Je me demandais quoi écouter en lisant “La vie secrete des jeunes de Riad Satouf”, et puis je suis tombée sur un vieux Technikart dans lequel il explique que la bande son des années de l’adolescence, selon lui, c’est la musique des jeux Amiga, qu’il écoutait en boucle. Voilà!
Riad Sattouff has a knack for speaking about teens. But what to listen to while reading his comic book, “the secret life of teens”? He himself provided the answer in a Technikart interview, as he explains the sound to his teenage years was the music of his Amiga games.
It seems Michael Cunningham has the answer, and he explains it at the occasion of the orginal music album for “The Hours” .
So here is a bit of Philip Glass to get in the mood.
But what did Micheal Cunningham write “By Nightfall ” to? He mentionned it while he was last in Brussels. The answer here soon.
Since Seeqpod went down, I’ve felt a bit helpless, without my favorite tool for this blog.If anyone knows of a good replacement, please let me know!
In the meantime, I’ve fallen in love. Also with this series: Klezmer, by Joann Sfar.
As Sfar himself puts it, “the idea of making a comic about music interests me greatly, as comics are a world of silence“.
Therefore, he may well find it pointless to listen to Klezmer music while reading his comic, rather than just imagining rythms, colors and sounds . Still, the book makes a great introduction into the genre, therefore I suggest listening to these tracks -some of which he himself mentions as inspirations in his postface- after reading. For once.
I could not find Belz, from Moshe Leider, but here’s another one from him. In the meantime, I’m getting started with volume II.
Oh, here’s another book about being free and careless and irresponsible, as well as totally tasteless. I suppose nowadays you’d just say Trash. As for me, I’ll keep treasuring that one moment:
– “When are you taking off?”, Bruce asked.
-“As soon as possible, I said. “No point hanging around this town any longer. I have all I need. Anything else would only confuse me.”
He seemed surprised. “You found the American Dream?”he said. “In this town”? I nodded. “We’re sitting on the main nerve right now”, I said.
Encore un livre qui parle d’être libre et irresponsable, inconscient, dans une Amérique en déliquescence. Et le rêve américain dans tout ca?
Click here to listen to the dedicated soundtrack
A graphic novel and a playlist about modern love. Ah, this modern love.
Un roman graphique et une playlist a propos de ce putain d’amour moderne.
A Japan feature for this Sunday, since my mind’s been around that country for a while. And a great book by Murakami (the other one) , “Coin Locker babies”. This is a book with no hope. This a book on how life is a bitch. And it goes well with J Pop and mostly, some J Rock and Visual Key. So, weird stuff for a change, including 70’s Psycho rock from Kyoto. Since one of the babies has a go as rock star.
Cela fait un moment que je pense au Japon. Du coup je vous propose “les bébés de la consigne automatique”, de Murakami (l’autre). Un bouquin absolument superbe et à se prendre en pleine face. Pour écouter avec de la J Pop, J rock, Visual Key et même du rock psychédélique de Kyoto. Vu que l’un des frérots de la consigne se frotte à une carrière de Rock star.
Et il parait qu’un film avec Asia Argento et Val Kilmer est envoie d’être produit.
This book is best know due to the Sophia Coppola adaptation. It’s about desire, longing, and the absolute totalness about being a teenager. It’s very boyish, too I think.
It starts like this:
” On the morning the last Lisbon daughter took her turn at suicide-it was Mary this time, and sleeping pills, like Therese-the two paramedics arrived at the house knowing exactly where the knife drawer was, and the gas oven, and the beam in the basement from which it was possible to tie a rope. They got out of the EMS truck, as usual moving much too slowly in our opinion, and the fat one said under his breath, “This ain’t TV, folks, this is how fast we go.” He was carrying the heavy respirator and cardiac unit past the bushes that had grown monstrous and over the erupting lawn, tame and immaculate thirteen months earlier when the trouble began.
Cecilia, the youngest, only thirteen, had gone first, slitting her wrists like a Stoic while taking a bath, and when they found her, afloat in her pink pool, with the yellow eyes of someone possessed and her small body giving off the odor of a mature woman, the paramedics had been so frightened by her tranquillity that they had stood mesmerized. But then Mrs. Lisbon lunged in, screaming, and the reality of the room reasserted itself: blood on the bath mat; Mr. Lisbon’s razor sunk in the toilet bowl, marbling the water. The paramedics fetched Cecilia out of the warm water because it quickened the bleeding, and put a tourniquet on her arm. Her wet hair hung down her back and already her extremities were blue. She didn’t say a word, but when they parted her hands they found the laminated picture of the Virgin Mary she held against her budding chest.”
And here’s the suggested soundtrack.