The Midland Hotel

The Midland Hotel is one of the most famous hotels in Manchester. It’s located opposite St Peters Square, near to Central Library and Manchester Central Exhibition Centre.

There are many reasons why The Midland hotel is famous, but being the birthplace of Rolls Royce is the one you’ll hear the most often.

The hotel is where Mr Rolls a car salesman and Mr Royce an engineer, first met in 1904. It was at The Midland that they agreed to found their automotive company, Rolls-Royce.

They launched the Silver Ghost in 1907, which was their first car. Rolls Royce Merlin engines also powered the legendary RAF Spitfire planes that helped win the Battle of Britain and defeat the Nazis in World War II.

Rumour has it that The Midland Hotel was one of Adolf Hilter’s favourite English buildings. In fact, he was so enamoured with the beauty of the building that it has been claimed he planned to set it up as a Third Reich HQ in the city and ordered the Luftwaffe to avoid bombing it during The Blitz. Whether this is actually true is very difficult to verify, but has been widely discussed.

8. The First Computer Programme

‘Baby’, the world’s first electronic stored computer programme was built and designed at the University of Manchester.

The Manchester ‘Baby’ was also called the Small-Scale Experimental Machine (SSEM). It was built by Frederic C. Williams, Tom Kilburn, and Geoff Tootill, and ran its first program on 21 June 1948.

It was not intended to be a practical computing engine, but a testbed for the Williams tube, the first truly random-access memory. Described as ‘small and primitive’ 50 years after its creation, it was the first working machine to contain all the elements essential for a modern electronic computer.

As soon as the Baby had demonstrated the success of its design, a new project was started at the university to develop it into a full-scale operational machine, the Manchester Mark 1.

The Mark 1 quickly became the prototype for the world’s first commercially available general-purpose computer, the Ferranti Mark 1.

Baby weighs about 500kg and is on display at Manchester’s Museum of Science and Industry.

9. Socialist Politics

Manchester is a bustling centre for capitalism, but it was once the scene of bread and labour riots with working and non-titled classes demanding a greater political recognition. One such gathering ended with the brutal Peterloo massacre of 1819 which resulted in the death of 18 people.

The economic school of Manchester Capitalism was developed in Manchester and was known as ‘Manchester Liberalism’. From 1838 onwards, Manchester was the centre of the Anti-Corn Law League.

Manchester has a notable place in the history of Marxism and left-wing politics too. It was the subject of Friedrich Engels‘ book, The Condition of the Working Class in England in 1844.

Engels spent much of his life in and around Manchester and when the co-author of his Communist Manifesto Karl Marx visited, they often met up at Chetham’s Public Library.

The books Marx was reading at the time are still available in the library, and you can still see the seat in the window where the German philosophers, Engels and Marx would meet up.

10. Nobel Prize Winners

After Oxford and Cambridge, Manchester has some of the best universities in the country. The University of Manchester has an impressive 25 Nobel laureates amongst its staff and alumni.

These include: Joseph John Thomson, Ernest Rutherford, James Chadwick, Arthur Harden, John Cockcroft, William Bragg, Niels Bohr, Archibald V Hill and Alexander Todd.

11. The World’s First Passenger Railway (and Railway Accident)

The Liverpool and Manchester Railway was opened in 1830. It was the first railway built primarily to transport passengers and to be powered exclusively by steam.

The first station was situated on Liverpool Road, which is now forms part of the Manchester Museum of Science and Industry.

Unfortunately, the opening day of the railway was marred with disaster. On 15 September 1830 the MP for Liverpool and former Cabinet minister, William Huskisson, alighted from his steam locomotive carriage and became the first person ever to die in a railway accident.

Huskisson was attending the opening of the Manchester and Liverpool railway, along with a number of other high-profile dignitaries.  When his train had stopped for water, Huskisson decided to go to greet the Duke of Wellington, who was sat in another carriage. As he climbed up into the duke’s carriage he lost his balance and fell straight into the path of Stephenson’s Rocket, which was travelling down the adjacent track.

12. Madchester Rave On

Music is a very important part of Mancunian culture.

Manchester is home to some of the biggest bands the world has ever seen. Amongst them you can find OasisThe SmithsThe Chemical BrothersThe ChameleonsA Certain Ratio10ccSimply RedHermans Hermits and Take That.

The Bee Gees Gib brothers also grew up in Manchester, having moved from the Isle of Man at an early age and rock legend Lemmy from Motorhead started his career in Manchester in the early 60s, playing in bands while living in Stockport, Prestwich, Wythenshawe, and Cheetham Hill.

[See local artist, Sue Willis’s Madchester Music Map to see all the other famous Manchester bands.]

Salford, Manchester’s neighbouring city and Greater Manchester borough has also spawned some world class bands too including The HolliesHappy MondaysJoy Division and New Order. [VIDEO: Watch the Salford Music Map video to see all the other famous Salford bands.]

Manchester is also famous for it’s buzzing nightlife, and has seen many legendary nightclubs open and close over the years including The HaciendaThe Twisted WheelThe BoardwalkSankys SoapDiscotheque RoyaleThe Banshee and Jilly’s Rockworld to name but a few.

13. Captain America Movie Was Filmed in Manchester

The filming of 2011’s Marvel’s comic book adaptation Captain America: The First Avenger took place in Manchester.  Much of the film was shot in the UK around Dale Street in Manchester’s Northern Quarter.   It was chosen as the buildings closely resembled 1940s New York City.  Some parts of the movie were also filmed in Stanley Dock in Liverpool.

Manchester has also been used in the filming of Peaky BlindersQueer as Folk Shameless, The Royale Family, Cold Feet, Life on Mars, Snatch, Sherlock Holmes, 24 Hour Party PeopleThe 51st State and the Netflix TV series, The Crown.

14. The Suffragette Movement Started in Manchester

The Women’s Social and Political Union was founded in 1903, in Manchester, by Emmeline Pankhurst.

Emmeline was a famous political activist responsible for suffragette movement that helped give British females the right to voteShe was recently listed as one of the 100 most important people of the 20th century.

15. Coronation Street

Manchester is home to Coronation Street, the world’s longest running TV soap opera.

Coronation Street has been on the box since 1960. It follows the regular daily lives of people in the fictional town of Weatherfield and is set in Manchester. It has starred huge names including Liz Dawn and William Roache and has been praised for its realistic storylines.

Any road, the set is located at ITVs Trafford Wharf Studios in MediaCityUK.

16. Birthplace of the Football League

Manchester is the birthplace of the world’s first professional football league.

As well as being the home of two world-famous Premiere Football teams, Manchester United and Manchester City, the original Football League was created at Manchester’s Royal Hotel, Piccadilly in 1888.

17. Never Mind The Buzzcocks

Following an invitation from the Bolton based Manchester band Buzzcocks, on the 4th of June 1976, London punk band The Sex Pistols performed at Manchester’s Free Trade Hall. This legendary concert has gone down in music history as one of the most important British gigs ever.

Tickets were sold for 50p and only 42 people went to that show (although many more ‘claim’ to have been there). The venue wasn’t even at a third of capacity, yet the impact of the show inspired many in the audience who then went on to make their own mark on the music history.

Amongst the people that went to that gig that night, were members of bands like The Smiths, Magazine, Joy Division and the The Fall. Also in the audience were some other famous names from the music industry including Tony Wilson, future owner of Manchester nightclub, The Hacienda and Factory Records.

18. Alan Turing, Who Cracked The Enigma Code, Used to Work in Manchester

Alan Turing, is considered the father of modern computing.

He taught at The University of Manchester, but he is most famously known for decrypting the German Enigma code. According to Prime Minister, Winston Churchill this breakthrough shortened WWII by 2 years and helped the Allies win the war.

Turing was a gay man and in 1952, he was arrested for being homosexual which was illegal at the time. His criminal record prevented him working for the government. At the age of 41, just a  few years later, he sadly took his own life by cyanide poisoning.

In May 2012, a bill was put before the Houses of Lords and almost 60 years later in 2013, Turing received a Royal Pardon from Queen Elizabeth II.

A statue of him with the Newton apple is located in Sackville Gardens near Manchester’s Gay Village.

Alan Turing will feature on the Bank of England’s new £50 note due to enter circulation in 2021

19. The New Union Pub is One of the Oldest Gay Venues in the World

Canal Street in Manchester is the site of Manchester’s famous gay village. The pedestrianised street, which runs along the side of the Rochdale Canal, is lined with gay bars and restaurants. At both day and night the street is popular with visitors, including many LGBT tourists from all over the world.

Manchester is one of the most LGBT-friendly cities in the world and has been for many decades.

The New Union Pub was the first gay venue on Canal Street where it hosted drag shows during WWII, over a decade before Alan Turing was prosecuted.

20. Media City UK

What was once the long disused docklands of Salford Quays, has now been transformed into a world-class business, cultural and residential hub. Home to the BBC and ITVMedia City UK is now a thriving creative centre for digital marketing, business, media and broadcasting.

The 200-acres development situated on the banks of the Manchester Ship Canal is also a base for the University of Salford. The land Media City occupies was originally part of the Port of Manchester and Manchester Docks. This is where goods including cotton and textiles were loaded onto ships for distribution around the world. The location therefore holds an important place in Manchester and Salford’s industrial past.

The area attracts businesses from all over the world and by focusing on broadcasting, digital media, innovation and creative design, Manchester has established a solid bedrock where it can serve the modern demands of the UK and the world for future generations.

Manchester has always been at the forefront of innovation, but is digital media and technology Manchester’s replacement for cotton? We certainly think so.

Source: https://www.aqueous-digital.co.uk/articles/20-top-facts-about-manchester-you-never-knew/

Come away with me

A Conversation With … Norah Jones

I’m always a bit apprehensive when I’m interviewing artists who have achieved huge success in an industry littered with unfulfilled aspirations of millions. 

There’s something different in play. I’m not talking money, I’m talking the vibe that comes from crossing the big music divide and finding yourself in control. Then it becomes about ­’where do I go from here?’ Norah Jones is all about the music, her music, the players, the internal design, the words and shape of songs. This I can get with!

Jones gave an impromptu performance at Toronto’s Jazz Bistro in front of media showcasing her latest endeavor, Day Breaks, due October 2016 (Blue Note/Universal). Six songs rolled from the house system, then Jones took the stage for an interview with scribe Nicholas Jennings before finally slipping behind the grand piano and playing a few of her own. I caught up with Jones early afternoon for this conversation.

 Bill King: When I was considering what to ask you I began reflecting on the late Bruce Lundvall, the former head of Blue Note Records and the gentleman who signed you. It must have been seven or eight years back at the Festival du Jazz de Montreal and Bruce was being honored when we stroll the hallways observing the history of Blue Note through album covers. During our conversation I asked him what was his greatest career regret and he replied, not signing Eva Cassidy. He didn’t make that mistake with you.

Norah Jones: I remember that. Honestly with Bruce, God I miss him. When I first met him I played this three song demo, a couple jazz standards and this one written by Jesse Harris ­ a country kinda pop song ­ it wasn’t jazz really. He listened to the three songs and after it was done he asked if I wanted to be a jazz singer or a pop singer because that one song is different. I’m sitting there in Blue Note records of course and say, a jazz singer! I was just starting to explore different kinds of music and still wasn’t sure ­ I’m twenty­one, just moved to New York to play jazz and kinda disillusioned doing it, then I started playing these singer/songwriter clubs where people were actually listening,.

Bruce gave me $6,000 to make more demos and find a sound. We did that and several of those recordings ended up on my first record; “Don’t Know Why” was one and he called me after a few weeks listening to it because he hadn’t decided to sign me yet and says, “you know Norah that song ‘Lone Star’ on here is a country song but I love it, I don’t care, I’m going to sign you, it doesn’t matter it’s fine, let’s do it.” It’s the moment he decided it wasn’t a straight record but he wanted to continue with this.

B.K: But they’ve never been straight jazz records.

N.J: Jazz is a tough term.

B.K: Are there times you find it confining to be called a jazz singer as opposed to just a singer/songwriter?

N.J: I really don’t care, people have different thoughts when they say those things and may have a different image in their minds. But for me I started out singing jazz and playing piano, that is definitely where I come from. People call my first record a jazz record . I don’t think it is. It just happened to be on Blue Note and it’s very jazz influenced. I sing like a jazz singer because that’s where I come from.

B.K: Let’s say the first phase of jazz singers, the Sarah Vaughans and Ella Fitzgeralds, they were basically interpreting songs bringing the story out of the lyric. They even called Sinatra a jazz singer but I didn’t hear that much embellishment.

N.J: Really? Sarah Vaughan and Ella, that’s some embellishment.

B.K: I’m referencing the early years when they just delivered the song rather than add many inflections.

N.J: I was most influenced by mid to late Billie Holiday.

B.K: The coming fall release is Day Breaks. Does this have more in common with the early sessions?

N.J: I haven’t played that much piano and this is more of a return to the piano. That has been the most fun thing about this album. It started out in my mind I’m going to record with Wayne Shorter and Brian Blade because we had done a song at the Kennedy Centre for the Blue Note Anniversary concert. It started out, I’m going to make music with them ­ how it will be super rhythmic, I wanted to float over the top and wanted to have good songs. I didn’t want to sing old songs. I didn’t feel the need to do an old standards record. I started writing songs for us and some less that direction and some more that direction. All of the songs were very piano driven, that was the main thread.

B.K: After all the previous hits I heard you sing “Tennessee Waltz,” ­ and that was beautiful.

N.J: I love that and love singing old songs.

B.K: You are so comfortable with that song. You have no issues with country music.

N.J: Part of the reason I stopped playing piano so much was I was writing certain songs on guitar. Some songs sounded good on piano some sounded too “pianoee” if that makes any sense. When I write on piano I kinda gravitate towards county blues, it’s the types of chords and voicings ­ I don’t play pop piano.

B.K: The same when you were young?

N.J: I didn’t play country music when I was young. I grew up in Texas and it’s definitely in the water. It was Willie Nelson and Hank Williams and that was about it. I got into jazz in about the seventh grade and from that point on that’s what I was trying to play.

B.K: I interviewed Diana Krall early in her career ­-1998 – and talked about what it was like to move from playing in a lounge to a main stage where people are watching your every mannerism, evaluating every phrase and note.

N.J: When no one’s listening, then everyone’s listening?

B.K: She also said it gave her the opportunity to develop a repertoire and learn to sing.

N.J: It’s paid practice. When I was in Texas in college and about a year and a half I played in this restaurant  twice on weekends. I’d drive into Dallas and play. It was like a nice date night Italian restaurant, kind of big though but they had a grand piano tucked away in a corner and I’d sing. Most of the time no one was listening, or if they were, no clapping then every once and awhile someone would clap after a song then everyone would look up from their diner and start clapping . That seemed more awkward, I almost didn’t want that to happen, it made me blush. It was the best gig I ever had to learn how to sing and play at the same time.

B.K: What about the first time you arrived on stage and the audience was focused on you?

N.J: When I first made it to New York I was kinda a newbie playing mostly jazz brunches, restaurants that had a piano and still nobody even listened that much. Then I started playing the Living Room with Jesse Harris, originally just singing his songs and once in awhile I’d throw one of mine in. That ended up being the first record from that experience and that band. When I played the Living Room the first time with Jesse I thought, this is so cool. People are listening, they are here to listen.

B.K: The beauty of that was “Don’t Know Why,” a massive hit made for radio.

N.J: That was a weird one to became a hit, I love the song.

B.K: It connected with people big time. What was also interesting, “Sunrise.” Why I’m mentioning is I heard that more than “Don’t Know Why” because I wasn’t tuning in radio. “Sunrise” was such a public piece.

N.J: In which way?

B.K.: At the Paramount Theatre, eventually Scotiabank Theatre, it was the only song you heard everytime the doors opened. It was a big sound and like a welcome greeting. “Sunrise” was played in so many stores around Toronto it was near impossible to escape.

N.J: Really ? That’s so weird. It’s sort of a country song I think. I love it and love that recording too, I thought it was so unique.

B.K: There was also that Toronto connection with guitarist Kevin Breit.

N.J: Yes, he played on my first record too. I loved playing with him and we toured a lot after that first record. Then after the second he said, alright, I’m done.

B.K: Do you still enjoy the touring?

N.J: I do and I’ve learned a lot about how much I can do. It’s hard when you put out an album. When I make an album I’m excited about it ­ I’m excited to play it, I’m willing to do whatever work the label throws at me, I want people to hear it and by the end of the album cycle you get a bit burned out. Since my first and second album when I got very burned out from doing everything, I’ve learned a lot and have a lot of power and control over how much I have to do and I know how to pace it. 

I also know that no matter how good a musician they are and if they aren’t a happy person on the road and fun to be around or miserable, you don’t want them on the road. You want to be surrounded by people who are excited to be there, that makes you excited to be there. If there is something going on and you aren’t feeling it, it’s almost better to cancel it. Not that I would do that, I’ve never cancelled.

Source: https://www.fyimusicnews.ca/articles/2016/08/08/conversation-norah-jones

Q&A WITH NORAH JONES

Had 2020 played out like any normal year, on April 7, Norah Jones would have been onstage at the Southbank Center in London celebrating the centennial birthday of her father, legendary classical sitar player and composer Ravi Shankar, alongside her half-sister Anoushka Shankar and British musician Nitin Sawhney. Instead, she was, like so many other artists in the early days of the worldwide COVID-19 lockdown, livestreaming from the intimacy of home, sitting at her piano and singing one of his rare Western compositions, “I Am Missing You.”

As reported in Pollstar, the nine-time Grammy- winning singer-songwriter’s performance of this song was her second most viewed online performance, with over 1.6 million views. Her first, a March 19 five-minute run through Guns N’ Roses’ “Patience,” scored over 5.1 million views across various platforms, launching an intimate, delightfully low-tech weekly at-home livestream series that Jones continued throughout the year.

The series, which included a celebration of Willie Nelson’s birthday and an appearance by Sasha Dobson, Jones’ bandmate in the alt-country band Puss n Boots, earned the veteran artist a feature article in The New Yorker and the top spot by an artist on Pollstar’s Q3 chart for 2020. By the end of September, she had posted more than 30 videos (full of originals and covers from a multitude of genres) and had received more than 18 million views.

Now, nearly two decades into her stylistically eclectic, always full of surprises and unexpected collaborations career, the singer is releasing her first-ever live album, ‘Til We Meet Again. Produced by Jones and her front-of-house engineer Jamie Landry, the collection gathers 14 performances from the extensive international touring she did from 2017-2019 at venues in the U.S., France, Italy, Brazil and Argentina. The first single, her self-penned bluesy ballad “It Was You” (which originally appeared on her 2019 studio album Begin Again), was recorded at the 2018 Ohana Festival in Dana Point, California with Pete Remm on organ, Christopher Thomas on bass and Brian Blade on drums. The album closes with Jones’ 7-minute-plus piano-vocal performance of Soundgarden’s “Black Hole Sun,” a tribute to Chris Cornell that was recorded at the Fox Theatre in Detroit just days after Cornell’s death following a performance at the same venue.

Other featured musicians include bassist Jesse Murphy, flutist Jorge Continentino, percussionist Marcelo Costa and guitarist Jesse Harris, who wrote “Don’t Know Why,” the 2002 breakthrough single from her Blue Note Records debut album, Come Away With Me, that earned three Grammys (Record of the Year, Song of the Year and Best Female Pop Performance) and remains the only Jones single to reach the top 40 of the Billboard Hot 100.

Reaching No. 1 on the Billboard 200 album chart and (as of 2016) having sold over 27 million copies worldwide, Come Away With Me sparked a global phenomenon and an ever-evolving nearly two-decade career full of critically acclaimed and commercially successful solo recordings (the most recent of which is 2020’s Pick Me Up Off The Floor) and albums with her collective bands Puss n Boots, The Little Willies (an alt-country outfit named for Nelson) and the tongue-in-cheek alt-rock ensemble El Madmo.

Her 2010 compilation …Featuring Norah Jones included collaborations with Nelson, Outkast, Herbie Hancock and Foo Fighters. Since 2018, she has released a series of collaborative singles with a variety of artists and friends, including Mavis Staples, Jeff Tweedy, Thomas Bartlett, Tarriona “Tank” Ball, Rodrigo Amarante and Brian Blade. Her discography also includes collaborations with Billie Joe Armstrong, Ryan Adams, Keith Richards and Q-Tip from A Tribe Called Quest.

Music Connection: The title of the live album makes it more than a subtle wink to this strange past year with no artists on the road. What do you miss the most about being out there?

Norah Jones: I miss playing with a band and I miss the audience and action, the thrill of live performing in the moment where every time out, you can’t go back and tweak what you’ve done or make it perfect. Believe it or not, I actually miss traveling, going through security and getting on a plane. I even had a dream recently about going on tour. It had nothing to do with music. It was just me going to the airport and feeling excited about getting in a security line and taking a long plane ride. Not being onstage for so long makes me appreciate the little things I hadn’t appreciated in a long time. I miss the tour bus, hanging after a show having drinks, all of it.

MC: What were 2020 and 2021 supposed to look like, tour and release wise?

Jones: Last year we were supposed to put out Pick Me Up Off The Floor in May but it was pushed back to July. We would have done a lot of touring behind it, including a Japan tour. It’s okay, though. I made the best of it with the 40-plus livestreams that I never would have done. Raising two little kids, those were the only chances I could say I had something to do. I hadn’t been super-active on social mediabefore, so it was nice to stay in touch with fans that way.

MC: Creatively, what do you think the upsides are for musicians during this time?

Jones: I think overall we’re going to see a really big moment in music because of the way artists are responding creatively to the pandemic era and not being on the road. There’s a lot of outside-the-box thinking and it will be amazing to see what comes out of it. I got a drum machine for Christmas and I’m trying to do some stuff with it, but I’m not sure what it’s going to evolve into yet.

MC: Did the concept of putting together a live album happen before the pandemic or was it strictly in response to it?

Jones: ‘Til We Meet Again never would have happened without it. I was listening to some live performances last summer for a charity drive that a radio show was doing. I had Jamie Landry, my soundman, send me a December 2019 show I had done in Rio. I thought it was really special and I wanted to pick some songs from it. Listening to the audience made me feel warm all over. The band was great and we had so much fun on that tour, getting in the zone. We captured the essence of what live p

laying should be all about, and the energy really translates to the recording. One of my all-time favorite live albums is Bob Marley’s Live! and I always remembered the spontaneity and energy he brought to his audience. I’ve always strived for that kind of magic and hope fans can hear it on the new album.

MC: What do you like most about the performances you included on ‘Til We Meet Again?

Jones: I have had a lot of different bands over the years, and they all have something really different. This album is focused on our most recent incarnation, stripped down to a piano trio for a lot of it, with many different arrangements and a looseness in the way we re-imagined the songs. It’s nice to have a documentation for people who didn’t get to see these recent shows. I consider it a real touchstone for me. Jamie has been recording my shows since 2012 and the performances he picked for me to consider were excellent.

MC: How did you go about choosing the material and exact performances? What were your criteria?

Jones: The starting point was the Rio shows, and we ended up focusing on that vibe with Brian Blade on drums and Jesse Murphy on upright and electric bass. There were some earlier shows with Christopher Thomas on upright bass, which I also liked. Over these few years, these trios made everything feel looser. We didn’t always perform the same show, but there was a cohesiveness to what we were doing over these few years. For the album, we tried to pick a set list that would be similar to the feel of a single full show, with old and new material. I went back and forth a lot with Jamie and listened to a long list of songs and performances. He put them in a folder for me, with two or three versions of a song, broken down for me in a way I could digest without feeling overwhelmed.

For a long time, I didn’t think I wanted to include “Cold Cold Heart,” but at the last second I heard one of our versions, and it was so great I decided to open the album with it.
    The Chris Cornell song was really special, and I always get chills when I hear it. He had just played the theatre, and I worked on an arrangement of the song the day I performed there, hoping I wouldn’t mess up the tribute. It is an amazing song and I knew I had to include it.

MC: Who were the tech people involved in recording, mixing and mastering? How is what we’re hearing now different from what the audience heard when you performed these songs?

Jones: Jamie recorded the shows from the front-of-house soundboard, then multi-tracked them into Pro Tools. I got to listen to those reference mixes. He did remixes of all the tracks so they are slightly different from what the audience heard. As far as the tech goes, our whole crew was involved in getting the sounds at the shows just right, from setting up the mics on down. After Jamie remixed the tracks, they were mastered by Steve Fallone at Sterling Sound.

MC: Were there any overdubs?

Jones: No. There were a few minor edits, like we made “Black Hole Sun” a little shorter because otherwise we couldn’t fit it on the vinyl version we’re doing.

MC: What did you learn from the experience of creating this album, and how was it different from doing a studio recording?

Jones: I will say that I love playing in studio with musicians who can still capture performances like the ones we did live. I also enjoy having the opportunity to add things piece by piece and layering vocal harmonies. Live is a totally different thing, that feeling of no do-overs. Even when you record live in the studio you get a chance to do it a few times. It’s never one and done. On stage, you know this is it, whatever it is, and if you’re too fast or slow you’ve got to go with it, own it and have to make it work.

MC: What do you love the most about live performing?

Jones: It’s almost more fun when you make a mistake, because we all just loosen up after that. I love the energy of being in the moment. It’s really special. It’s hard to have that anywhere else these days, being in an environment where you’re not filling the time between takes checking your phone. It’s also nice to feel the audience. I’ve never been super chatty onstage, but I actually like when I get heckled––or is that the wrong word. You know, when the crowd gets a little rowdy, because that inspires me to talk more.

MC: What are the keys to creating a great performance?

Jones: It’s that thing you can’t chronicle or put your finger on. As I was going back and forth between two different versions for the album, there were a few times I messed up the lyrics or made mistakes, but the performance still felt good and I couldn’t deny it was the better one. That’s the thing with any art form––everything is about that unknown extra bit of magic dust and you just hope you can capture it.

MC: These gigs you chronicle from 2017-2019…what kind of venues were they? Do you prefer playing smaller venues as opposed to arenas or large outdoor venues?

Jones: They were mostly theatres, including Live au Campo in Perpignan, France, a beautiful, weird open-air amphitheatre space. I love playing those kinds of outdoor venues, but I also love playing bars in New York. Usually when I’m off tour, I play a lot in those places, and have done them over the years with Puss n Boots and other bands. I have always enjoyed performing locally, and it’s been weird to have none of that for so long.    

MC: You put out some interesting projects in 2020. The opening line to your bio for Pick Me Up Off The Floor says you didn’t mean to make another album. What does that mean in light of the fact that it’s a pretty amazing collection?

Jones: I was trying to put out singles and doing little sessions every few months, spending two to four days with somebody. It started with one of the first trio sessions I did with Chris and Brian, which got me inspired to write. It blossomed from there, and I did it with the intention to just do singles. Over time, I realized I had a lot of leftover material that was more cohesive than I expected. We added another session and had a full album to release.

MC: One of the most fascinating aspects of your career has been your ongoing collaborations with different artists in a multitude of genres and guest appearances on their albums. Why are those so essential to you and your evolving artistry?

Jones: It’s the way I came up as a musician, learning that not everybody comes from the same type of musical background. I’ll bet a lot of artists who don’t collaborate like this would get addicted to it. I’m always learning, trying new things, picking new ideas up along the way. It’s not about consciously trying to evolve, but doing it because it’s fun.

   It was fun last year playing alone at my piano for the livestreams, but nothing excites me more than working with a band and playing with great artists. At heart, I’m a New York musician wanting to play with other musicians on various projects like I did before Come Away With Me. When that album became successful, I got a lot of calls to collaborate with heroes of mine I could never have imagined meeting, let alone creating music with.

MC: In a year, you’ll be celebrating 20 years since that debut album. What was the most surprising aspect of its incredible success?

Jones: Just the fact that it was massive was surprising for everyone involved. Blue Note did a great job promoting it. We were all caught up in a crazy whirlwind for a long time. Then coming out of it after a few years, I realized that the only way to enjoy that success was to keep making music I loved. When you start off like that, there’s always the potential to experience the fear of subsequent failure––but I never had that, because I was only searching to better myself and was not afraid to try new things.

MC: What was the hardest part about being an instant superstar?

Jones: The most difficult thing was going from being just a well-intended working musician for whom music was always something very positive to being in a realm where being very successful also made you vulnerable to people saying bad things and tearing you down. That was before social media, but there were plenty of chatrooms and message boards. There is always a tipping point with successful people in our culture where that happens. I had to learn how to not let any of that affect the way I made music. There was so much that was positive, but it was easy to let the negative things about people’s wrong perceptions of me get in my head. I learned that is all a normal thing that comes with success and I learned to turn it off to focus on what made me happy.

MC: You’ve been with the legendary Blue Note label your whole career. That’s remarkable in this day and age. Why do you think that relationship has lasted so long?

Jones: They’ve been my family and so great to me since the beginning. (The late President and CEO of the Blue Note Label Group) Bruce Lundvall was my friend and mentor and he would tell me the stuff the higher-ups (at the EMI Group) would want me to do but never made me feel I had to do anything I didn’t feel was right for me. He gave me money to make demos before deciding to sign me. He said, ‘This isn’t jazz necessarily, but I love it.” Which took a lot of pressure off for me to become some great jazz singer. I can think of 10 to 15 people at the label who were always like family, hanging out, having drinks and dinner. Only (publicist) Cem Kurosman is there from my early days, but all the new people, including (current label president) Don Was, are great. I’m really lucky I fell into that group. They’re a little section of the industry that’s really special.

MC: In line with the title of the album, how do you think 2021 will play out for you?

Jones: I’m just trying to stay creative and give myself little things to look forward to. I’ve been writing a lot of songs lately and my head’s all over the place. It would be fun to play a live show at some point, but for now, I’m just gonna roll with whatever happens. Usually I’m at my best when I try different things without intending to do something new.

Source: https://www.musicconnection.com/qa-with-norah-jones/

Norah Jones Reflects on 20 Years of Come Away with Me: ‘It Was an Intense Time’

Norah Jones is not one to live in the past.

The singer-songwriter known for her soothing serenades tells PEOPLE in this week’s issue that she much prefers to live in the moment — but now, 20 years after the release of her debut album Come Away with Me, she’s finally ready for some reflection.

«It’s nice to revisit with a calm mind,» says Jones, 43, of her whirlwind rise to fame. «I’ve come to a great place, but it was an intense time in my life. Even though it was super positive, it was a lot of bumps. But when you’re 22, things are intense, aren’t they?»

Jones is celebrating the milestone anniversary with a 44-track super deluxe version of Come Away with Me (out April 29) that’s rife with treasures for longtime fans, including 22 previously unreleased tracks, original demos and a never-before-heard version of the record called The Allaire Sessions that was ultimately shelved.

The star has also penned a lengthy series of liner notes that peel back the curtain on her mindset at the time, and describe in detail just how Come Away with Me came to be.

«It’s like an alternate universe of the record,» she says of revisiting the music that kickstarted her career. «I don’t think I got to enjoy the success of the album as much as I could have while it was happening… but it’s really nice to look back and realize that it was kind of a weird, by-chance path [to] the final record that took a lot of turns and twists. Some of it was sort of buried for so long, and it’s really beautiful that we get to let people hear it finally.»

The album, which straddled the line between jazz, pop and country, was a runaway hit upon its release in February 2002, and sold nearly 30 million copies, topped the charts in 20 countries and swept the 2003 Grammy Awards.

For more on Norah Jones, pick up the latest issue of PEOPLE, on newsstands Friday, or subscribe here

Jones had lived in New York City for less than a year when she was spotted in 2000 singing at a jazz brunch by EMI Publishing executive Shell White, who quickly helped arrange a meeting with Blue Note Records head Bruce Lundvall.

«I went to college for jazz—that was the lane I came from when I moved to New York,» she says. «The truth is, I don’t really think I was worried about genre. But when Bruce, the head of a jazz label, asked what I wanted to be, of course I said jazz singer because I didn’t want to be rejected immediately. I certainly don’t think Come Away with Me is a jazz record, and I don’t necessarily think it’s a pop record. I don’t know what you would classify it as.»

Regardless of labels, the album was a massive success—and while Jones says that that success ranged from «slightly stressful and anxiety-inducting» to «crazy fun,» she never let it put pressure on her future endeavors.

«Trying to stay on top can be exhausting, and I never wanted that for myself,» she says. «I think if you focus on making music from your heart, hopefully you can get through whatever obstacles come around.»

Adds Jones: «I sort of just told myself, ‘You know what? This is bananas. You’re never going to match it, so just play the music you want to play. Don’t try to recreate your first album because that’s going to backfire.'»

She’s taken her own advice to heart over the last 20 years, and has released six studio albums, as well as a Christmas album, in the past two decades. She’s also flexed her creative muscles with collaborations with everyone from Foo Fighters and Willie Nelson to Danger Mouse.

Jones — who will tour this spring —has also rediscovered her love for her craft through the ears of the two young children she shares with her musician husband Pete Remm, 42.

«It’s just so fun for us to see stuff through their eyes. We listen to pop radio together, which is hilarious, because my husband and I have never been… we never listened to that as adults necessarily,» she says. So far they love [my music] so that makes me happy. I just love music, and I’m excited to be able to still play.»

Source: https://people.com/music/norah-jones-reflects-on-20-years-of-come-away-with-me/

«Come Away With Me» at 20: Norah Jones reflects on «hopeful, romantic» record but won’t call it jazz

The title of Norah Jones’ debut record, «Come Away With Me,» offers truth in advertising. Its collection of songs serves as an invitation to enchantment, blending elements of jazz, country, and singer/songwriter pop to charm the listener into a world of romance, joy, and the melancholic subtleties of deep feeling.

Released on the storied Blue Note Records label in 2002, it went from selling 10,000 copies in its first week to moving over 27 million and counting. It also won eight Grammy awards, including in the categories of Album of the Year, Record of the Year, and Song of the Year. The record possesses beautiful intimacy and maturity throughout its 14 songs, and the massive hits that propelled its commercial success represent it well: «Don’t Know Why,» written by former bandmate and songwriting partner, Jesse Harris, a cover of «Turn Me On,» which was originally released by Mark Dinning in 1961 and later performed by Nina Simone, and the Norah Jones-penned title track. 

In the two decades that have followed, Jones has steadily built an oeuvre of remarkable consistency. Whether at her jazziest on «Day Breaks,» released in 2016, or experimenting with alternative pop on 2012’s «Little Broken Hearts,» Jones’ music is tasteful, elegant, and emotive, broadcasting the reality of Wynton Marsalis’ assertion that often the best music is «soft, but intense.

Jones has collaborated with Marsalis, in addition to many other musicians, including Willie Nelson, Wayne Shorter, Jeff Tweedy, Mavis Staples, Billie Joe Armstrong, and the members of her side project bands, Puss n Boots and The Little Willies. 

To celebrate the opening salvo of a brilliant career, Blue Note has released a «super deluxe edition» of «Come Away With Me.» The box set includes a remastered edition of the 2002 album, but also two discs of previously unreleased demos, outtakes, and finished songs that did not make the final cut. Most interesting and enjoyable is an alternative version of «Come Away With Me» that Jones recorded using different arrangements. Unlike the typical superstar box set, which seems superfluous, the updated and expanded «Come Away With Me» provides an essential experience for anyone interested in Jones’ artistry. 

It also contains lengthy liner notes in which the singer/songwriter explains the album’s genesis. After studying jazz piano in the late 1990s at the University of North Texas, near her hometown, she moved to New York. Armed with demos that she recorded in her high school band room, which are included on the box set, she began playing clubs and restaurants. 

On her 21st birthday, Jones played a jazz brunch with a trio at The Garage. Duly impressed by her performance, a representative from EMI publishing arranged for her to meet the late Bruce Lundvall, then president of Blue Note. Less than two years later, «Come Away With Me» hit the airwaves. 

Norah Jones and I discussed the rest of the story of «Come Away With Me,» as well as her reflections on the record over the phone.

You have such a marvelous body of work, but today we’ll spend most of our time talking about «Come Away With Me,» which was your musical introduction to most of the world. How did you develop the style that we hear on that record, combining elements of jazz, country, and singer/songwriter pop?

That’s most of it, but there is also blues and soul – all the great American musical artforms. It came from growing up in a house, listening to Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, Dolly Parton, and Willie Nelson. Then, later in high school with Bill Evans and Miles Davis, and I got deep into jazz, and that became my focus for awhile. When I moved New York, I was still deep into jazz, but was beginning to open up to other styles. I started going to the Living Room in New York City, and seeing all these songwriters. I had written a couple of songs in high school, but they embarrassed me so badly that I never wrote after that, but when I started going to singer/songwriter clubs, like the Living Room, I was inspired to start writing songs again. Also, in New York, I started missing country music. I was longing for my Texas roots. I think that’s where that came from – either missing my roots, and finding a way to bring country back into the mix, or realizing that it had been there all along. 

One of the most enjoyable aspects of this box set is to hear all of the different versions of the songs on «Come Away With Me,» and the different possibilities for the record that existed. What was your criteria for choosing the material that made it on the record – both the songs you wrote and the covers?

It was sort of an evolution. I had a meeting with Bruce. I had jazz demos, and I had songs I had written with my friend, Jesse Harris, and Bruce wanted to hear more. So, we went into the studio. I had done jazz for so long, but this band with a different sound that Jesse and me had started playing with at the Living Room, was kind of cool. So, we decided to make more recordings with that band, and that informed the recording of «Come Away With Me.» One of the demos we made was «Don’t Know Why,» we never beat the demo version. So, that’s the version that made it on the record. Once I got the record deal, I wanted to stretch out and try new things. I loved Cassandra Wilson’s record, «New Moon Daughter,» and I loved the producer Craig Street’s work. So, I asked if I could meet with him. I went into the studio with Craig and all these incredible musicians – Brian Blade on drums, Kevin Breit on guitar, Bill Frisell on guitar – and we recorded 21 songs over five days. We thought we made the record, but the label sort of rejected it. It wasn’t what they fell in love with. The demos were much more straightforward. So, I went back into the studio with producer, Arif Mardin, and he helped me put the record together from those two sessions, and we also recorded nine more songs in the same vein as the demos with same band.

Earlier you mentioned Bill Evans, and you just mentioned Cassandra Wilson. When you listen to it now, who are some of the influences that you can hear yourself assimilating into your own style?

I was always a fan of Ray Charles‘ piano playing, Aretha Franklin‘s piano playing, Bobbie Nelson, who just passed – her piano playing. Those and Bill Evans are my top four piano players who I have always tried to imitate in some way. The influence comes from, simply, listening to all their records. I wasn’t highly aware that I was doing it. It was just what I liked hearing and playing. As far as singers go, I’ve had so many influences and favorites, but I don’t think I sound like any of them on that record. More than anything I wanted to sound like myself, and I think I pulled it off on that record, even at such a young age. 

As I listened to the record over and over again recently, it stuck me how there is a quality similar to the Ernest Hemingway novel, «The Sun Also Rises.» There is a really melancholic quality to the record, but the lyrics are so romantic, and there is often a sense of joy. That makes for a moving moving emotional contrast. Was that something you were conscious of at the time, or is it something you think about now?

I definitely was thinking that exact same thing yesterday. I’ve been playing these songs to prepare for the live show we’ve put together, and I realized that I used to think that «Come Away With Me» was such a mellow record, but it is actually a sweet little record. Is it melancholy? Yes, but it also has so many hopeful notes to it. I don’t even know how to do that sometimes now (laughs), because I am usually drawn to the sad lyric – maybe it is my age now, maybe it is from just living life. But «Come Away With Me» definitely has a looking-forward, hopeful, romantic quality to it, which was age-appropriate at the time. I definitely didn’t think that at the time, though. I thought it was mellow. You know, I had grown up singing old soul songs. I used to sing «Lush Life» in high school. I didn’t even know what the song was about then, but I was always drawn to the slow songs, the ballads, the sad songs.

I’m sure that’s one reason why, in addition to how it sounds, because it is such a beautiful record, that it was so successful. 

Yes, it isn’t so dark. It is mellow, but it has a light and hopeful message. I think the combination contributed to the success. That’s true.

Speaking of the record’s success, how did you react at the time? It was staggering – millions of records sold, multiple Grammy awards.

It was pretty weird, but I just dealt with it. You just do your thing, and keep doing it. We were doing it – playing gig after gig, doing interview after interview. I thought there was no way the record could get any bigger after the first jump in sales, but then the Grammys happened, and it was just insane. 

Were there any commercial pressures in the immediate aftermath? You’ve had such authenticity and consistency in your body of work. Even when you experiment and collaborate, there aren’t any frivolous fads. But was there pressure to go in that direction?

Well, the record was already made. So, that ship was sailed. We just did what we did, and it was straight from the heart and honest. I do remember that the record company wanted a remix of «Don’t Know Why» that they could sell to pop radio. At the time, I was horrified by the idea. It went against everything that the song was to me. Now, I’d actually be more open to it, and embrace the opportunity for creative collaboration, but I said no at the time. So, we didn’t do it, but we got on pop radio anyway, and to this day, I don’t know how. It was baffling to me. Other than that, I was lucky to be on Blue Note. The whole team became my family, and everyone watched out for me. Bruce was my friend and a mentor. No one expected me not to be myself. Plus, I was pretty stubborn those days, and I was pretty hot under the collar if anyone tried to tell me to do something that didn’t make sense. I get that from my mom.

Do you ever feel like, even if jazz is just one element of your work, that, because of your success in pop that you are an ambassador for this traditional form of music?

I’ve never taken that on. I love that artform, but I’m the first to say that my first record is not a jazz record. There was some confusion there with people. It certainly leans that way, but I have too much respect for the artform of jazz to say that it was a jazz record. If I was in college and someone tried to say that something like «Come Away With Me» was a jazz record, I would have been like, «No, it’s not!» I try not to think about genre too much.

What approach did you take with «Feels Like Home,» your second record? Did the «Come Away with Me» experience change your approach to songwriting or performing?

Well, I was pretty new to songwriting at that point. There are only three songs that I wrote on «Come Away With Me.» So, during the entire period, I was really excited about writing and inspired, and so was my band. We had been on the road for a year at that point, and we had a lot of songs we had written. So, I recorded a song from everyone in my band. Lee Alexander, the bassist, and I had written several songs together. We were listening to a lot of bluegrass and country at the time. So, the record leans a little more toward the country side. But, I was excited just to be playing music, which meant that that «follow up» pressure didn’t get into the studio. We just did what we did.

That reminds me of what you said just a moment ago in reference to your vocals on «Come Away With Me»: You are just trying to sound like yourself. There are probably many people who consider that easier said than done. How do you manage that?

In high school, I was obsessed with Sarah Vaughan, specifically her live recording, «My Funny Valentine.» I was so into imitating her. I also did a pretty good Billie Holiday impression. I was even cast in the role of Billie Holiday for a high school musical. It was a Black History program that they did every year at my school. I loved mimicking other singers. I would put on Aretha Franklin records, and pretend to be one of her background singers. That was how I learned to sing. I don’t know, though. After high school, I just started to sing without worrying about the rest. Part of it was probably because I felt like a natural singer since I was young. I never felt like I had to struggle to sing, whereas with piano I had to work hard to learn. With singing, I did feel like it was a natural thing. This isn’t to say that I don’t ever sound like other people, or that I’ve never tried on different voices that don’t quite fit. I do feel, though, that I shed that by time I got to New York.

Looking back 20 years later, what do you feel that the Norah Jones of 2002 was right about, and if you could tell the Norah Jones of 2002 anything now, as an artist, what would it be?

As an artist, I don’t think there are wrongs. You are on your path. The record represents where I was at that time exactly. It is an exact record of where you are when you are making it. That’s what it means. It is a recorded moment, literally. So, «Come Away With Me» is a snapshot of my musicality of my time. I guess I would tell myself at that time to enjoy everything a little more. It is OK to stop and smell the roses. I had a lot of fun, because I was surrounded by my best friends. They were all in my band. We had a lot of fun, but I was very uptight at the time. It was a stressful time for my family. It was a weird time for me personally, and success made it weirder. But, I would tell younger self to stress less, and try to enjoy what you’re doing.

Source: https://www.salon.com/2022/04/30/norah-jones-come-away-with-me-20-anniversary/

20 Years Later, Norah Jones Looks Back at ‘Come Away with Me’

The singer celebrates the 20th anniversary of her landmark album, Come Away with Me, with a U.S. tour

Norah Jones knows that the mere mention of “Don’t Know Why” is probably enough to get the tune stuck in your head. That soothing hot water bottle of a song was the centerpiece of her spectacularly pleasant debut album, Come Away with Me. Released in 2002, when Jones was just 22, Come Away with Me brought home eight Grammy Awards, including Album of the Year, Song of the Year for “Don’t Know Why,” and Best New Artist for Jones. Since then, it has sold nearly 30 million copies worldwide and anchored countless Sunday morning playlists. “It will always be my biggest success,” says the fiercely private Jones, 43, speaking via Zoom from the Brooklyn home she shares with her husband and two children. “It might be the only thing that some people know about me, and that’s fine.”

Come Away with Me turned 20 this year, an anniversary that occasioned the release of a “super deluxe” three-disc box set featuring never-before-heard demos and alternate versions of popular tracks, as well as a 25-date U.S. summer tour. Jones grew nostalgic sorting through old photos of the band, which included an ex-boyfriend, as well as her frequent collaborator Jesse Harris, who penned a portion of the album. “I only wrote two songs on my first album, because I was so embarrassed by a couple of songs I wrote in high school that I just shut down and stopped,” explains Jones, who grew up in Texas before moving to New York City. “When I listen to Come Away, I hear something that is so far from what I think of as the kind of music I make now. Each album has had steadily more of my songs.”

Not counting side projects, Jones has released 10 albums, a few of which share the jazz-pop DNA of her debut, with others evincing her diverse taste. Take 2012’s Little Broken Hearts, on which Jones brought her sultriness to the eldritch arrangements of artist/producer Danger Mouse (Gnarls Barkley, U2): to hear her gently whisper “I’m going to smile when I take your life” on the murder ballad “Miriam” is to witness another side of the singer/multi-instrumentalist entirely. “I’ve had amazing opportunities,” she says. “I feel lucky. I feel heard.”

How does it feel to be talking about Come Away with Me 20 years later? Have your thoughts about the record changed over time?

I don’t really pore over the past often, so it was bittersweet. That’s the thing about time: It makes you want to go back, and you know you can’t. But at this point in my life, it feels really nice to revisit it. I was in a much different place around the 10th anniversary. I was putting out the album I did with Danger Mouse and I wasn’t quite ready to embrace looking back. I can appreciate the record in a different way now. I feel like [Come Away with Me] had a more hopeful circle around it than I ever realized before. Even though it was a very mellow album, mood-wise, and it had a lot of ballads and it had some melancholy moments, the songs and the lyrics are hopeful. Maybe because I was so young, starting my adult life out, and excited for love.

“Don’t Know Why” remains one of your best-known and most beloved songs. When you recorded it, did you know instantly that it was a hit?

No, I didn’t think in terms of hits back then. I didn’t think anything I did was going to be a hit. That’s not the kind of music we heard on the radio. It was basically the first thing we recorded—a snapshot of what we were trying to do, but we weren’t even sure yet what we were doing. It was me moving away from singing old jazz standards, playing piano, and singing Jesse’s songs. We knew it was a great take. We knew it had something special. It was like catching fish. We caught it and then we looked at it and decided, yes, this is what we want. Any session after that was chasing that energy, that vibe. There was no trying to beat it.

Obviously you couldn’t have known how successful this record would be. What were you doing for money at the time?

I started waiting tables when I moved to New York City in the summer of 1999. When I got this record deal, it wasn’t a lot of money. I was still waiting tables. I didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t great. I will say, I preferred it to playing music I didn’t want to play. For instance, I got called to do a bunch of weddings. I remember being asked to sing a lot of songs that I might’ve liked, but it wasn’t what I was trying to do with my life.

Like what, the “Chicken Dance” and “Shout” and that sort of thing?

Yeah, and there’s nothing wrong with that! But it didn’t make sense for me.

Presumably, the success of Come Away with Me came to define you in a lot of ways. But you’ve worked with so many great collaborators, including Foo Fighters, OutKast, and Jeff Tweedy. Do you feel you’ve gotten equal amounts of attention and respect for these projects, or do you get the sense that people still equate you with this first record?

Both. I don’t have a weird defensiveness over the other stuff I’ve done, because I feel like enough people have heard it and responded to it. But, yeah, I know Come Away with Me is always going to be my definitive thing. Good thing I liked it at the time. I’m proud of it. It’s a testament to following what you want to do and not compromising. What if you become successful with something you hate? That would suck. I really learned how to let go of other people’s definitions of me early on. I had to, to be able to thrive in this new environment. You can’t please everybody.

So you don’t mind that more people don’t know about El Madmo, your indie-rock side project?

Aww, no one ever asks me about El Madmo. I loved it. That was at sort of the peak of the second album [2004’s Feels Like Home]. I was a little depressed; I felt a little lost. So, yeah, I didn’t even put my name on the album, because we didn’t want it to be a Norah Jones thing. I don’t think we would have been able to do that with a bunch of weird expectations. That’s what I’ve been striving for with most things. That’s why I try not to let in other opinions. It shouldn’t matter.

What has been the biggest change you’ve seen in the industry over the last two decades?

Streaming and social media. Everything’s completely different now. I feel glad I got to sell records when you could still sell records. And I didn’t have to worry about my Instagram account. I probably would have had a nervous breakdown.

Was it ever strange to be in your early 20s but not to be in the same spaces as your peers—like, say, at the MTV Video Music Awards or in the tabloids?

I was in the world I was in. I didn’t covet that stuff necessarily. I got nominated for an MTV2 award that year [2002], and I went, and it was so fun because I grew up watching them. I didn’t grow up in a basement with just a record player. I grew up with MTV. But, yeah, I don’t think I would survive in a tabloid life. I certainly didn’t have any regrets there.

Maybe you didn’t grow up in a basement with just a record player, but was there an album that was particularly inspirational to your own pursuit of music?

I loved Aretha Franklin. When I got into jazz, I was really into Bill Evans and Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughan, but I also listened to alternative radio. I got obsessed with Nevermind, and I used to air drum to “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” I loved the Violent Femmes. But when I was listening to that music I never thought, like, Oh, I’m going to do this. And then in high school I started playing jazz and playing gigs, and people seemed to like the way I sang. It seemed very natural. That was my calling. I didn’t have another interest. I had no backup plan. It wasn’t even a plan. I was just doing it all of a sudden.

You starred with Jude Law, Rachel Weisz, and Natalie Portman in the 2007 Wong Kar-wai film My Blueberry Nights. What was that like?

That was a crazy experience. That’s one of those things I wish I could time-travel back to. I was so stressed and freaked out the whole time and trying to stay skinny. I guess you could say I was slightly out of my element. I’m not an actor. But it was life-changing. It was so amazing to watch Wong Kar-wai work, and getting to hang out with movie stars. We had a ball. I still have very good friends from the crew from that movie.

Have you been tempted to do 0ther public-facing projects, like The Voice or a podcast or something?

I don’t think I’ve ever been asked to be a coach on The Voice. I just hate being on camera, you know? I think the biggest annoying thing for me is being asked to talk on camera. Because that’s not my job, necessarily. I feel out of my own skin when I have to do that.

You’re happily married with two children, but you’ve also done two breakup records. Do you think the saying holds true that the best art comes out of pain or heartbreak, or do you feel just as creative when you’re happy?

I definitely think being in pain doesn’t hurt the art. The way I create and write songs has changed a lot over the years. I felt very consistently creative for the last five years, and I think it’s because of the way I think of ideas. They don’t always come from a deep feeling. It comes from a little melody, and you can’t get it out of your head. But I’ve also had periods where I’m not in a lot of pain but the whole world is, and it’s really easy to look outside yourself and feel that. At this point, it’s hard to write a song that’s hopeful.

You’re about to go on tour for the first time since the pandemic. How do you feel about it?

I’m excited. I think it will be a combination of being weird and also like nothing ever happened. Not in a dismissive way; sometimes when you fall back into life it feels like, Oh, yeah, this is normal. You pick up where you left off. It’s going to be special to feel that energy again.

Source: https://www.hemispheresmag.com/people/hemi-q-and-a/norah-jones-looks-back-at-come-aay-with-me/

Come Away With Me by Norah Jones

Come away with me in the night
Come away with me
And I will write you a song

Come away with me on a bus
Come away where they can’t tempt us with their lies

And I want to walk with you
On a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
So won’t you try to come

Come away with me and we’ll kiss
On a mountaintop
Come away with me
And I’ll never stop loving you

And I want to wake up with the rain
Falling on a tin roof
While I’m safe there in your arms
So all I ask is for you
To come away with me in the night
Come away with me