PS Pere Noel, je souhaite d'habiter dans le monde de "La Science des Reves"
(C'est LA science, heh)
I had my first flying dream in ages last night after seeing Gondry's latest.
In the morning, I looked up Charlotte Gainsbourg, then her famous father, and spent the rainy afternoon listening to his records for the first time.
The man instantly adds two inches of sleaze to any bay-windowed parlour, but is irrefutably fun and likable. And his daughter looks just like him and very little like her fine-boned mother.
After Serge, I somehow ended up thinking about Sally Potter's "Orlando" (after Woolf) again. These two films, "La Science" and "Orlando" have similar palpitating effects on the dormant romantic senses--true romances, not the drugstore chocolate box variety or dating-profile pneumaticisms about drippy candles and soggy beaches. They are made lovingly, rich with hope and heartache and visceral longing.
In the process of finding another recording of the pavanne used in Orlando, which was an old French chanson I first heard at LPC-Heggnes, I came across Ravel's otherworldly "Pavanne for a Dead Princess", then the lush "Daphnis & Chloe". I could not refuse so much sumptuousness in one afternoon and so gave my tithe to iTunes gladly, under the circumstances.
Strange to think at times I listen to no music at all. How are the plants supposed to grow, then?
I had my first flying dream in ages last night after seeing Gondry's latest.
In the morning, I looked up Charlotte Gainsbourg, then her famous father, and spent the rainy afternoon listening to his records for the first time.
The man instantly adds two inches of sleaze to any bay-windowed parlour, but is irrefutably fun and likable. And his daughter looks just like him and very little like her fine-boned mother.
After Serge, I somehow ended up thinking about Sally Potter's "Orlando" (after Woolf) again. These two films, "La Science" and "Orlando" have similar palpitating effects on the dormant romantic senses--true romances, not the drugstore chocolate box variety or dating-profile pneumaticisms about drippy candles and soggy beaches. They are made lovingly, rich with hope and heartache and visceral longing.
In the process of finding another recording of the pavanne used in Orlando, which was an old French chanson I first heard at LPC-Heggnes, I came across Ravel's otherworldly "Pavanne for a Dead Princess", then the lush "Daphnis & Chloe". I could not refuse so much sumptuousness in one afternoon and so gave my tithe to iTunes gladly, under the circumstances.
Strange to think at times I listen to no music at all. How are the plants supposed to grow, then?
posted by greenyew at 2:02 AM
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