Mer enn jeg kan be om



Også om ordene mine

bare blir en spinkel barkebåt

i en liten pytt

er jeg fornøyd


Og om jeg kan se

mitt eget speilbilde

i vannet, når barkebåten

skyves ut fra land

er det mer enn jeg ba om



Fredrik Hossmann (Lørdag 28 april)

Published in: on 28 april, 2017 at 19:11  Legg igjen en kommentar  

Sprekker i skallet


På vei mot en uviss fremtid

Komme det som måtte komme

Fortell meg hva du er redd for

Fortell meg hva du frykter


Inne i oss alle,

venter et vesen på å fødes


og som først blir til

når vi slites i stykker,


slik en kylling må ødelegge egget

den vokste opp i


Fredrik Hossmann (5/30)

Utenfor muren



Om jeg dør her på jorden gjør ingenting

Den meg som virkelig er meg


bak dette skallet av en hud jeg bærer

skal leve videre i en ny kropp


og inne i den venter en ny kropp

på å trenge seg ut i en ny frihet


Men utenfor muren

venter en ny mur



Fredrik Hossmann (1/30) 

Det første øyeblikkets magi og kjærlighet ved siste blikk


Intensitet og varighet
brenner hverandre ut

Det var da jeg visste uten å vite
hvordan jeg visste at jeg visste
at vi kom til å forlate hverandre
på samme måte som vi møttes

En avskjed er et møte i baklengs film

Slik vi en gang lærte å elske hverandre
måtte vi også lære å av-elske hverandre

Jeg har spolt oss frem og tilbake
flere ganger enn jeg våger å innrømme
både så sakte og dvelende
at tiden stoppet og ble til stein og marmor

eller så fort at jeg knapt klarte
å henge med i svingene
en karusell av motstridende følelser
og uforutsette eksplosjoner

Dype fall og høye svev

Det finnes fler enn en stjerne, sa jeg
og lukket øynene i blind kjærlighet

Allerede det første kysset, sa hun
og fuktet leppene, bærer det siste i seg




Fredrik Hossmann

Letter to myself (Red and Black) 3/10

Who are you today?


Yes, that is right. I asked who and not how.

“How are you today” seems to me to be one of the most useless questions i know.


 What choices do you have to answer?


“Thanks, I’m fine.” Just answering to brush the question of like some dust that happened to land on your jacket.

Or you can answer how you actually feel. But that might take too long time for anyone to listen to. Most people are not really interested. In most cases whatever you say  does not change anything anyway.

According to rumor there is a tribe somewhere in Africa where they greet each other:


«How is the space between us today?»


That makes some kind of sense to me. The question also includes the one asking. That also makes sense to me. How I am feeling might change with whom is the asking.

Today, the space between me and myself is rather good.

We are almost one. Still we are at least two.


How many me`s is there inside of a me?

Are they individual me`s or just graded variations?

What is me and what is not me?

Do I have enemies of me inside of me?


Who are you?


I am watching you pointing at to those who love or have loved you as the answer to the question i am asking.

I am watching you looking at your loved ones as one creature instead of individual creatures. One big ball of a creature with everchanging faces and bodies. Sometimes different faces melt into one creating a loved one you have never been with in person. One person taking over where another one ends. Sometimes they fall in love with each other as well. Sometimes they let you in. Sometime they leave you outside to watch.

I am watching how the ages of your loved ones change. I am watching how they talk to you, how you sometimes are making the same moves, yet they answer you differently, and so the game changes. And sometime you communicate differently to them, but still the answers they give you are mostly the same.

You go in and out of love like in and out of a room. Or like you go in and out of the many faces and bodies of music.


Where does love stop and begin?


When does music start and stop?

Does the music start when it starts?

Does it start when you start to wish for the music?

Or does the music really start when you begin to remember it even when it is not playing?


Sometime you say that the biggest problem we have with music today is that it is so easy to listen to that we mostly forget to listen to it in our minds. That we hardly ever have to go hungry for music. There is music everywhere. We have to shut it out. We don’t get to listen to the music inside us. We do not spend time making that meeting with the inner and outer music. On the other hand: we have to seek silence actively if we want it. Not to play that record, however nice it is. Not to listen to that audiobook, no matter how fitting the voice reading it is.

I see you walking with your lovers hand in hand. Sometimes you are in the middle, sometimes you are on the side. I see the some people ignoring the three of you, but also that some people smiles longingly at you as if it is their dreams you are taking for a walk.

Its like music you say: i listen to different music. One music does not exclude the other. Blues does not exclude ambient. Rock does not exclude jazz. Red does not exclude black. You do not exclude him or her. And so on and so forth.


I started by asking who are you today, did you answer? I do not remember. I will ask again.


Who are you today?


Answer as you like.  Yourself or somebody else? Patti Smith or Robert Mapplethorpe? One or many?


 Who are you today?


I will watch you as you search for the answer.

Will you go deep inside and take a look?

Or will you just take a the first one surfacing?


Who are you today?








Todays song:

The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress – Radka Toneff




Written with

Eraldo Bernocchi & Harold Budd – Music For ‘Fragments From The Inside’ (2005)

on repeat, every composition played three times, before moving on.


Letter to myself (Before The Day Breaks) 2/3


Good morning world 🙂

Tonight you slept well. Tonight you had dreams from both sides of the border.
In one you were in America. The land of the Brave and the free. You were in a house with many rooms, and in every room so many things, unused and dusty. And you went from room to room without your feet touching the floor. And you looked at the objects wondering what to take with you. But as you reached for them they dissolved into nothing. And then you woke up in your bed, your hands empty.

These days you seem more obsessed by the thoughts of giving away  and getting rid of than collecting more. Yet things come to you and cling to you, as if they have decided that you are a safe haven where they can rest peacefully for a while.

What is possessions? What is it that fills up the rooms in your house? What is it that is yours, and that you do not have to leave behind on that final day?

The final shirt has no pockets.

I am watching you, growing up between books somewhere in a big house in one of the nicer parts of Oslo. Not rich, but certainly not poor.

And you were traveled with.

You were a child in Africa. Your father: a surgeon for the Croix Rouge – Red Cross. That`s were he got ill. Growing up with fences surrounding the blocks were you lived. Outside: the black children. You: not allowed to play with them. Yet, there were trades. They made toys of wire and brought sugar cane to sell. You had money. Negotiations across the fence. Deals made. Goods and money exchanged places.

And later when you had to go back to Norway because your father was ill. Cancer of the colon. Normally easy to cure, if discovered in time. But my father had been to busy saving others, to have time for himself.

Then: going to Spain because the climate was not so harsh as in Norway. Bag of books in the backseat. Paper to draw on. Comics. Walking under the burning bright sun through the dried up landscape to El Vikingo to have a dip in the pool, and afterwards a vanilla icecream before returning the same way continuously creating ever-changing stories always centering around some deed to be done, like dragons to be killed or universes to be saved.

Then: back in Oslo, your father died.

It was august. You were eleven. You knew it was to happen. It was no surprise. The reason why you cried was not that he was dead, but that your mother had not told you in the morning when she sent you of to school. That you had spent that day as if nothing significant hat happened in your life. That you had been lied to, kept outside of what really happened.
And so on. You learned early that there were something as dying. And that things have an end.

But also that even endings end and then turns into new beginnings.

I watch us as we read what i have written so far. You observe that this is one possible version of the story, one remix among many remixes. Next time you tell the story it will be different again. Only liars who have rehearsed tells the story the same way every time. The more it changes, the more it stays the same.

You were never good at learning by heart. And you are not to start now. Either you perform what you have written or you let the words form in your mind as you speak – never knowing where you end up – or if you have an idea about your destination – not a clue about how you get there.

More than once you have been stuck in a corner – and you have had to wait for the paint to dry. But also: wings have grown as you were falling into the abyss, and you just learned to use them in time before you would have splashed into the ground and the story would have been over.

I sense you are getting restless.

Soon it is time for breakfast. I will let you free to eat. There is no hurry. There is always tomorrow. Or is it? Is every today turned into a yesterday one less tomorrow? Or is that number always changing? I remember that summer when I started a new habit: walking into the street without looking. I was worn out, tired from constantly being on the move.

Anyway, these days, I look both left and right before crossing any street, sometimes I even wait when there is no cars passing. It does not make me immortal, but should i ever die, let it not be because of a metal box with wheels.

I choose to end with a song from the other dream:

Bo Jo Cie Kochom – Depress.

Nine to go.


Written with

Harold Budd and Robin Guthrie – Before the day breaks (2007)

on repeat in the background, every composition played 3 times before moving on.

Letters to myself (Blind Flowers) 1/3

Here I am, finally writing to myself. It seems it is about time. Harold Budd and Clive Wright is playing in my room. I love the titles, like

Blind flowers

They are poems in themselves. Just reading them makes me see the flowers still reaching towards the sun – even when it is night, even when it is dark. Like they can’t let go of the warmth that is still shining inside them. They are not touched by the fact that the sun is not there. They are not made blind by reality.

I am watching  you, typing as quickly as you can as to follow the words, rather than you trying to make them follow you.

Sometimes you stop, like a dog sniffing for the next word, and then! Off you go – left –  right through the high summer grass of your imagination, when you where a child, and Crawlin’ King Snake was already in you, not as a song, but as being. Crawlin’ King Snake was in you way before you heard the song, the guitar, the voice. And when you heard it, you recognized it and made it yours once more.

You are amazed by how rich the music of Harold Budd is, why did it take so long to discover the rest of it? Yes, you heard The Pearl right away – an unusually beautiful record that you have played over and over in many differing circumstances…

Like when you wanted time to change, when you wanted the world to expand, when you wanted to imagine the hundred years or so between every heartbeat – or the slow motion waves of breathing crashing in on some faraway beach.

I write to you, because I have been watching over you these days. You had fever. You have been coughing. You had to sit up in bed to sleep. When you slept some short flashes the colors were strong and vivid. You dreamt new names for yourself. You dreamt of broken down buildings from your childhood, and of naked people walking around like it was normal to be naked, and clothes were something unthinkable. And you dreamt you became the leader of an organization called «The central commity for a meaningless life».

And as the temperatures came back to normalish and the flu gave way to your normal pains you were two places at the same time. You were inside your body, and outside your body at the same time watching yourself. And the image of being watched and of watching yourself remains in you.

So if there is two of us, which one is the real me? Or maybe even the real us? I never felt alone when there were no one else around. I need my solitude – the place where I meet with myself.

Harold Budd and Clive Wright – The Saints Of Whispers is in my room and he talks to me as i am writing to you. Sometime you heard those whispers – sometimes you ignored them, but sometimes you did what I suggested even if it seemed like crazy riddles and penguins hitchiking.

I whisper to you from a different point in time. Not from the same here and now that you live in. Whereas you are locked inside of time and space, I am locked outside.

So I can never be you, and you can never be me. Or so they say. But we both know better, don`t we?

Maybe i should talk to instead of writing to you, make a youtube video – then it is clearer that we are on each our side of the screen. That time ceases to exist on one side. That it continues freely on the other. That space is wherever we decide it should be.

I look at your hands. From the outside the pains are not visible. It is not that bad in the evening. You have nice hands, many have said – they feel good.

Maybe because when you touch someone else you do not want to hurt yourself, then you are not the only touching – you are aware of being touched as you touch. Harold Budd playing the music. The music playing Harold Budd.

In front of a mirror I often wonder: what does my mirror image do when I am not there. Does it disapear? Does it wait patiently for me to return? Does it sit down with a book? Spend time with a loved one that he has not yet introduced to me? Writing a letter to a different version of himself?

Slowly moving towards the end of this first letter.

It will be three letters.

Three letters to myself.


Written with

Harold Budd and Clive Wright – A Song For lost Blossoms (2009)

on repeat in the background, every composition played 3 times before moving on.



Sci-fi – Elevator – After Calypso

Third try

The machinen and the flesh is one. Getting on the ground, becoming dust. Allowing your selves to be spread all over. There is no going back. There is no going on. No beat is the next step. No step is the next beat. Let the beat go. Trust just being a sound. Letting the borders blend and break like acid or the Berlin wall as a memory you cant remember.

Second try

My wishes: more of a feeling of I don`t know who is making what sound. More blending into one. Less hiarchy. Less feeling of the two providing the bottom and the one being the top. Brian Blade is one of my favorite drummers. More unidentified instruments – like a Kazorta or a Pilmaki – treated with the Stckhs machine and some Kollipa buttons, the pink and blue ones. And some subsonic and burning sprectralghosts – both the elephantronic and dolphinic machines based on the human snake oil flesh. How will these recordings affect his next works? Is this a teaser for 35 extended mixes? What drugs goes better with this experience? What religion will enrichen your beliefs? What images will change you forever?

First try

Another shot of Daniel Lanois. Makes me wonder how his next recordings will sound. Is flesh and machine just a teaser for 35 extended mixes? How will this experience shape his future recordings for other people? Finding myself wishing that he would play with other people also on various electronics. Basically Brian Blade and and Jim Wilson are comping him – while he playing on top on top on top. Would be interesting if he worked with their sounds as well. I would like less hiarchy. More of that feeling you dont know who is doing who and what.

Listen to download download download here

Possible Musics (11) «On The Train To Istanbul»

For example, a series of sessions on a train going from Oslo to Istanbul. No multi-tracking, everything is mixed as it is played. Editing only to clean up false starts and possibly to reinvent the purpose of dreaming. The passengers are occasionally joining in the performance as dancers or train conductors. As we are travelling towards Istanbul there are several artists painting the train green inside as well as sculptors changing the landscape we pass through. The sun transforms itself into a fish and the horizon is turned vertical. Instead of windows to look out of there is silence to look inside. The audience is applauded for listening deeply and for focusing the sounds that would otherwise be lost. Finally as the train comes to Istanbul it bursts into flames and everyone leaves by the secret exit. Except you. How would it sound? Imagine.


nothing amplified a million times

becomes a bigger nothing

living in bubbles

time slowing down

becomes a microscope

time it self amplified

until it is a moment so big

surrounding us

from all insides

the creatures dancing their being

the creatures being their dance

the dancing creating their being

their being dancing their creation

hello – hello – hello

what words does their language

spoken or unspoken include?

messages not yet translated

by google translate

strange creatures flap their wings

listening to beings between zoological

and anthropological

listening as a composing tool

organic machinery

fluffing the fish

eskimo music played
alien winter planet

breathing the cold air
lungs lunging lung

Sketched/written while listening to

«Sval Torv» from Streifenjunko

Streifenjunko talking and demonstrating:


Live in concert:


Published in: on 9 desember, 2014 at 23:11  Legg igjen en kommentar  
Tags: , , , , ,

The endless decay of Sylt and Machine (with unexpected moments of tenderness!)


This is an excerpt of an ambient novel I have been working on the last 13 years, using samples, cut-ups and treatments. Inspired by movies seen with eyes closed and the sound turned off, the reading between the lines of unopened books. In search for the yet unheard music, as well as new ways of listening to what we already got.


The endless decay of Sylt and Machine

has its own dialect, Söl’ring, which – on a work without songs is the indigenous speech of Sylt and singing. And now the next Söl’ring is a unique dialect of surprise: this record is not really insular North Frisian, with elements of a close relative to the golden Danish, Dutch and English. Today, only the age of Mr. Lanois’ “ambient classics” a small fraction of the population he had created with Brian Eno still speaks Söl’ring. A law to in the Grand Avenue Studios in promote the language („Friesisch-Gesetz“) was passed his old home in Hamilton (in 2004. The northernmost part of long, long time ago). Only the the island, Listland, was traditionally Danish-speaking. As track “Space Love” may draw some in many areas in Schleswig-Holstein on parallels to the “Apollo” dreamsphere with New Year’s Eve, groups of children his pedal steel guitar singing softly, go masked from house to house, the instrument he loves to call reciting poems. This is known as “the church in my suitcase” and «Rummelpottlaufen», and as a reward, children if there is one other track receive sweets and/or money. Sylt also has that might be a heartfelt greeting unique Frisian-style houses.

Sylt was originally part to his old “compadre of strangeness”, of Jutland (today Schleswig-Holstein and mainland it’s the haunted softness of “Iceland”. Denmark) There is evidence of human habitation on nearly all the other compositions going back to 3000 BC at we seem to drift into a Denghoog First settlements of Frisians during the strange territory in the back of 8th century and 9th century Sylt was the artist’s mind. It may all divided between the Duke of Schleswig appear like the ideal soundtrack for and the Kingdom of Denmark in a town called Lonesome, where the 1386, except for the town of List, streets have no names. Sylt became part of the Duchy who has produced U2, Peter Gabriel of Schleswig in 1435, during the 17th and other candidates for this nostalgia-driven century and 18th century, whaling, fishing “hall of fame”, keeps his most and oyster breeding increased the wealth rewarding things for himself – and of the population Keitum became the capital for the happy few who keep of the island, and a place company. “Flesh & Machine” is quite for rich captains to settle down after an unsafe journey. Do yourself in the 19th century, tourism began; Westerland favor and don’t believe in campfires replaced Keitum as the capital During World anymore!

Hello Andy, it’s Sylt became a military outpost, but did not suffer from Kommentare. Hello Andy, it’s me.  I have war damage in 1927, a rail causeway to tell you something, prices for popart to the mainland was built, they are going crazy. You said: its only Hindenburgdamm, named after Paul von Hindenburg During paper. They said: its great art we have World War II, Sylt became to sell the casino is going down. What fortress, with concrete bunkers built below is art? Hello Andy, it’s me. Listen the dunes at the shore, some to this: They sold a painter, Max Beckmann,  which is still visible today. His name. He painted with oil and the Lager Sylt, captured the concentration camp on canvas. The price was high. The Bank Alderney was named after the island. When pleased what is art? Hello Andy, it’s Nazi Germany lost the war Rudolf. Do you believe Christie’s will pay the Höss hid on the island, but price just for paper. Do you believe art can was later captured and brought to be sold like real estate. What is art? Trial in Poland. Today, Sylt is mainly Hello Andy, it’s me. Wish I could be a tourist attraction, famous for its talks about art about artists and healthy climate, and the many German how they feel with these deals. Good celebrities who own houses on the night, Andy.

The beach even has a nude section. In other media The island was  In Pescara used during the filming of The I asked somebody to show me Ghost Writer, as an alternate location the way to the house of for Martha’s Vineyard, due to travel Gabriele d’Annunzio. “Straight straight and then left.” I restrictions on the film’s director, Roman went straight straight and turned left: Polanski. See also Üüs Söl’ring Lön’, insular anthem Heinz nothing. Sorry, the First has to Reinefarth a German military officer during go away. I ordered an official after World War II Uthlande Victor Pizza with vegetables. They delivered a jagt zwölf Boxkämpfer quer über den Pizza with 3 pieces of Würstl großen Sylter Deich «Victor chases twelve and onions on it. I asked, where boxers across the great dam of are the vegetables? “The onions!”  “It’s clear, Sylt», a German pangram.

Nr. 9 has also to disappear. Then I wanted to take a Bus from Pescara to Termoli. Asked from where does the Bus leave? “From here, at 11 o’clock.” No Bus at 11, no busses at all. I took à train. 3. Clear out! In the port of Termoli I could only nix à oneway Ticket to the Tremiti Islands. “But how can I Return then?” “Take à ferry!” Wanted to throw him into the sea. Finally arrived on San Domino, found à nice little house, asked the landlady for a hot water boiler. She brought me à cup with hot water. Pleazzzzze remove her! I am à Fan of the italian Singer Lucio Dalla. I know that he lived here. He died 2012. I asked an old man, where did Lucio exactly lived? The man pointed to the other Island: “Behind the Church.” To be omitted! Anyways I thought I might take à short boattrip to San Nicola to have à look at the wonderful old monastry. I asked à ferryman to bring me over. I had to wait two hours for à five minute trip. Another one just gone. On that island is à little Radio Museum. The Lady in the entrance told me that I have to take the elevator. I said that I wanted to Walk. She said: “take the elevator” i just walked away. Please Carry her away. Only two Little Italians left. “Where does the name TREMITI come from? What does it mean?” -Three mountains -Three winds -Three Diomedes Gosh! There is only One Diomedes, Heroe of the Trojans. So only One leftover. I’m always interested in the original Music of one place. I asked: “What Kind of Music did People play here on the Islands?” “Disco Music.” I can’t throw all of them into the Adriatic, can I? Officially recognised as a health resort. Piranesi etchings on the internet just in 2007, the town counted 9,072 yesterday – and I’m no art citizens. South of Westerland, the island extends critic (as the above proves) but for about 15 km I see something in them that’s form of a spit, until it similar. Piranesi shows the mathematical workings, is cut by the Hörnumtief tidal Lowry examines their effect on the creek, that runs through the Wadden 20th Century English soul. You cannot Sea mudflats east of Sylt. Here come away from either Piranesi or is the location of Rantum.

This Lowry without feeling that art is village, like no other on Sylt, – above all – loads of had to fight sand drift during great fun. Nobody Wants To Be Here the past centuries. Many farmsteads and And Nobody Wants To Leave is a church had to be abandoned the new album by The Twilight because of shifting dunes moving eastward. Sad. When I put the CD Only the planting of marram grass into the CD player, for a stopped the dunes and put an few seconds it sounded like the end to this threat. The amp was fucked. I actually had east there are a few scattered to remove the thing and put spots of marshland, while the area into another CD player just is mostly coined by dunes. Hörnum on to check. There aren’t many records the island’s southern headland is what make you assume your audio youngest village, having been founded shortly equipment’s fucked – and it’s always after 1900. But already in former a good sign. It means that times the uninhabited southern tip of the recording’s been properly thought out. Sylt was said to serve as an optical illusion for the ears, refuge for pirates and fishermen.

The Trompe l’oreille? Nobody Wants To Be Here name Budersand in the area emanates And Nobody Wants To Leave is from that custom, marking a great housed in artwork that isn’t dissimilar dune where booths (German: Buden) stood to the band’s previous recordings. Images that in former times to serve as ask questions, showing narratives occluded by shelters. This southern headland, called Odde, the snap of an imaginary camera is marked by continuous loss of shutter. Moments lost in time. Land. Each year great amounts of this one it’s pictures that sand are washed away by storm have the feel of comic strip floods and coastal management has not frames, frames that depict moments on yet seen sustainable effects in the periphery of heavy events. In area, so that further losses have one disturbing image, a figure falls to be expected.  Sylt-Ost (East Sylt) is backwards arms spanned, in a park.  A township, consisting of several small Not the bloody cross on top villages on the Nössehalbinsel on Sylt of Calvary or a dream home. The population (as of 2000) is a heartache in Malibu: some ordinary small 5,500. The villages include Tinnum, Munkmarsch, town in some hinterland. Emotional impalement Archsum, Morsum and Keitum. Tinnum castle (Tinnumburg) in a colorless everyday setting.

Musically speaking is a circular parapet with this – to my ears at diameter of 120 meters and a least – is a heavy deal. Height of 8 meters. The vocal treatments are astounding – built in the 1st century BC, it’s like listening to the regrets likely as a pagan holy site. Keitum of someone that has recently died, has a historical church (St. Severin in a swirl of tonality that church), dating back to the 13th manages to place the voice in century. The green cliff is also a location where it never sounds located near Keitum. The village has like complaint. Grunge this ain’t. Been the economical and social center and each successive listen reveals more of the island until tourism started. What we have here is to get higher importance and Westerland, parallel universe – an audibly Scottish the island’s only town, started to one. But it’s got no tang expand. From the old days are of Edinburgh Castle or Buchanan Street. Still many beautiful Frisian houses left. It’s its own thing.

Dark, half-rural, which were built by the town’s universal, monochrome, desperate, controlled, anguished – seafarers especially during the days of,  but invigorating and very alive. (Like whale hunting 1650–1850). Munkmarsch has been the Lowry’s graphite industrial nano-cosmos or Piranesi’s main port of the Island. Ferries metal mathematical ultraworld, this record is from Hoyer (today in Denmark) landed a black and white winner. When the «Hindenburg Damm» was “All work” and finished in the 1920s, the town where no play makes Jack a dull lost its importance. A marina is boy. “All work and no play” is today located at the old port Archsum. All work and all villages on Sylt, Archsum has no play makes Jack a dull the highest percentage of inhabitants are still boys.” All work and no play makes speaking Söl’ring. Morsum  has a historical church and a dull boy.” All work and (St. Martin church), dating back to no play makes Jack a dull the same era as the one boy. All work and no play makes in Keitum. Morsum is also known as Jack a dull boy. All work and for its morsum cliff, that shows no play makes Jack dull the geological history of the last boy. All work and no play makes five million years on its height. All work and of 21 meters. It has been no play makes Jack a dull under landscape conservation since 1893. Sylt is boy.” All work and no play makes connected to the German mainland,  another drone world;  the Hindenburgdamm, a causeway with a In parts. Daniel Lanois goes wild with railway line on top. The passenger with the volume turned low. Trains connect Westerland to Niebüll or “Drone Music” a new, rediscovered Klanxbüll, and there is also the “never-really-off-the-scene”-topic of some creative upheaval anno option of taking one’s car onto 2014?

Think of Scott Walker, Swans, the train at Niebüll. Furthermore, Ferry “Lumen Drones” – and (in historic services to the nearby Danish island perspective) the reissue of “The Church of Rømø” exist. Beyond, Sylt Airport of Anthrax, this “hard-core-primitive-minimalism” of John serves the region. Sylt is a unique Cale and Terry Riley (1971). The part of Germany, since it is man from Ontario is diving deep part of the Frisian Islands. It into his non-Canadian roots and textures also hunted as game on the different vocals on it from the island. When the island was connected, been fucked around with so much to the mainland by the causeway that any meaning is lost. One fox and badger also became common. West of them sounds a bit like of Sylt a breeding area of walking around in the park/ with harbour porpoises is located. In addition, you could be anything; great numbers of harbour seals.

The interesting thing here is that grey seals, the latter being rather while it’s deliberately nonsensical, there’s a uncommon in German seas, can be definite relish in the rendering of found on sand banks off Sylt. Numerous each syllable in every iteration of associations and societies that care for the repeated phrase. And not unlike the exploration and the protection of the Havergal Brian allegro molto section endangered animals and plants have their 3 words and their music branches on Sylt. Among them seem to be aspects of the Alfred-Wegener-Institute for Polar and Marine same thing. Bob Dylan’s voice and Research, Verein Jordsand and Wadden Sea guitar are of course aspects of Conservation Station. Also the Federal Office the same thing, too. But pop for the Environment operates a research forms mutate, the same way languages station in the dunes at Westerland. Sylt break down from analytic to abstract features an oceanic climate that is e.g. High Latin to modern Italian/French/Spanish/Romanian influenced by the Gulf Stream.

On – and of course the glorious average, the winter season is slightly fucked-up mush that is English. So warmer than in mainland Nordfriesland. The far some thoughts by Ian. Michael summer season, however, is cooler despite this won’t change music history, but of longer sunshine periods. The yearly I’m sure Mr. Anonymous will average sunshine period is greater than find at least some inspiring stuff. Nobody 4.4 hours per day with some wants to be here and nobody years exceeding the average sunshine for wants to leave all of Germany. Also precipitation is. The Lowry lower than on the mainland. This gallery in Salford is part of is due to the low relief a gleaming waterfront development that also of Sylt’s shoreline where clouds are houses what is probably the biggest not able to accumulate and rain agglomeration of media offices outside of off.

Climate data for List (1961-1990 averages) Month           Jan         Feb        Mar       Apr May              Jun         Jul          Aug        Sep                Oct         Nov       Dec        Year Daily London. From some angles you’d think mean °C        1.0          0.9          2.7          6.0 10.8       14.2       15.7       16.2       13.9       10.4       6.1          2.8          8.39 Precipitation mm   57.3       35.1       44.9       39.5       41.5                55.9       62.1       72.1       82.5       88.5 94.3              71.6       745.3 Daily mean °F        33.8       33.6       36.9       42.8       51.4                57.6       60.3       61.2       57           50.7       43           37           47.11 Precipitation inches           2.256     1.382     1.768     1.555                1.634     2.201     2.445     2.839     3.248     3.484     3.713     2.819     29.343 Mean you were in MedienHafen Düsseldorf or monthly sunshine hours        46.7       75.3       120.1     179.3     243         246.5     230.7     228.1     147.8     98.3 55.6              42.6                1,714 Source: German Weather Service

Settlements Thatched the London Docklands. Old Trafford is cottages in Kampener Heide view from a not far off though – whose hotel room in Westerland A beach in big red Manchester United sign glowing Kampen is divided into two in the northern dusk is a administrative bodies: the Amt Landschaft Sylt reminder that the waterfront here isn’t with its seat in Keitum administrates built on the banks of the all municipalities on the island, save Rhine or the Thames, but the for the independent town of Westerland. Manchester Ship Canal. Maybe it’s the contrast As of December 2007, Sylt had between this brave new high rise 21,190 inhabitants, 9,072 of whom living city-within-a-city and the content of Lowry’s in Westerland.  These numbers do not art, but when you see this include owners of summer residences. A referendum artist’s work in this location it held in May 2008 resulted in would be difficult not to react a merger of the Sylt-Ost municipality emotionally to it. When I was with the town of Westerland due there earlier today, one work in 1 January 2009. Various interest groups particular had me transfixed.

A simple hope to merge every island municipality pencil sketch of an industrial landscape into one governing body. Settlements along the (You can view it here. But west coast six municipalities are situated along it doesn’t translate to digital that the west coast of Sylt. List well.) In the centre left of in the very north of the picture are two cooling towers, island constitutes Germany’s northernmost municipality, it and behind them, two chimneys – retained a certain independence due to one vertiginously tall, the other not its remote location and it`s long-time so tall. But the emissions from adherence to the kingdom of Denmark. The cooling towers have blocked out on its eastern shore, a harbour the visibility of the middle section is located where, in addition to of both chimneys. So you’re left with tourist ships, the «Sylt-Express» ferry-boat sails with the upper third of these to Havneby on the Danish island structures looking like they float a Rømø. Wenningstedt together with Braderup and couple of hundred feet in the Kampen used to form the Norddörfer smudged grey air. The chimney (Northern Villages) municipality, an early intercommunal to the right looks as if association, which partly remains today in its wearing a stovepipe hat – form of a school union. While like sambard Kingdom Brune used to Kampen, mainly in the 1950s and wear. Like a captain of industry 1960s was famous in Germany for recast as smoke-spewing automaton. LS Lowry attracting celebrities, Wenningstedt is known as is, of course, known principally for a «family resort» for more than his artworks having loads of people 100 years. Since 1855, the prominent in them. This one is more black and white Kampen lighthouse is like dispersal zone – everyone’s inside located between Kampen and Wenningstedt, it the industrial infrastructure, working themselves (probably is the oldest one on the literally) to death. So maybe when island. East of there, the «Braderuper you view this work in the Heide» nature reserve is situated. Right context of LS Lowry’s oeuvre as south of Wenningstedt are the town a whole, you anthropomorphise them chimneys limits of the island’s metropolis, Westerland. After if you really study the picture, the complete destruction of the village though, there are two discernible human Eidum by a storm surge on figures in there – but they do.

On 1 November 1436, the survivors founded are ghostlike and faded, an almost a new village northeast of their cynical presence – but it’s your old home: Westerland. The name was guess as to where the cynicism first recorded in 1462. In 1865 comes from, or whose it is a seaside spa was founded, 50. The sketch is a work of years later Westerland was granted town complete fucking genius. Just wow. Wow. Privileges. In 1949 it was finally Coincidentally, I’d been looking at some tread upon, no roots are left as did my to hold the sand and send it to my friend will be removed by wind and I sent him your mail (we’re water. The Wadden Sea on the east discreet people) – and these were side between Sylt and the mainland; the ideas he mailed to me: has been a nature reserve and Micha, that is really interesting. It’s something I bird sanctuary since 1935 and is do wonder about sometimes. In fact part of the Schleswig-Holstein Wadden Sea only last week I was listening National Park. The construction of breakwaters to Bordeaux (Harold Budd/Brian Guthrie) and in this area will abate sedimentation thought what if I start singing and is used for land reclamation.

Also over the top of it? So the grazing of sheep  I did. There was fun in sea dikes and heaths of Sylt changing the pitch of my voice eventually serves coastal management, since the but no semantic value to the animals keep the vegetation short and exercise and of course Bordeaux doesn’t compress the soil with their hooves follows a verse/chorus structure, it’s more thus they help create a denser like a very slow cosmic spasm. I dike surface, which in case of think the semantic thing is a storm surges provides less area for the core of the problem. In the waves to impact.

Flora and Rosa his book of short stories and rugosa, known as «Sylt rose» on essays, the author Russell Hoban gets the island; the flora of Sylt is close to an understanding of this, shaped by the island’s original sparseness. He describes a park at dusk until the mid 19th century Sylt (Eelbrook Common) an ordinary part of was an island almost completely devoid London he can see from his of trees, only artificial plantations created room. His writing is powerfully descriptive: small areas of forest and bush. He sees a ‘scrawl’ of kids, still today one can recognize the playing in the park, who form man-made structure of the Friedrichshain and a scribble on the dry grey Südwäldchen forests in Westerland, the trees concrete, black against the blue-grey dusk mostly standing in rank and file. In one incredible paragraph, Hoban draws also the now widespread rose Rosa in a 3 dimensional world with vividly rugosa, known as the «Sylt rose» presented in variations in light and a on the island was only imported slight feeling of mystery and strangeness. In to Sylt. It originates from the next paragraph; Hoban then explains Kamchatka peninsula in Siberia. The undemanding what he did – i.e. he rose met ideal conditions on Sylt described the onset of evening using and spread so quickly that it language. But then he says something is now a common sight on that has stayed with me for the island. Its proliferation is viewed years: “To me it seems that critically from a biological point of everything that happens is language, everything view, since it threatens to displace that goes on is saying something”. Endangered local species, especially on the guess that’s why when I heaths.

The ample heaths on the eastern stared at that LS Lowry pencil side of the island provide habitats sketch, my eyes went a little for many rare species of plants bit watery. It was crowded, bursting and animals which are adapted to with language and color, yet the extreme conditions such as drought, was monochrome and wordless. Hoban’s novel; Kleinzeit warmth, wind. About 2,500 animal species has an odd set of characters and 150 species of plants have that include a hospital and the so far been recorded. 45% of London Underground: “Listen, said Underground. No one listened. Those plants are on the IUCN The chill rose up from the Red List. Especially notable are the black tunnels. Are you there? said Underground. 600 species of butterflies that live. Will you answer? No one answered. Are you in the heaths, small tortoiseshell, brimstone, Orpheus? Said Underground. No answer.” This novel (at painted lady and peacock butterfly among its best) opens the space between them. With several thousand individuals in the semantic and beyond-semantic, entirely using dune belt of Sylt, the natterjack printed alphabet. What it’s saying goes toad, endangered in Germany, has one deeper than most language, but it’s of Germany’s largest populations here.

Their all done with language, making language spawning places are wet dune slacks even more miraculous – and without and shallow, short-lived pools. For ever reverting to that kind of habitat they prefer sandy areas with over-thought boring trendy Barthes/Derrida style theorizing; vegetation. The main threat for this don’t know about a third state species on Sylt is road traffic. The – for me Paddy McAloon’s many water birds and other coastal Trawl The Megahertz kind of does avians, that have their hatching grounds this. Very strong mortality theme, words on Sylt or use the island feature in some places but not for resting on their migrations constitute in others – like consciousness being an ornithological feature. There are two passed in and out of. Notable hatching areas on Sylt, the Havergal Brian’s amazing and totally bonkers Königshafen bay with the small island Symphony No.1 in D Minor. The Uthörn in the north and the whole thing is like moonlight on Rantum basin in the southeast. Birds gravestones, with lichen dancing on the hatch on Sylt include black-headed stone, or appearing to. It’s just gull, Arctic tern, pied avocet, common the moonbeams temporarily being blocked by redshank, common gull, oystercatcher, northern lapwing, clouds hurrying across the sky. Words common shelduck and tufted duck. During are integral to various sections, but the migration, Sylt is a resting it’s like they emerge out of spot for thousands of brent geese the music rather than superimpose upon and shelducks, Eurasian wigeons and common it. I’m thinking specifially about the eiders, as well as bar-tailed godwits, allegro moderato section 3 here. Red knots, dunlins and Eurasian golden John Foxx and Theo Travis “All plovers. Ringed plover, common snipe, ruff The Tides On All The Streets” and other species are less common. No words in this one, but visitors to the island. Regarding land mammals, the woodwind to me sounds like there is no significant difference from uninflected words. Aphex Twin’s “Minipops the neighbouring areas of mainland Nordfriesland. 67″. I know you’re not a Primarily European hare, rabbit and roe fan of this guy’s stuff, but deer can be found and are this track has 3 or 4 metal and eventually by armoured concrete and “The Commercial Album”. Spoken-word-albums can do groynes. The constructions did not have the trick for me, too. Listen the desired effect of stopping the to the fortcoming David Sylvian album erosion caused by crossways currents. «Leeward with the long title (samadhi sound). erosion», i.e. erosion on the downwind Listening to it, you won’t have side of the groynes prevented sustainable even a fleeting suspect the speaking accumulation of sand. In the 1960s breaking voice of the old writer (damaged, the power of the sea was wrecked) would weaken the music. It’s attempted by installing tetrapods along the other way round: the music groyne bases or by putting them has to live up into the sea like groynes. The falling apart / storytelling of the four-armed structures, built in France and old man’s voice (not soften it, many tons in weight were too opening a second perspective) – David Sylvian: heavy for Sylt’s beaches and were There’s a light that enters houses equally unable to prevent erosion.

Therefore with no other houses in sight and, they were removed from the Hörnum please, don’t miss this album: Heiner west beach in 2005. Since the early Goebbels: Stifter’s Dinge (ECM) 1970s the only effective means press info: far has been flushing sand onto sounds, tones, noises, voices and texts the shore. Dredging vessels are used converge in one of Heiner Goebbels’ to pump a mixture of sand most extraordinary acoustic creations. Is it and water to a beach where a composition, environment, installation or sound it is spread by bulldozers. Thus sculpture on the grand scale? Its storm floods would only erase the creator once described it as a artificial accumulation of sand, while the composition for five pianos with no shoreline proper remains intact and erosion pianists, a play with no actors, is slowed down. This procedure incurs a performance without performers, “one might considerable costs. The required budget of say a no-man show.” Yet it an annual €10 million is currently is teeming with sound sources – provided by federal German, Schleswig-Holstein state ranging from Bach to chants of and EU funds. Since 1972, natives of New Guinea to Greek estimated 35.5 million cubic metres of folk song, and overlapping voices of, sand have been flushed ashore and amongst many others, Claude Lévi-Strauss, William dumped on Sylt. The measures have Burroughs and Malcolm X, the work so far cost more than €134 was inspired by the work of million in total, but according to 19th century Austrian Romantic writer Adalbert scientific calculations they are sufficient to Stifter, who meticulously documented the signs prevent further loss of land for and sounds of nature. No, no, at least three decades, so the it’s not overloaded with cultural references, benefits for the island’s economic power Smart Alec’s Finnegan’s Wake.

The whole and for the economically underdeveloped region album has a quiet flow thereby in general would outweigh the costs, matching the tranquility of Stifter’s epic In the 1995 study Klimafolgen für descriptions of landscapes. For me, it’s Mensch und Küste am Beispiel der “the third zone”. Personally, I’m dreaming of Nordseeinsel Sylt (Climate impact for Man a long piece of music in and Shores as seen on the which at certain, well-chosen moments an North Sea island Sylt) it reads: a-capella-“choir” of three voices sings a Hätte Sylt nicht das Image einer small melody full of understatement, low-key attraktiven Ferieninsel, gäbe es den Küstenschutz (not longer than 45 seconds) – in der bestehenden Form gewiss nicht» and the instrumental music is so (If Sylt did not have the thrilling that you don’t wait for image of an attractive holiday island, the “vocal moments”…. Let’s say they coastal management in its current form sing three times within 25 minutes, would certainly not exist). The enforcement of always the same melody, always different a natural reef off Sylt is lyrics…. May sound weird, but the being discussed as an alternative solution. idea is simple and I never,  a first experiment was conducted from heard anything like that. I do also 1996 to 2003. A sand drainage think of the vocal “emanations” (might as being successfully used on Danish be the wrong word) of early islands is not likely to work on Can albums like Tago Mago, Sylt owing to the underwater voices become sound (you won’t think slope here in parallel to the ongoing about semantics there) – it’s the sand flushing, the deliberate demolition of shaman’s world:) And how often did I groynes has begun amid great effort listen to the first track of at certain beach sections where they “High Life” (the latest Eno/Hyde-collaboration, hope were proven largely ineffective. This measure you know it!) – the also terminated the presumably most famous singing half buried in the electric groyne of Sylt, Buhne 16 — guitar strummings – the soft singing the namesake of the local naturist surfacing and vanishing, you only get beach. A number of experts, however, fears glimpses of meaning. Like My Bloody Sylt will still have to Valentine did it, in a different face considerable losses of land until way, once upon a time in the mid 21st century.

The continuous never was a huge fan of global warming is thought to result them, but liked their approach of in increasing storm activity, which would burying melodies. Now imagine this: an electric result in increased land loss and, guitar that plays free, moving sideways as a first impact, might mean without being trapped by history or the end of property insurance. Measurements cultural baggage meets a singer that showed that, unlike in former times, also improvises and avoids conventional language. The wave energy of the sea , one of the most expressive voices is no longer lost offshore, today on this planet. Would you call it carries its destructive effects on it a song? Would you call to the beaches proper. This will make it a soundscape? I’m speaking of result in an annual loss of the two albums of Sidsel Endresen sand of 1.1 million m³. The and Stian Westerhus (both on Rune dunes of the island constitute nature Grammofon, the second one will be reserves and may only be traversed released on Nov 21st – frightening on marked tracks. So called «wild beauty!) – human aliens… And then paths promote erosion and are not thought about – Paddy McAloon: I Trawl To Be Followed where vegetation is the mega hertz above the German average. Clouds cannot King Crimson’s “RED DISTRICT” in Torquay, accumulate as quickly and are generally England) is a fabulous guy scattered by the constant westerly or and a collector of jukeboxes and northwesterly winds.

The annual mean temperature is extreme music, he loves 8.5 °C. The annually averaged wind the evergreens, too. His speed measures 6.7 m/s, predominantly from jukebox from the 1960’s is western directions. The annual rainfall amounts crammed with that stuff. Thousands of to about 650 millimetres. Since 1937 singles: from “Winchester Cathedral” to “Daydream weather” data are collected at Deutscher Believer. Big archive. Now he ordered Wetterdienst’s northernmost station on a dune a special edition: two very rough near List, which has meanwhile become tracks from Lanois’ new “Wunderkammer-Musik”, a automated  number of commercial meteorological very limited edition: one single only! Services like Meteomedia AG operate stations;  It was nearly midnight. The in List too. The island in its two dancers left the wooden stage, current form has only existed for the last echoes of Stian’s electric for about 400 years. Like the mainland guitar dissoving into air, Scott Walker geestland, it was formed of moraines is watching “True Detective” in his from the older ice ages, thus home in London, and my friend being made up of a till; John smiles and says: “The core, which is now apparent in fruit takes a long time to the island’s west and centre by ripen, but it falls suddenly”. The cliff, dunes and beach. He likes riddles. He takes the sandy core began to erode as Lanois single, puts it into the it was exposed to a strong “holy grail” of his juxebox collection, current along the island’s steep basement and takes a coin out of when the sea level rose 8000 his pocket. The stylus is landing years ago. During the process, sediments on the black vinyl, they were accumulated north and south of piece starts.

– Gosh, this is the island. The west coast, which fucking genius, I say to him, was originally situated 10 km off but why did you do all today’s shore, was thus gradually moved this.  – Just wait a minute, eastward, while at the same time it’s all done with a purpose. The island began to extend .  It didn’t take long, that the north and south. After the minute. Suddenly the jukebox started to ice ages, marshland began to form tremble, and tremble even more, around this geestland core. In 1141, Sylt and before I could even open is recorded as an island, yet my mouth to say something like before the Grote Mandrenke flood,  “what the fuck”, it simply exploded belonged to a landscape cut by with a bang. The bar was tidal creeks and, at least during closed for three months. Our wounds low tide, it could be reached were healing quickly (he excused himself on foot.

It is only since more than once that this flood, the creation of copy of “Hey Jude” sliced a spit from sediments began to up my left forearm), and when form the current characteristic shape of I asked him later. It is the northern part and had known what would happen, the southern edges of Sylt which were answered: “Think so. You know there and still are, the subject of comes a time where don’t want greatest change. For example, Listland was to rely on all your domesticated separated from the rest of the knowledge about music. Or life. Sometimes the island goes into the 14th century and you have to handle explosives.”   (For from the later 17th century onwards Anonymous) Hi!

Let’s think about instrumental music the Königshafen (King’s Harbour) began to with vocal sections – “The third area” slit up as the «elbow» spit between song and soundscape I love it began to form. In addition to the nearly unrecognizable words can be constant loss of land, the inhabitants heard in instrumental music, hushed voices, voices during the Little Ice Age were from old tapes, even singing from constrained by sand drift. Dunes shifting old tapes, bad quality tapes (with to the east threatened settlements and vocals on it) can have a arable land and had to be huge emotional impact. Gavin Bryars: The Sinking stopped by the planting of marram of the Titanic (Obscure Records) Steve Reich: grass in the 18th century. Consequently It’s gonna rain (the asyncronicity of though, material breaking off the island two tapes leads to “semantic extinction” was increasingly washed away and the – word becomes sound) – I think island’s extent continued to decrease. Records of Roger Waters et al are talking the annual land loss exist since quite a nonsense, but In 1870, according to them, Sylt lost loved Pink Floyd’s “Alan’s Psychedelic Breakfast”. An annual 0.4 m of land. No real song, no real soundscape. Brian in the north and 0.7 m Eno very often tries to attack in the south from 1870 to his vocals, push them from 1951 to 1984, the center, looking for an area where rate increased to 0.9 and 1.4 ambient and song intertwine.

Another Green m respectively, while shorelines at the World is regarded as an island’s very edges at Hörnum and song album, though two thirds are List are even more affected. Severe storm instrumentals. Another Day On Earth (buried surges of the last decades have treasure!) also strives for a “theatre repeatedly endangered Sylt to the point of voices” where vocals lose their of breaking in two, e.g. Hörnum egos (or just vanish after short was temporarily cut off from the appearances). Listen to “And then so island in 1962. Part of the clear”. The Residents: Eskimo I haven’t heard island near Rantum which is only this album for a very long 500m wide is especially threatened. An armoured time, but reading your mail, it concrete groyne at Westerland Concrete tetrapods in rings a bell. In my memory Westerland Sand dunes near List Measures of protection the way the “authenticity” or “gibberish” against the continuous erosion date back of the tribal singing and the to the early 19th century when enveloping soundscapes are my ideal of groynes of wooden poles were constructed. This “third zone” (but, as those were built at right angles said, long time ago, memory may into the sea from the coast play tricks) I only loved two line. Later they were replaced by albums of the Residents, this one. For other uses, see Sylt (disambiguation). Coordinates: What do the new (forthcoming) albums 54°54′N 8°20′E Sylt Native name: Söl, Sild 13-09-29-nordfriesisches-wattenmeer-Wadden – of Scott Walker & Sunn O) Geography Location

Wadden Sea Coordinates 54°54′N 8°20′E Archipelago. North Frisian Islands Major islands           Sylt,  Daniel Lanois and Sidsel Endresen Föhr, Amrum Area     99 km2 (38 sq mi) Length             38 / Stian Westerhus have in common km (23.6 mi) Width                13 km (8.1 mi) Highest Disturbance, a considerable amount of harshness, elevation     52 m (171 ft) Highest point Uwe-Düne Country Germany State       and, in rare moments, unexpected tenderness! Schleswig-Holstein District Nordfriesland Demographics Demonym              Sylters Population          21,000 Density  212 /km2 (549 /sq mi) Ethnic groups                Germans, Scott and Sidsel get or certainly Frisians, Danes.  Sylt (German pronunciation: will get a huge amount of [ˈzʏlt]; Danish: Sild; Söl’ring North Frisian: great reviews because they have strong Söl) is an island in northern admirers: nearly always the same small Germany, part of Nordfriesland district, Schleswig-Holstein, bunch of people who sings the and well known for the distinctive praise, and for all the good shape of its shoreline. It belongs reasons. I had the luck to to the North Frisian Islands and listen to the second duo album is the largest island in North Sidsel and Stian will release on Frisia, the northernmost island of Germany, Rune Grammofon in late November. Two it is known for its tourist days ago vanished under my resorts, notably Westerland, Kampen and Wenningstedt-Braderup, set of headphones and, listening to as well as for its 40 “Bonita”, I was transported to a km long sandy beach. It is oldfashioned bar with old chandeliers frequently covered by the media in and a Wurlitzer jukebox. Two people connection with its exposed situation in – bathing in neon lights the North Sea and its ongoing – danced to this undanceable loss of land during storm tides. Music (coming from a fantastic since 1927, Sylt has been connected sound system Jamaican style). Dancing to to the mainland by the Hindenburgdamm this only seems possible in radical causeway. In latter years, it has exercises of “Ausdruckstanz”. Listening has the been a resort for the German duo, I forgot my standard aesthetic jet set and tourists in search vocabulary, the word “postmodernism” lost any of occasional celebrity sighting contents meaning.

Sidsel Endresen is the most 1 Geography 1.1 Flora and fauna 2 expressionist female voice in modern music climate. 3 Settlements 3.1 Settlements along the west since Meredith Monk, and guitarist Stian coast 3.2 Sylt-Ost 3.2.1 Tinnum 3.2.2 Keitum 3.2.3 Munkmarsch 3.2.4 Archsum 3.2.5 Westerhus is playing with fire extending Morsum, Transport, Culture, History. In other the vocabulary of his fucking old media . See also  References  External links Geographysatellite electric guitar with a grim smile image of Sylt Map of Sylt (North on his face. In the same Frisian, German and Danish place names) With way the meeting of Scott Walker 99.14 km², Sylt is the fourth-largest and Sunn  was a German island and the largest German dark dream that came true. The North Sea island Sylt is located more I listen to the from 9 to 16 km off album, the more I’m seduced by the mainland, to which it is the moments of vulnerabilty that surrounds connected by the Hindenburgdamm southeast of the merciless flow of words. Some are the islands of Föhr, may know about this miserable old and Amrum, to the north lies school of exorcism, part of the Danish island of Rømø. The madness of Catholicism. Now, listening island of Sylt extends for 38 to Scott’s singing can make you km in a north-south direction. At think of exorcising ghosts, but, in its northern peak at Königshafen, it contrast to generations of mentally instable is only 320 m wide. Its priests (inquisition’s killing elite), here it greatest width, from the town of really gets a cathartic quality. There Westerland in the west to the is something deeply human in Scott’s eastern Nössespitze near Morsum, measures 12.6 hunting territory between a whisper and km.

On the western and northwestern a cry, the effect is similar shore, there is a 40 km to looking at the last fifteen sand beach. To the east of minutes of the last episode of Sylt, is the Wadden Sea, which “True Detective”.  And now: belongs to the Schleswig-Holstein Wadden Sea Mr. Lanois. He releases an album National Park and mostly falls dry that confuses a lot of critics during low tide. The island’s shape has who cannot categorize it. Critics who constantly shifted over time, a process come from the mainstream and get which is still ongoing today. Getting their fucking kicks on route 66, northern and southern spits of Sylt on fucking Classic Rock Radio. Strictly are exclusively made up of infertile conservative critics (rock journalism is full sand deposits, while the central part of smart Alecs whose heads with the municipalities of Westerland, Wenningstedt-Braderup are filled with Harley Davidson memories and Sylt-Ost consists of a geestland and “good old time”-obsessions). They core, which becomes apparent in the way they cannot handle disturbance, because they think form of the Red Cliff of they know it all. “Flesh & Wenningstedt. The geestland facing the Wadden Machine” is too much for them; Sea gradually turns into fertile marshland unbearable for a conservative mind. It’s around Sylt-Ost. Today sources show that not old school ambient, it’s something Sylt has only been an island you didn’t expect from the producer since the Grote Mandrenke flood of Dylan, U2, Peter Gabriel – 1362.

The so-called Uwe-Düne on first listen it may deeply is the island’s highest elevation with disturb. So several writers are 52.5 m above sea level on Sylt, showing their thumbs down, writing about a marine climate influenced by the “unfinished” pieces and exercises in noise Gulf stream is predominant. With  jams not average of 2 °C, winter months used to someone touching new ground are slightly milder than on the – oh, poor buddies, no deja-vues. Mainland, summer months though, with a but in one aspect they are median of 17 °C, are somewhat right. The record should be sold cooler, despite a longer sunshine period with a warning sign: “DANGER! OUTSIDE The annual average sunshine period COMFORT ZONE!” Ya remember Sylt is 4.4 hours per day; bar I was transported to (the It is due to the low way of dreams and good navigation relief of the shoreline that Sylt systems) while listening to Sidsel and had a total of 1,899 hours of Stian, the owner of that bar of sunshine in 2005, 180 hours (placed in a deserted area of



Various texts from  www.

The art of going to extremes and meeting the core

The Think Tank in Action

Nobody wants to be here and nobody wants to leave

Short excerpt from Das heitere Parallellesen von “Bleeding Edge” (5)

Daniel Lanois: Flesh And Machine (out tomorrow)

Hello Andy, it’s me

Killing Ten Little Italians


The cut-up machine used:

A dream dreaming the dreamer

» … We were in a hotel. A bit worn down. A memory of better days.

Where I don’t know, perhaps it was in Sylt? I haven`t been there yet so I don’t know.

I recognized Michael of course and there were other people (whom I had not yet met, but I understood they were the other Manafonistas – perhaps Jochen, Gregor, Martina or Marcus – there were no individual identities that I could separate from each other, just an identity as a group).

We (perhaps Uwe, Wolfram, or Lajla – again there were no individuals – just shadows bleeding into each other) were sitting around a big table in a room with very a strong light. White and strong.

The food was being served – cut into small cubes. There were no cutlery – no knives or forks. And nobody seemed to get the idea that it was possible to eat without knives and forks.

We (or maybe Henning or Jan or Ian – or rather a creature consisting of us as if we were one) started looking everywhere, but the only cutlery we found had been dipped in paint or so broken that we couldn’t use it.

Finally we returned to the table to discover that the food was gone) …»

As I woke up this morning the dream still lingered in me. And it is still lingers on, and I have the feeling having met you – the other Manafonistas – already.

What it means that we could not eat our food (cut in small cubes) without cutlery or that we didn`t find anything suitable when we were looking for it I don’t know, neither that the plates with our food were gone when we were back from our search.

I usually do not remember my dreams so clearly, and also during this dream I remember the feeling of knowing that I am dreaming. I feel I dream so much with my eyes open, that I prefer to not use my dreams as source of creation, whether it is with sounds or images or words.

As I am writing right now – the dream mixes with the sounds of Daniel Lanois Flesh and machine – that I have played quite a lot the last days. Or have I? Is it rather that it is a record that was already playing inside me, and I have just needed someone to record it for me to recognize it? And it happened to pass thru Daniel? Flesh and Machine does feel like home, in a quite unexpected way.

Flesh and Machine grows on repeated listening, and also when i am just trying to remember the sounds (without playing it, like just before going to sleep or just after waking up) and it has a lot of the same effect on me, as visualizing Stalker by Tarkovskij or the playing of Coltrane, whose record Live at the Temple University has been equally a revelation this week.

But that is another dream waiting to dream me.


SPARK OF LIFE (Sketches/Remix)


bird and tree


touching your branches with my wings

somewhere inside us

we are bleeding into one


looking at us


i see us without faces

without eyes


looking beyond

what can be seen


branches and wings


flying high – wings touching wings


looking down – wondering is it me and you I am seeing

– branches touching branches  – down there?


am I both bird and tree?

both you and me?

have we both branches and wings?


at the same time?

in the same being?


spark of life


gently circling leading and following


into the great unknown

from where we once came. There

is no hurry


having all the time in the world

being  all the time in the world


bleeding into one


we are the spark of life

before becoming the spark of life



floating on snowflakes

drowning in drops of water

resting in pulses so slow

that we hardly know we exist


but we do – just before the spark of life

becomes the spark of life




Written/sketched while listening to

Sudovian Dance by Marcin Wasilewski Trio w/ Joakim Milder

on repeat

Published in: on 27 oktober, 2014 at 9:00  Legg igjen en kommentar  
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Meeting at PUNKT 2014 (Remix)


We met where the stairs ended, waiting for the first begin to concert. Exchanging some walls while the words we spoke slowly turned into a bridge between us. After a while, he said his name: Fredrik Engelbrecht and I said mine: Michael Hossmann.

The first concert changing something inside of me was Sheriffjunko + Streifen of Nothingness. Playing without microphones, but inside them was the sampling of experience, delays, sound manipulations and technology all brought back to their Viofones, saxpet and trumlin. Did i listen with open or closed eyes? I don’t remember. It is not important. Was i on the stage? Were the musicians inside of me? New roles are needed to describe these feelings: like perdience and auformer.

Me and him meeting between the concerts – discussing among other topics music not yet created. What is the sound of Neil Davis and Miles Young? Of Bob Eno and Brian Dylan? Of Leonard Brahem and Anouar Cohen?


began with the Radioshow: Burning songs for storytellers (or how to turn magic into radio.) filled with songs that were mine before I had even heard them. Followed by the almost brutal soundscapes of Jana Harding and Mike Vinderen. A voyage into the depths of their uncompromising recordings of unspoken promises from the independent recording business played back at earsplitting volume. It was painfully pleasant closing the eyes and floating away into the unending space between my ears. At last there was a meeting with Andy Laurel, who spoke a lot about her cat slowly growing deaf, but had learned to play cards. We would watch a movie with the cat playing poker and grinning. The image of this almost deaf cat with a paw full of a straight flush is a door that I have passed and can never go back.

Later that evening Eriographs by Helikh Onore was a fishbowl of aural delight and we were flying with the seagulls on the beach. Arve Zach and Eivind Henriksen on drumtar and gitpet. Jeffrey Aarseth and Ingar Bruinsma on viobal and cymlin. And the remix, just flowing out of the moment, like a gracious dolphin giving birth to itself under water. Another of these magic moments was to see a Zapp played by his instrument, to see a machine touch his naked skin, to hear sounds that no Bang has yet wrenched from the bottom of his endlessly moving body. There was hammers of sound and nails of noise. And then the remix by Fennesz4; violently playful and playfully violent at the same time, a contrast between before and after the beginning.


began with Henning Bang seducing Jan Bolte about his sampled approach to conversational Zapping.

This is where the idea of remixing conversations came up:

What tools does the conversation remixer have? A sampler – repeating everything that is said. A cutup sampler – sampup a cutler. Playing samples backwards. Sdrawkcab selpmas gniyalp. Adding delay. Repeating the words slower (sssllloooowwwwweeeerrrr) or faster (fstr) or making them stutter. We have the replacer and the sensotron – taking everything that is send and depending on which direction you push the dial too make sense out of random or the purest stupidity out of perfectly sensibel krauersaut.

The discussion ended with a poem sampled and remixed live:

«Why not sit on the wind / bang on a drop of water / and sing along with the rocks …»

Then there was an unnamed piece outside of the official program performed by a nameless artist with an ending I wished had continued longer, a beginning that had begun later and a middle that could have been somewhere else. Later that evening the concert with Bang4 and Jan Zapp was not without reason that the applause were rising to the feet after this audience. A cascade of beings responding to each other picking up elements letting go returning floating mirroring breaking glass red velvet getting lost finding the way being the way just being (…) Closing in to the end we gathered in the belly of the Phoenix to listen to Arve Anderson on trumlin and Laurie Henriksen on violet blending into each other becoming one beautiful beast. The final words softly spoken were:

«The stars looking down on us / too far away / far away to touch / still they try / still they try to touch us / with their fingers / fingers of light / light / fading light»


Here are some tracks you can download for your listening pleasure:

Arve Anderson and Laura Henriksen – The Birth of the Phoenix

Bang4 and Jan Zapp – (Videofeet Remix)

Unnamed artist: unnamed piece – Silent remix by Fredael Engelmann

Henning Bang/Jan Bolte: interviewing the interviewer Jan Bolte (Recording)

Michrik Hossbrecht – Radioshow: Burning songs for storytellers (or how to turn magic into radio.)

Sheriffjunko + Streifen of Nothingness (Identity blur remix)

Jana Harding and Mike Winderen – The sound of unspoken promises amplified

Eriographs by Helikh Onore (Under water remix)

The remix of Fennez4 (Remix by the remixer remixing the remixers remix)

(to be linked to the picture: instructions for download)



Fanget i en virkelighet du ikke bryr deg om

Fanget i dager du ikke kan flykte unna

Den evige natten er heller ingen løsning
du kan velge

Uansett hvor du plasserer øynene dine
ser du deg selv

Tanker fra et annet liv invaderer deg
og lar deg ikke slippe unna

De sirkler omkring deg
overalt hvor du er

Jeg skulle gjerne sagt noe pent til deg
men alle de fine ordene har gått sin vei

og det ser ikke ut som om de har tenkt seg tilbake




Fredrik Hossmann