| $11.14
back in stock as of
september 27th, 2007
first in stock on
march 6th, 2007
threads:
1970s-electronic
1980s-electronic
electro-acoustic-composition
musique-concrète
field-recordings
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| | | la légende des voix (france) #ldv 008 cd arsenije jovanovic “arsenije jovanovic” compact disc - invasions (1978) 13:45
- resava cave (1977) 12:35
- the island of the dying donkeys (1988) 20:10
- ma maison (1993) 19:40
| | click the play button to hear an excerpt of "invasions (1978)" |
| career-spanning disc covering radiophonic work by legendary serbian composer/sound designer arsenije jovanovic, released by eric la casa on his la légende des voix label in the mid-90s...
this has always been something of an elusive title; much like the jim o’rourke/syllyk disc that directly precedes it in the ldv catalogue it seems to have appeared only briefly and faded out of view for the better part of the last decade... that i’m suddenly able to stock it means that someone has found a box/two under their bed; good news for us! highly recommended, especially for fans of andre almuro’s work. |
| | la légende des voix press release... |
| arsenije jovanovic
1: invasions (1978) 13'45
commissioned by r.t.b. (yougoslavia). sound engineer: zoran jerkovic
2- resava cave (1977) 12'35
commissioned by r.t.b.. sound engineer: zoran jerkovic
3- the island of the dying donkeys (1988) 20'10
commissioned by r.t.b.. sound engineer: zoran jerkovic
4- ma maison (1993) 19'40
commande : atelier de creation radiophonique. ingénieur du son : madeleine sola
diffusée sur france culture le : 19.12.93
“il y a bien des annees deja, john cage avait livre les clefs de l'immense champ acoustique : le monde ne cesse de bourdonner autour de nous, et tout est - peut-être - va être musique. les sons, dans leur envol, oublient vite leur source pour se deployer librement et converser ensemble · et nous aventurer plus loin, sans faire la roue. l'image globale de “ma maison”, si on la tire comme nne "épreuve d'écoute”, correspond bien à un des projets de l’atelier de création radiophonique : passer sans cesse du dedans au dehors, et vice· versa - dilater l'espace sonore.”
rene parabet (producteur-coordonnateur de i'a.c.r.) ...
from a sketch-book for “faunophonia”
a saint tried in 'ain to colwert a jew to christianity, finally, losing his patience, he cried ollt he would more easily make a donkey kneel ,before the holy sacrament then make a jew admit the authenticity of his proots. the jew challenged the saint to carry out his treat, and succeed. before the eyes of the amazed mob, the donkey knelt and thereafter a great number of nonchristians and jews col1'erted into christianity.
what would this 'tllgar legend of saint antonio look like if it was written by a donkey and read by the saint. in it, like in an archeological vertical section, such human stupidity is exposed that the donkey seems wiser than the saint. if a donkey is really so stupid, why did christ choose to ride it when he enteling jerusaleij1 ? why were the ox and the donkey the first to recognize the son of god to whose teachings saint antonio then quids the animal? fortunately, in some other cultures, the donkey is a holy and venerable animal.
walking through a mcadow, i once came across a very big ox chewing his cud over hedge, i thought i was alone, i was watching those beautinll eyes, and wandered - what arc those spaces between his mind and mine? suddenly, i felt somehow helpless, humiliated, rejected to a hopelessly distant end of living world. out of the bushes the animal's owner appeared. somewhat embarrassed,
i asked him :
does your bull think?
what about you? - was the insulted man's answer.
...
invasions
invasions has been recorded in a cave, hundreds of meters deep trom the surtace of the earth, in the region where the sparse villages have been abandon ned by the most of its poor inhabitants much before the author's country has been in'olved in the disastrous war. the author didn't even think about the specicific at the time when the piece has been at its beginning.
resava cave
the cave of resava represents a space whose therapeutical silence has enabled me to hear some sounds again, \;th the ears of a child, such regeneration is not possible in the studio where the walls are artificial, where the air is artificial, where silence is artificial too. there, it is the s·nthetic sound that rules ... sound pollution ...
and then, childhood ... the roots of everything are there ... as a child i used to play in the caves of my native gornja resava, round the walls of the monastery manasija ... a miracle settled in me and it is death only that will drive it out of me ...
everybody has his own cave ...
the cave was my first rather serious attempt to build a sound, dramatic, musical construction in natural acoustical conditions, with liberated human voice and authentic sounds produced by stalactites and stalagmites.
the cave represents an experience which should reassert the conviction that musical professionalism does not mean an exclusive privilege to deal with the sound, not to say musical research, if we accept as a mct that every sensitive human being hides in himself a riddle, a biological one, which means an indestructible crave for music and sound, why not get more il1'olved with this precious and unexploited energy? in our search for energy let us turn towards the energies of human spirit.
the majority of performers in the cave does nor belong to the professional world of music. on the contrary, it is the professionalism of the professionals that jeopardized a free game with the sound, this means that they were f.1ced with an additional problem : to reject the knowledge of music as a superflous burden in order to be able to walk easier along the paths of unknown and hidden reservation of the 'spontaneous and sub-conscious, in the direction where lies the source of all streams of spiritual creation.
( cxccrpt from "sound anthology ii, radio drama, l.1ureats dll prix italia~, imer'ic\' released by neda depolo, llilano, september 1978 )
...
the island of the dying donkeys
once i spent weeks camping on a small island with nobody else, every day, before sunrise, i was woken up by the sea gulls whose cries never stopped to astonish me, i did not hear them as 'oices of birds. the island was called the donkey island, 1 then learnt once, old worm-out donkeys were left on the island to count out their days without toad and water. how many generation of sea gulls have listened to the cries of the animals in agony! 1 was convinced, and still am, that on the island birds sometimes sound like those voices of dead animals.
but that, still, is nor the beginning, a long time before that, while filming the series "the time of frescoes", i walked out of the monastery for a morning walk and came cross a donkey. it was black and big, like mythological monster. it was standing under a white, dead, branching walnut tree, on the 'ery edge of an abyss, his i~gs apart, his head turned towards the sky. from time to time, he opened his jaw widely, showing his teeth, white as petals of a daisy, it stood there for a long time, smiling or maybe leeiing, without making any sound, as if a blessed message or food were to fall from the opened skies with the break of day.
maybe not even that was the beginning, and perhaps there was no beginning at all, the "story" has been gathering trom all over and if there is a secret hidden in me, and also hidden from me, yet in that fact there has to be some providence, di'ine or other, as distant and vague as the look of that ox, as grimace of the donkey or the sights and braying of the island birds before the break of dawn.
...
ma maison
de retour d'une assez longue absence, j'ai commence a ecouter les bruits de ma maison d 'une maniere nom'dle, et a en dresser un inventaire sonore, alors que je procedais au rangement de chacun de ces souvenirs sonores, telles des choses concretes, se presenta a mon esprit une scenographic sonore vibrante, vivante, plus ric he que n'importe quel album, avec ses demi-temoignages trompeurs du passe.
quelques annees plus tard, c'est en antiquaire-acousticien, collectionneur d'antiquites sonores, que je suis entre dans un studio parisien.
avec moi, dans de petites et grandes boites, j'apporrais'les mix des 'ivants et des morts, ii y avait aussi les voix de ceux dont les noms avaient cchappc a ma memoire : lcs voix des vents et des tempetes, des eclairs et des pluies, et celles des eaux, des oiseaux, des chats, ou encore celles des soupirs et des rires, des cris et des babillages d'enfants qui a'ancent a quatre partes; et puis, ie son des chaises et des meubles, les hurlements des voisins, les silences nocturnes et hivernaux.
mais, par chance je crois, ie portrait de ma maison, compte tenu de mes investigations d'im'entoriage sonore, ne se solda pas en un album realiste de "photos sonores", dcs mes premiers jours de travail, a"ec !'excellente equipe du studio, je me suis mis en qucte des echos !es plus protonds de ces ,'oix. nous avons alors emrepris une descente dans des espaces uti les traces semamiques apparaissent, et oll a tra"ers ie delta des espaces electroniques de la nouvelle technologie? la multitude des voix, echappees des bahuts familiaux emplis de vieilleries sonores, a commence a se diluer et a s'epancher dans les structures poreuses, et autres espaces. les sons ont acquis d'autres formes, com me l'expression de leur etat anterieur, celles-ci touchaici'lt davantage a une pensee, au signe d'une pensee et d'un sentiment, qu'au systcme semantique du langage courant. ne sont restes a la surface que quelques fleches, un signe reconnaissable, une ponctuation marquant !a perspective, une distance grandissante entre la source mcme des mots et des bruissements, et l'estuaire final ou les mix acquicrent des formes dechiffrables. perdant ainsi beaucoup de sa valeur autobiographique, et de ses multiples caractcristiques physiques et techniques, ma maison est devenue "ma maison", c'est-a-dire une maison qui n 'est plus seulement mienne, une demeure ou ie proprictaire ne sejourne pas.
dans ses fondations, elle ne s'est pas complctement liberce de !'entrelacs des racines de la vie, mais tout ie reste s'est ramitie, degage de !'arbre genealogique, desormais, la maison posscde une nouvelle adresse, et un nouveau numero mystique, et s'il m'arri"e un jour de m'aventurer une to is encore a la recherche de i'archeologie sonore de la maison, je me refcrerai a ce chiffre comme d'un precieux guide.
arsenije jovanovic |
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