Ghost Music
Jerry Gordon plays small sounds in a dark room
An audio seance welcoming dead avant guardians to step out of the grave for an evening of chai and weird dancing.
Microsonic songs stolen from a radio playing backwards on the far side of the River Styx.
Ghost Music was an event of micro-sonic music played to/for dead people. The concept was to invite ghosts/the dead to come into the space and enjoy the evening with the living: very informed by Day of the Dead sensibilities. When people arrived at the show, I had them write the names of a dead people they know on small slips of folded paper. The slips were then set around the room, allowing the dead to be present in the room. And, as the night progressed and as people thought of more dead people they know, they wrote more slips and we filled the room with visitations, the names of the gone arriving back like timely song birds.
The pieces of the evening were all played for/to specific dead people I and other people know, with the intent to not mourn them but to entertain them, to keep them in the imaginal mind of inspiration and in that way commune. I invited a few people to play with me and/or read poems for their dead folks, and so several other voices joining tonight--Tabou, Charles-Eric Billard and Yuichi Arai played music, Yangjah danced a ghostly piece outside on the street and Ralph read a poem he composed for a neighbor he greeted many times but never met.
The Unknown Gardener
by Ralph Famularo
You in the corner,
Come join this evening confluence.
You who lived around the corner,
at the corner of the narrow path
Where only foot traffic and dappled shadows amble.
You who broke daily meditation on your flowers
to greet my zenith and declination,
the signpost for my going for the gold
and bringing home the bacon.
You who tended to the roots of your Nature
and what stems from growth,
Nurtured unfolding light with each new petal,
As I got entangled in the daily brambles
of human emotion.
And a decade blew by as a late afternoon breeze
in the savory warmth of spring,
in the burnt aroma of summer,
in the weakening hues of autumn,
and the dull, damp clouds of winter
Then you, whose name I never knew,
Blossomed into the Nameless
and left your colored greetings lingering
behind the gate I never unlatched.
So, to you, I now return your greetings
with an invitation to visit the old dimension
and meditate on the flowers.
The first set of the night was me solo playing small sounds. I was then joined by Tabou. Then the event was opened for everybody.
Here are pics of the night, by Kaori Yoshimoto:
An audio seance welcoming dead avant guardians to step out of the grave for an evening of chai and weird dancing.
Microsonic songs stolen from a radio playing backwards on the far side of the River Styx.
Ghost Music was an event of micro-sonic music played to/for dead people. The concept was to invite ghosts/the dead to come into the space and enjoy the evening with the living: very informed by Day of the Dead sensibilities. When people arrived at the show, I had them write the names of a dead people they know on small slips of folded paper. The slips were then set around the room, allowing the dead to be present in the room. And, as the night progressed and as people thought of more dead people they know, they wrote more slips and we filled the room with visitations, the names of the gone arriving back like timely song birds.
The pieces of the evening were all played for/to specific dead people I and other people know, with the intent to not mourn them but to entertain them, to keep them in the imaginal mind of inspiration and in that way commune. I invited a few people to play with me and/or read poems for their dead folks, and so several other voices joining tonight--Tabou, Charles-Eric Billard and Yuichi Arai played music, Yangjah danced a ghostly piece outside on the street and Ralph read a poem he composed for a neighbor he greeted many times but never met.
The Unknown Gardener
by Ralph Famularo
You in the corner,
Come join this evening confluence.
You who lived around the corner,
at the corner of the narrow path
Where only foot traffic and dappled shadows amble.
You who broke daily meditation on your flowers
to greet my zenith and declination,
the signpost for my going for the gold
and bringing home the bacon.
You who tended to the roots of your Nature
and what stems from growth,
Nurtured unfolding light with each new petal,
As I got entangled in the daily brambles
of human emotion.
And a decade blew by as a late afternoon breeze
in the savory warmth of spring,
in the burnt aroma of summer,
in the weakening hues of autumn,
and the dull, damp clouds of winter
Then you, whose name I never knew,
Blossomed into the Nameless
and left your colored greetings lingering
behind the gate I never unlatched.
So, to you, I now return your greetings
with an invitation to visit the old dimension
and meditate on the flowers.
The first set of the night was me solo playing small sounds. I was then joined by Tabou. Then the event was opened for everybody.
Here are pics of the night, by Kaori Yoshimoto:
