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Not Without Mozart

Unlike many, I can not write and listen music at the same time. Even if only a small background music? you ask. If there is a background sound and I manage to write is that my ears do not listen to music. Right now, my need for music is too big for me to truly trust the writing. You see, Mercedes Sosa fire burns in my ears now, and just before the effect was volcanic eruption of Mozart - Always unfailingly the sublime Piano Concerto No. 9 says "Jeunehomme." One question: do you get there sometimes being so sensitive to music that the experience borders on the terrible, unbearable? What a strange feeling than to be so penetrated by the sounds! It borders on perversion, but what a sublime perversion!

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The time given to me Jean-Francois Beauchemin

How could I delay too long to talk about good books read in the last few months? I start by choosing one at random (since there are several that I have to comment), I chose The time I gave Jean-Francois Beauchemin.

I was in my second book read by this author. A few years ago, The manufacture of the blade greatly affected me and many of my customers at the bookstore where I worked thought the same. The with my time given I found the personal style of the author, a style that suggests nothing but the player joined by her gentleness and quiet glow. Until two-thirds of the book around, I told myself prefer my previous reading of the author, until the final breath and take me by its depth. I excerpt here a few snippets:

(speaking of his mother)

"I realized many years later that she was trying to tell us, and that made her tremble because she was afraid to disappoint us, or to kill us in a form of magic, that love is a lonely thing. "

then there's this passage that speaks of writing and who joined me in particular:

" But the game was incredible for me my passage to the University ended one day, and I think due to work. I'd rate my chances: they were zero. I stowed in a drawer my two degrees in literary studies and began to learn my craft seriously. Ten years of writing left but true, a cheerful but stubborn toil passed. A pretty safe instinct guided me. But I remembered the instructions of my teachers who encouraged me to work from plans, compels me with the prospect of organizing a frame. I took my feet in these nets, these pitfalls handed me an old school background distracted but obedient. I decided to forget the end of it all: words in the end decided everything. I understand that writer is first a reader: read all these words and then stored in me every day since childhood appealed to others in fertilized soil. I loved their feel in the chest push, I correct that if necessary by a minimum of technical, by the action of an imagination always subject to my will. A dream domesticated result of this work. Lines that are still unclear, but more or less continuously, taking shape before me. I began to see the path of my life. "

Is not it beautiful? In fact, what about the book? Of love, family, a loving father, his relationship to music. But this background is not primarily responsible for the beauty of this novel. It's simply the way Jean-Francois Beauchemin to tell which is enchanting. Writers among us, it is probably the best master the subtle art of passing time and space which we pamper and love us. An intelligent and sensitive book which I shall return.

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The corpuscles of Krause

Separated in forty-seven short chapters, Krause's corpuscles is a novel whose main key is based mainly on meetings of Lucie, the heroine of 24 years, with various characters a village in the North Shore of Montreal, where she decided to settle after the death of his mother. Making use of slang by ellipsis, Sandra Gordon excels in vivid description of places and characters and readily accomplished at a rate effective narrative, deftly changing the "clips" at the movies. By the personal tone of the writing, we are convinced that by the time the heroine is none other than the author. It does not say exactly: it is a self-fiction, but one feels what the character size Lucie, filled with humanity and lucidity at point blank range and without affectation.

Immediately after completing The corpuscles of Krause , I still wonder how much thought should encourage this reading. Praise the courage, commitment, truth, desire to be reborn, this first novel by Sandra Gordon touches all these issues. The story builds slowly around a tragedy and how it is brought recalls some American authors to this end, we think more than happy to Hemingway Bukowski said, perhaps wrongly, back cover. Despite pessimism hovering, this novel nevertheless some solar thing and refers to Paul Auster to the theme of resurrection - the heroine who stands up after a hard race. In its way, The corpuscles of Krause explores the world of literature for reflection it provokes about loneliness and death. Despite its somewhat abrupt end, an interesting novel that I finished with the vague impression that everything had been said in these 47 chapters. My colleagues

The Rookie of the Month also commented on this novel. For their views, here is .

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Awesome Rufus Wainwright at the Theatre St. Denis

We were allowed to take photos, film clips of the concert then to put them on Youtube, "as the announcer, just before the beginning of the service. Note that the tour of Rufus coming to an end and there is concern to keep a few souvenirs in the virtual world of the Internet.

Rufus Wainwright's concert was divided into two parts, one devoted to songs from her latest album All Days Are Nights: Songs for Lulu (an album that I commented in this blog a few months ago which the article can be read here ), And the second in a bunch of "old" songs. The first part consisted of pieces whose original form and unbridled invariably recalls the music of some great masters of jazz and classical music - Rufus knows so well away from the basic structure of traditional song to walk paths where terms pop and even baroque pop no longer really belong. Let's talk here song, in the classical sense (Gershwin, Porter, Rodgers & Hammerstein) or rooms where the influence of opera and even the song is nice felt, who knows, perhaps these pieces would they liked to Hugo Wolf? We asked the audience not to applaud between songs (another reference to classical music), which was difficult at times because of the undisputed success of the singer's interpretations, interpretations which on several occasions, deserved to feverish applause. The parts that touched me most during this first part are: Real Love, A Dream and, of course, Zebulon, the latest , where the singer talks about the last moments of his mother shortly before his death ("all Montreal misses her "he says, between two tunes). The first part was accompanied by a very subtle staging, where the singer was wearing a sort of medieval coat of diva and where the visual, provided by a series of images projected discreetly served as a backdrop, the album cover Songs for lulu akin to those images. This setting has nothing in particular to the concert, we would be perfectly content with a good and simple set of lights.

The second part was devoted to songs from previous albums by Rufus Wainwright. A medley that began with Beauty Mark, a piece composed for his mother and from her first album, followed by songs from his first two albums, whose performance we confirmed again that Rufus is a musician of excellent caliber. Indeed, it takes a real athlete to play piano and sing like he does, simultaneously, while keeping just a voice and a proper breath. I could write at length about the second part so it touched me, but I'll just say that where Rufus "had me literally was when he sang the beautiful Dinner at Eight - drawn the album Want One - an elegy to his father ("it's pretty hard at first but it ends with love" he said in French with a perfect diction). This song, one of my favorite singer and probably one of those like me the most profound since I listen to pop, made me feel emotions strong enough to put me after the concert, in a particular existential loneliness, I return to these moments later. The rest, then went on with Rufus Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk, that plunged the crowd in a beautiful delusion ambient. Then a few minutes later, the Montreal singer left the stage. He gave three reminders: Poses dock where our soft liquid eyes, the melancholy Going To A Town and a piece of the McGarrigle sisters, where the songwriter Montreal, referring to his mother , could not hold back her tears. In writing all this now, "revisits the fiery emotion of the evening. It was one of the most beautiful services I've seen Rufus since I regularly attend his concerts.

we know well, art can change lives, transform, make us a better person. These transformations are not without sometimes we stir deep inside. Leaving the Theatre St-Denis, I told the friend who accompanied me that I could not go home immediately, I needed to relax and drink a little silence, a question to ponder this . So I went to take a bite alone, before I go to a neighborhood bar. Think of the fate that awaits us, cogitate on that verge on real heartbreak, fear suddenly some absolution, healing absolute thinking about music, what she calls the musician, what it promises. Why write? was the first question of the hour. Why music? second. Undoubtedly, there was for me during this concert, yet another revelation of the art of sound, a muffled voice telling me to relax, not thinking too much and especially not to worry, because the Music knows my impatience, understands, embraces. The music will not go away. Alas, that last sentence has nothing to reassure me. So when the music can she expect?

I could finish this post without mentioning the singer Teddy Thompson , which provided the first part of the concert Rufus. The songs of this songwriter, who are a mix of folk-country melodies simple and often predictable, have not reversed, but this singer's voice was enchanting in every way. Nice surprise, he even joined Rufus duets for two!

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December

Every year, December gives me wings. Month as white is just beginning and already I feel I will soar higher than in previous years. It took me wait until all November has passed back to my notebooks in my little night music, I had inadvertently neglected and in spite of myself. Because, yes, I must say November was hard. Everyone says that this month is one of the most difficult and most of those who do not say think, their faces expressing the winds. Once or twice in the past two weeks, I came across people who told me spinning perfect happiness. Astonished, the more disarmed by their assertion, it could not do otherwise than to bury myself deeper into depression.

What did I do then to come back to me and music? I am overwhelmed with light. If I ogled the halogen bulbs cast a blow eye headlights with fabulous, closely watched (yes, almost) the ceiling and, when possible, I walked by setting sun as if it were to disappear. Finally, under the recommendation of a friend, I swallowed the vitamin B12, one tablet per day. All this was interspersed with readings of letters (emails) sent to my friends and a book fair which proved my faith, although conditioner - thank you Max for his peeps expert with many awards literary present. And then one night a week, there was the university. I went there sometimes soaked to the toes, man bike that I am not from my closet to make sure the proper waterproof hiking peaceful. Still, the school desk was the place to adjust to a harmonious addition. Crossing the great doors of UQAM, I felt drawn in by new joys, those worthy of the greatest songs, those who tell us to ourselves, because it is on these to school I was permitted to forget all my trouble legally.

I would therefore like to officially welcome December ! This is one month, larger than life, where snow has mission, among other things, to break the intrusive gray rain and clouds. Earlier, the library's book traveler located in the Cote-des-Neiges, Bruno, bookseller and now friend, asked me if I liked the Christmas time period. I replied with a no, not almost a reckless, given the fact that my answer came from my experience over Christmas as a bookstore and record store - where I had to negotiate with clients who lost their civility substantially and their moral sense - as hard and fast memories of my childhood spent near the tree and the largest Snowman Street, which was mine. The response most closely related to my heart right now would be a Yes. Yes, I love that period when we prepare to celebrate Christmas. I like it, mainly through the snow.

I change the subject here and talk a little music. There are more than a year since I'm not mounted on a stage. Is the song I miss? Sure, but for now I have neither the space nor time enough to devote myself. Fortunately, the partys family give me the opportunity to "escape" my six strings, caressing the piano and sing some of my "all time favorite" including this very personal piece called Snow is frivolous, piece that was composed during the summer of 2001 and I sang all my concerts since its inception. I will let you listen here, in a performance delivered in public, dating from March 2008.

Snow has this secret to the heart in one breath naive joy as the years he has

mercilessly ripped off. (Antonine Maillet)

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The Scarecrow and Mrs. King Lizard Café

It is one of those places where the unique atmosphere - an atmosphere of eerie calm, lush and uniform at a time - is so mesmerizing that it recalls the grandeur of a starry call to life. One enters the physical space and it feels good immediately. Love this place, we breath our hearts. It is nice to escape the world by drinking coffee, fun to drink while listening to live music quality is great and may even, in the best case, be a memorable experience.

this Sunday where we have (finally) fell earlier, I went to the Coffee Lizard Beaubien Street for a coffee and especially to attend a performance by the jazz pianist Karine Bétournay and guitarist Nick Di Giovanni .

The duo gave us more than two hours of music where you could hear jazz standards of all kinds, such as Rodgers and Hammerstein as well as "hits" Someday my prince as Will Come . The place was bulging with people and I was alone, sitting at a table for four, when the pianist came to me and asked if I could share my table with two people his knowledge. No problem! I told him, then came a few seconds later, the very kind of musician parents, with whom I could happily chatting for much of the afternoon.

Jazz was heard today at the cafe fits perfectly in the usability of the site. The metallic and finely rounded tone of the piano covered the entire dining room, while the melodious electric guitar timbre - a stamp of a suave sound that almost made love learning to sing - recalled those moments when the sun s 'prepares to emerge in the early hours of spring. Nick Di Giovanni has a game of great clarity. He touched the instrument with precision, leaving constantly "talk" his sister while slipping solos in which the invention was of great finesse. Playing the bass line when indulged in a solo pianist delusional (but tasteful), guitarist dazzled by the way he just put "right thing" arrangements and melodies, remaining faithful to the rule of less is more which unfortunately is ignored by many musicians. Karine Bétournay, meanwhile, surprised by a physical game, very rich and expressive that might suggest a voice singing all the paths from childhood, where each note became an assertion of happiness found. At all times, his right hand, lithe, remained deeply musical. Together, these two musicians were of the habit more than a musician, they were just artists.

We know it is not obvious to a jazz piano and guitar playing together. These instruments, capable both of sumptuous harmonies, can easily walk one over the other. Today, we were treated to a demonstration that these two musical voice acted real accomplices, more real friends, which has been confirmed in an interview friendly with the musicians after their performances.

I could not finish this post without a word or two slip on Lizard Café, which I visited for the first time today. It is an absolutely charming place that will appeal to all sensibilities and all portfolios. No doubt I will return in the coming days. In addition, Karen and Nick Di Giovanni Bétournay are "regular" establishment, because they play every Sunday at noon. Reader, if you go there for a visit Sunday afternoon, it is likely that crosses!

To visit Web Cafe Lizard is here

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Dancing to prove

was Sunday, Halloween night. I was alone, sitting at the bar of a pub near my house where lighting a small lamp suspended harmonized well with my need to write. To my right, a man of a certain age sipped his liquor. Between sips of gas explosions, I spoke to him. Under its modest appearance hid a sensitivity and erudition impressive. It was about literature (Musil, Proust) and music (Mozart, Bach and Mahler). My moleskin notebook open, I wanted to take up the pen when a couple man and woman showed up. The young woman, a blonde who spoke exclusively in English, had just hit my head and said "I'm sorry." Sitting to my left, she introduced me to the man who accompanied him: "He's my friend . Noticing my notebook, she ignored my conversation with the erudite friend when she asked, naively, if I allowed to read what was written in my book - of course I told him not. Moments later, four "shooters" were lined up on the counter. It was his tour. I was in this bar for just twenty minutes already, I attended the metamorphoses of the atmosphere. I put my notebook, choosing to speak with the young woman, calling at the same time my neighbor to join us. "I just lost my job" me "she said. That's when she expressed her desire to go dancing. Begging his friend to go with her until one of the clubs on Crescent Street, she quickly thrust a refusal on his part. I then proposed a bar in the Plateau Mont-Royal. "You want to come with me?" she asked me. For several minutes, secretly hoping she throws me this invitation, I who, in recent weeks, have often talked about my desire to go dancing. So I welcomed my neighbor at the table, I left the pub and me and the young women got into the first taxi.

She insisted to pay for the race. At the bar, I saw ordered six "shooter" and a pitcher of beer. It was too much for me, but she never asked me my opinion. The Zaz Bar, which is an institution of nightlife Montreal, showed little goodwill upon our arrival. Its 5 feet tall and dust, this pleasant early thirties face and body menu implicit, my faith, enough charm and casualness to turn the heads of most places, so that by its mere presence, dancing bar shone a glow and a more vibrant atmosphere, but also more restless in the best sense of the word.

On several occasions, she gave me, gently, a "Let me go!" I've tried starting the service. Because she wanted to seduce on about better. I did not need me to pray, I who recognized early this complicity that united us. Between us, there was no question of love games, but rather a strange seduction friendly. Whatever the follies which she take part, I knew she and I were back together in the same taxi as the friend with whom she would spend the night lived near my home. Between the songs of Michael Jackson and Bob Marley, I learned she lived in Ottawa and was in Montreal for a few hours or maybe a few days. Meanwhile, I watched his gestures and manners, which harbored a deep need to escape, to escape reality. At one point she told me she felt very close to me: "I Went To You Because You first Looked a lot like me." A few minutes later I saw her kiss a man, then another. I smiled at the gesture and indolent inconsistent, while saddened me despair of those males who were clinging to the hope that one night my friend was not going to calm down. I understand these men, especially at this moment my lips touched those of the beautiful mermaid.

It was past three o'clock in the morning. We were hungry. Rapido on the Mont-Royal Street at the intersection of St-Denis served poutine need to end the evening. That's where my new friend I made that statement shock: she admitted being diagnosed with a brain tumor at the advanced stage. But you will live is not it? I asked him, I do not know, me she said, calmly and sincerely. I then understood the reason for all his excesses, his urge to live, his madness and underlying this unique blend of joy and sorrow, mixed easily observable because it was the purest expression of courage and an appreciation.

The next day, I managed to join - we exchanged our cell numbers. I invited him for coffee, but she could not accept, she was preparing to return to the capital. Only after hanging up I realized I forgot to ask his name, about power add on Facebook. I did not remember to get this information. Sometimes I win these impulses of modesty ...

few minutes before starting to write this post, the smell of this beauty has come back to haunt me. I was not wearing a costume in Halloween night - it either, quite the opposite, but I had just lived one of the strangest nights of my life. More than its flavor, is the voice of the woman who grabbed me at the moment and I would give much to hear again the sweetness of this music "... Because You Looked a lot like me."

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Poetry for Pessoa Cioran and

A just boredom first collection of Isabelle Dumais, illustrates the sinuous, straight from the mind-body - a body happy but capable of tragic - in the maze of immobility and boredom. Presented in two sections, one for Cioran and the other a tribute to Fernando Pessoa, this collection between physical images of the expectation of falling latent or frail and operatic singing in the path of emptiness: "I rise / scattered / en plural me / and I sing / single / three voices in chorus. " Other elements of music will make their debut in the pages: "I consent to the turmoil of mind / I sing the glorious emptiness that grows."

Poems of A just boredom are relatively short, at most seven or eight lines each. The reader wonder how little effort required to adjust breathing skinned and radiant in this poetry. Some poems recall the tone and direction of morbid fragility Saint-Denys-Garneau, "remove your shoes / no / not a puddle freezes / you drag and it would make you / nice funeral," whilst others will stand out the beauty of images at full evanescence "without worry / I dropped the table / subordinated to nothing / I start / my push / to nowhere." Whether poems evoking centrifugal sometimes violent or forcing them to travel inward, we find here a poem that will capture its simplicity: "I mind my boredom as a garden." After the exile and the reserve, the breath of these poems is adjacent the open mouth, a body full procrastination.

From one end to the other intelligent and brightening for the soul, A just boredom in accuracy and beauty, will lead the mind to create his own destiny Subsequent to overtake. It is likely that from time to time wish to settle near a window for better fall back to the music matured well in this first collection.

This criticism is also available on the Rookie of the Month , showcase of Quebec's first literary works, where my colleagues comment on this month Our haul, the first novel by Jean-François Caron.

A fair Boredom Isabelle Dumais; 2010, 192 pages; Ed Chillwind

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Viva Chile y los "33"!

Hooray! The miners are finally emerged from underground!

The rescue operation is already abundantly publicized that it would be superfluous to explain here the highlights. All I can say is that my pride for my people is very, very great at this time and the only music I want to sing a song is training Chilean Inti-Illimani, and during the coup Chile, 1973, the legendary training expressed their loud cry of revolt against the military junta Pinochet. El pueblo unido jamas vencido will is the title of this song (the people united will never be defeated) and link to listen is here .

On another note, e rescue of these 33 men and technological masterpiece that is the boat which rescued the men make me awfully think of an artistic event called Robot 33. It is a thematic evening of music and poetry, organized two years ago at the house of my friend and pianist William Martineau. It's as if William had probably anticipated this miraculous rescue operation!

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Daniel Barenboim in the Piano Concerto in C Minor Mozart

This Piano Concerto No. 24 Mozart's just me literally "throw down". This is not so surprising, since, initially, deeply love this piece, numbered 491 in the Kochel catalog. But here, the circumstances of my emotions do not directly to do with the work, except with the rediscovery of an interpretation that I thought I had put aside forever.

When I purchased it several years ago, my first full piano concertos by Mozart - that of Barenboim on EMI, a box recognized as one of most interesting discography - the Argentinian pianist had won in almost all the concerti of the Grand Master (who number 27), the exceptions being the 21st K.467, angelica do major better known as the Elvira Madigan Concerto and the 24th, the dark do minor. Needless to say my disappointment was considerable, given my deep affection for these two works, which are among the most important concertos Mozart mass. During my first hearing the recording do minor , Barenboim (who leads the Chamber Orchestra piano Français) seemed to miss the Dionysian power that requires a successful interpretation of this work . Was it because of its low vigor and tempo of the rhythm a bit flabby?

This morning, lying in a while on my bed to listen in shuffle mode on the iPod, music of all genres, I had to put an end to the listening session because of passing time and the work waiting for me. I therefore promised to listen to one last piece - no matter which, had I swore - before starting my work day, secretly hoping that the software does not fall on a piece that does not correspond not in my mood (I was spinning too much to hear of heavy rock, for example) or that this piece is too long. Research on iTunes shuffle obviously wanted to put my taste to the test, because the piece was selected the first movement of Concerto do minor K.491 Mozart , lasting 14 minutes 53 seconds, in the version of Daniel Barenboim and his orchestra, which is the same for which I felt had always some closure. Not very glad to see my daily chore of another quarter of an hour, or be dropped on the specific interpretation of the work (more than fine versions, Robert Casadesus, Ashkenazy and other were stored in my iPod), I resigned myself to listen to the piece. From the first seconds, I was surprised with a more up tempo and more invigorating than me saying my memory. While listening to the piece, I began to prepare for my day, pulling my coat and filling my bag with books and pencils. I had to go to the obvious fact that I was absolutely captivated by the interpretation of this concerto. I set foot outside, and was dazzled by bright sunlight. At the same time, I crossed to the power 5 the tragic grandeur of the development of the first movement. "This development that Mozart makes me cry" I thought. I walked to the coffee, liquid eyes, letting my voice spouting "My God! "And" Ow! "That attested to my surprise and my joy.

Today I saw another face of art by Daniel Barenboim in Mozart. The great musician what pianist and conductor, Argentina had to ring for the first time in my ears, despair and ethos of this great concerto, so that in some passages, I the impression that he ran the Requiem Grand Master ! I also noticed that Another miracle of music, with the dramatic intensity of this interpretation of the concerto needed a youthfulness and an exquisite radiant breath that gave the pathos of this work a light and poetry of a Incandescent perfect.

Music lovers know what it's like listening to a piece of classical music they love in an interpretation that is not according to their hearts. A real nightmare! Because there are so enamored of a work, they are recovering from this difficult experience ' foul 'for their ears. Do not judge those music lovers who are obsessed with beauty Olympian interpretation and did not depart. Some instruments even more difficult to pass the test, deformation requires semi-professional, I'm pretty ruthless when it comes to criticism of the piano. I am also very difficult for the voices, especially male ones. That's what they have been so touched by this Barenboim Concerto in A minor do my day. The fall of bias is priceless.

Let forgive my subjectivity, but Mozart is the greatest and most perfect of composers. To know , to love and understand the music of Mozart makes our life easier because it makes us enjoy its beauty without precedents, which are still possible in this world, Bach's music is also included in this category. But by making it easier, she knows to make it more difficult for recognizing the greatness of the beauty expressed by those illustrious men, many will suffer from not being able to reach such heights in the expression of their art.

To listen to Daniel Barenboim and his orchestra in this prodigious Concerto in C minor by Mozart is here.

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October 1, International Music Day

This is not a Friday like any other. It's that personality that it wants to be more expansive than the usual. It would be loved simply because he seeks to make his way to talk about "love notes". Why not now express your love of music with people you enjoy? This will be another way to tell them you love them. Do it on the International Day of Music!

Precisely 1 hour in the morning, which is the time when I noticed that our door was that fateful day, I chose to pay tribute to music in all humility. What am I doing exactly? Just leave me a short writing session, or nearly automatic, all while marching to my ear pieces selected at random from the iTunes on my netbook. Well, I just press play . In my your keyboard Claudio! (Click song title to listen)

Goldberg Variations (18th variation) of Bach by Glenn Gould (Ver. 1955)

Already I see in the sky lover

(hues of blue clouds that are exchanged)

The hand that

aware of all these things that it has yet to give

The Last Time I Saw Richard by Joni Mitchell

It is difficult to keep a promise in emergency mode. Most of the promises made were never made. They reappear before dying, and die never.

The life, full and fresh, is also trying its time to rest. Certainty inherent in the desire to live, there is the unforgettable presence and saving of exile. Then there's that voice impervious to the vicissitudes of life that continues to distort reality and strives, despite his many talents, does not fully respect the nature. She realizes that the lie goes better when sung. So this brings up a tenor voice that will thrill all the world stage by repeating like a mantra, a "That's the Truth" of extreme clarity, so extreme that the sound produced by singing through the wall of all the prisons worldwide. The whole world will listen because his voice will be proof of the existence of Love. Later, in the last day of a year without prelude and fugue, and precisely at that hour when the clock will be ticking a maddening slowness, the thousand days will become the scene of the night. That, nobody can really explain it.

For tenor who, in recent days did not need consolation, music has become tasteless. Then there is this other man who slays his career as a bookkeeper not to interfere with his sleep at night is for dreaming, not sleeping, such is his motto. In the morning he gets up, listening a song Barbara, poured some into his cup of coffee, drinks and sings, looking haggard, "It's not just the eagle is black

Hear me (original song)

This song was composed in 1998. I lived alone in Granby, in a three-room apartment, where my older brother, who at that time crossed a difficult period, visited me and showed me some verses written by his pen. It surprised me deeply to see that this man, who had never shown any particular interest to letters, handed me this sheet of paper where I found the words and images with precision and consistency surprising. This was irrefutable evidence of his pain. Not without excitement, he asked me to enclose the text with music, motion that I could not refuse. The same evening, I began to work no less than two months later, this song was born that suggested the return of love after the break. Here's the first stanza, which will give you an idea of the atmosphere of this room, waiting for a sound recording in good and due form.

Listen to me, lend me your ear

The one on the sunny side

I see a spark in your eyes

that continues to shine

and finally, here's the final stanza.

and we will do the most beautiful symphony

is so beautiful, the sun comes back we

And I'm already starting to go your beauty

As long is full this sunny moon

As long as you are by my side.

After several months of separation, my brother returned to live with his sweetheart. Their marriage lasts forever, peacefully, like the melody of this song.

For a moment Harmonium

Serge Fiori has said in interviews that there is only one of his songs he consistently refused to bring up the intimacy of the alcove. This song is For a moment. From its dazzling freshness to his arrangements that cross beautifully the test of time, through the universal reach of his message, this piece is among my favorite of the group and, undoubtedly, the most affordable for those who do not know the music of Harmonium. Certainly, something absolutely irresistible grabs us from the opening bars, as a supreme confidence of Mother Nature during the passage of the seasons, or those precious moments when our hearts no longer serving a grueling thirsty ideal. My intimate know, it's the music of Harmonium who told me quite emphatically thank you, the way the "songwriter." So I can say: ç has finally allowed me to write this song.

Goldberg Variations (Aria da Capo) Bach by Glenn Gould (ver. 1955)

The great Johann Sebastian wrote his famous variations on his famous pupil Goldberg . The latter realized that his name would go down in history? Several other names have survived the centuries and, like that of Süssmayer, the famous pupil of Mozart Requiem brilliantly completed his master , shortly after his death.

Nobody's Off The Hook Rufus Wainwright

It sometimes makes me cry this song. It was she who, during the concert of the artist at the Salle Wilfrid-Pelletier in 2007, had been the highlight of my evening. Who are dedicated parts of Rufus Wainwright? To his mother? his sister? or both? Perhaps simply to Music Lady, which means they are dedicated to all the ladies! I have often said that Rufus may have already met Mozart. In my case, whenever I hear a piece of brilliant songwriter, I can not help to think that the light of inspiration that sometimes crosses the Master of Salzburg. Only difference in the table, one liked women, not the other. But it is immaterial when it comes to love, music. Anyway, we love them both very strong.

Como la cigarra Mercedes Sosa (from the album Live in Argentina)

A song of classical, semi-twilight, half-sunny and a wonderful poetry. A classical guitar resonates discretion asserted agreements that shake the heart, often the first time of measurement. Near the lunar beauty of the music of Caetano Veloso, but in addition, opacity enchanting songs of the late Mercedes Sosa dispel know when I'm listening, all my doubts and uncertainties of the moment . Each time, a voice from beyond the grave just confirm for me that I actually designed into the language of Cervantes and that the core of my heart is built on the most melodious tone of the language. Listen to how beautiful this music!

Dixie Harmonium

I would write in panic the purest, the most daring. I would turn off the lights, point me wherever I accurately, because there is this song. I could be deaf would hear this piece again. Hey, toe-in do the same, take off your fingers in your ears .... Oh my god! The inimitable scat Serge Fiori! The child becomes an adult musician. Now, that's the solos that overlap. "Forgive me if I lose these hinges, I love this man so much! (These are the words addressed by Haydn Mozart's father about his famous son). Unable to contain myself, to affirm or deny, even to try! Forget-me! I do not want more understanding, because I know it will not slow down my pace. And he who dares approach proclaim that we are not immortal. I brandish the flag of every color and will not erase what I write. A solo mandolin, and now my favorite solo, the guitar. Ouch ... six-string acoustic, it's not playing Fiori is Charlie Christian, Django Reinhardt and Fernando Sor put together! And then the piano, spoons counterpoint. Clap your hands, it was announced soon coming of disco. Yes, I know the song as the singer black, I will survive. There are returns that do not fade at the time to be articulated. Me, and I will not erase me reread ago, while I still have to drink.

Promenade fired Pictures at an Exhibition by Mussorgsky Wonny Song

Here ends the game, virtually speaking. Drunkenness is the opposite of the game I was thinking about that last sentence as I listened to the song Harmonium. Here, then, in this Promenade that drunkenness will because of its author. I mean the author of Pictures at an Exhibition , piano monument describing in some so a visit ingenue in the cave of beauty, and who later orchestrated by Ravel. Believing that it was his birthday, Modest Mussorgsky drank a few sips of too much alcohol too strong for his sick body. He died, leaving several unfinished works. Had been found, carefully placed on his bedside table, the Treaty orchestration of Berlioz. This discovery is the ultimate proof that the author of Boris Godunov did not feel he had achieved mastery of his art. It must be a power vacuum to fill, is not it? To do so, the desperation and circumstances of the death of Mussorgsky not plunge me into more melancholy, but rather in the sense of peace that comes from knowing that even slightly confident of his resources, the composer knew, like any true artist, only he would able to produce this work for which he felt vest. The slope of this is distressing thought it likely that alcohol would prolong his life.

In the words of Boris Cyrulnik, the brilliant Mussorgsky is a fine example of a "great misfortune".

Vicious World Rufus Wainwright

"On the verge of tears" could have been called this song. You see that I can not stop! What a liberating exercise! Within minutes, her arms open to me the piano.

I'm in a cafe. No black and white keys here, but the keyboard of my computer. Music, save those souls who get stuck in the dark, they whose horizons are so vicious they get even more suffering to name the Dam. I think now - forgive me those denominations that my breath for a moment - my younger sister, she never liked the music.

I wish all my friends, musicians and non musicians, the most beautiful of days.

I wish my family all the peace and health.

I wish Chris, my nephew, the future research he and the tribal flower which looks at major venues, including the blossoming flower will be punctuated especially for him.

For musician friends.

Today, please sing, even (especially) if you are not a singer. Then, take your phone call a parent and play her a song. Do it for the parent and the music, and do not forget to tell him it's a special day. I encourage contact with a parent living outside the city or the country.

Friends For non-musicians.

Share a song you particularly like with a loved one. Entrust him then your impressions of this piece and remember that the dialogue between you and this being does not stop while you listen music.

do not forget that the music you love.

Thanks to P., the first at which I liked a day full of music!

Pilladas: Hannah Montana

The New Songwriter's Workshop in Montreal

Like all SOCAN member, I regularly receive email newsletters, invitations to musical events of all kinds. A few days ago, one of these emails invited me to New songwriter's workshop , held in Montreal on September 26. Organized jointly with SOCAN and the Canadian Music Week, the seminar aims to provide songwriters with tips to strengthen job creation and promotion. I rarely read through these e-invitations that abound in my inbox, but this one tickled me from the first sentence, feeling he deserved special attention. So I went to my entry on the site, receiving a few hours later, all the event details. One detail to be mentioned at the bottom of this message was an invitation to songwriters and performers wishing to bring a CD of an original song to submit to "test bed" and receive feedback from professionals on site. Already, my heart was feverish.

Everything started at noon. Leaving the station Vendôme, around 11 30 pm, I saw a man walking salt and pepper hair with a sure step. "Could you tell me where I can find this street? "I asked, pointing to the name of that street on the printed itinerary of my Google Map. The man replied: "Take the next right and then the left is the corner you will see a red brick building ... ... But do not hurry, one of the speakers was canceled at the last minute and we will be forced to begin the seminar at 13 am today. "Stunned, I asked him if we were talking about the same thing. He reassured me: "Yes, my name is Nxxx, I am the organizer of the event," he snapped, shaking my hand. Obviously, the man was a musician, his leather jacket with the image of the house of the Sabian percussion instruments confirmed. Dumbfounded, I walked up the nearest cafe to write some lines. There are those chances, sometimes! The seminar brought together

about a hundred (perhaps a bit less) singer-songwriters who, like me, had gone place to make the stuff and music recommendations for a more successful career. The first speaker, named Ralph Murphy, was nothing less than a veteran with a proven track record as a producer for the legendary Canadian band April Wine, but also as a songwriter for artists. This man I could not be more moved by his way of exposing sometimes crudely but with sensitivity, but the real issues necessary for the music industry. "It's not about the money, it's the money," he said, referring to the musical ideas that are ours. He then spoke of the emotional and psychological anguish the artist, the real. "We're all dysfunctional monumently" he snapped. The purpose seemed peremptory accents quasi-dramatic, but unanswerable. During the first hour, real chills through me, so I already regretted not having reported the incident to some friends songwriters.

later was thrown a DVD Janis Nixon, a marketing executive at Universal, who provided valuable advice (I weigh these words) on the marketing and promotion of musical works. I looked around the artists who listened, took notes and sometimes deposited their pencil, thoughtfully. It is true that many of the specialist about what had really thought.

The last part of the seminar was entirely devoted to hearing the demo of the artists. Because everything I had previously heard speakers was formulated in the language of Shakespeare, I had very little hope of hearing my song speaking, until I am informed it was a draw. In the last half hour of the seminar (which was a total of five hours), no French song had been selected - I thought, until some point, be the sole author of French language site. To my surprise, shortly before the end of the workshop, my name was finally got it. As for each of the selected candidates, we have heard a verse and a chorus of the song. Imagine the sensation of listening to resonate on its own composition of large loudspeakers in the presence of four professionals from the song and dozens of artists who aspire to the same thing as you: the sacred art appreciation! After hearing my song, people applauded warmly. An even stranger behind me tapped my shoulder and threw me in the middle of the chorus, a beautiful commentary on it. The first professional to comment on my piece was Gasoi Jennifer, a musician and writer acclaimed recordings for children, whose sensitivity and relevance of critics were impeccable. It was a question of details that I will not mention here because they go beyond the purpose of this post (do not worry, the comments were excellent!). Then Ralph Murphy spoke in turn. His words were more commercial potential of the song than anything else, which is not negligible. A few minutes later, ended this wonderful seminar.

While all were preparing to leave, I spoke with Jennifer Gasoi which reiterated his enthusiasm for my song. Strangely, I felt the feeling of knowing that person. I served him all my happiness to have been present, saying: "You've given lots of love today." Its transparency was striking because it does not hide his emotion when he heard what I said. It was the depth of a great soul. Then I greeted kindly Mr. Murphy covered it and thanks for all the thrills he has given me. "Oh Give me a hug!" he said with candor. This professional could not have been more placid and easy going . There are still people like that, simple but whose job is sure. They are people like him who multiplies my faith in the music industry. For, after all, this industry is us!

I am rarely out also cheered a music seminar. These specialists have the song talked about real things, not omitting to mention that a singer can encounter obstacles on the road. To help, the many tips on promotion via the Internet provided by Janis Nixon was one of the highlights of the meeting. Then, the charge on writing (there was talk of the importance of the arrangement of words, syllables, imagery, structures etc..) And, later, enumerating the limits of human hearing - the availability of the listener to listen a new song - formed, too, a compendium of invaluable.

We know that many people make music, and among these people are a lot of talent. While it is increasingly difficult for the best artists out of the lot of small artists. The hard work is the condition intrinsic to the success of a creator. That life keeps pounding in my head like a mantra, that last sentence is my faith so important!

My afternoon spent at New Songwriter's Workshop will long remain etched in my memory. The few good games that I've made have renewed my confidence in the profession and in this wonderful medium of song. I found only a shame we do not give more often this type of free workshop in Montreal.

To hear the song I submitted to Workshop, it is by here.

Filme Mario Salieri On Line

Brigitte anger at the Rookie of the Month Breaking

Its cover, a bright green, reminiscent of children's literature books, while his illustration may suggest a novel chick lit. Indeed, Brigitte anger is not a book for youth, not quite an adult book either, and even less of chick lit. This first installment of Jerome Lafond tells the story of a teenager with a complex personality, loving tone music and movies of Fellini, who plays in a suburb where everything is clearly slower than in his head. The spirit corroding the heart but friendly, Bridget undergoes contradictions and turmoil of her imagination, in addition to negotiating with a revulsion to the world and its mother. Most scenes take place at St. Scholastica School and at home heroin. Between these two places, she finds her friend Karin for a film project, and Anthony, the boy who loves a love without reciprocity.

the first pages, a series of murders stirred the small town. These crimes encourage the teenager to correspond with the killer, where fit and adjacent paragraphs of verbiage verging on incoherence and give the reader the impression of following a story without beginning or end. Fortunately, things fit substantially over the pages and the narrative eventually reaches a more comfortable pace.

Despite story full of charm and cool characters, my main disappointment is that my desire to know more deeply heroin remained unfulfilled, or almost. Who is she really? I asked myself often. Only at the end that opens the cave of consciousness Brigitte, she perfectly embodied, escaping from his dream world to finally convince us of what it is, what it lives and why. This strength of conviction in the story should have simply effected earlier.

Some stylistic twists illustrate an exciting world, for example: "At death of one of ours, we would burn his body at the foot of the statue of man and maple sing hymns Celtic-inspired in us holding hands. I argue for the love of Superman and the failure of sub-human. We would have our own school and I would be the author of all textbooks. I would teach that man descended from monkeys, not the maple. .

This novel style of writing is not just simple and uninteresting. Overall, the characters are carried by a certain discretion, a sign of unhappiness that affects them. Surely they who give the book a certain homogeneity. Certainly, the images that spring from the earthy spirit of Brigitte could simply better serve the narrative. We can say however that it is a book that reads effortlessly.

to hear from my colleagues in the Rookie of the Month , click here .

Gummy Bears In Package

loneliness

Late in the afternoon, I met a friend in the street. She wandered almost. I say almost because my question where you going, she replied I home. matter, some thing in his approach told me that his destination had no specific place - everyone knows, is often like that for artists. Before inviting him to join me for coffee, I already saw walking by my side in the direction of where we could talk and drink a hot beverage. Suddenly, I more strays.

A curious calm covered the premises; silence surrounding the terrace; door creaked occasionally making me think of a song castafiore ill frequented, a friendly curiosity, a bit of modesty and also some hint of melancholy did this interview . That moment had a name and we did not yet found, because we did not try to name it. I felt destined for something. She, too, perhaps.

We continue to get acquainted while I sketch the biscotin deposited on the small plate. Throughout the exchange, I heard the blast of silence stretch. A silence that encouraged us to say again and again, carefully. I recognized then the deduction of these people who speak another language, including that their mother is dormant since they immigrated. Ironically, it is them that often, can express themselves best in their adopted language. With or without an accent, we continue to share a few truths. I understand the sentiment of your migration, do I advanced between sips of tea. Oh, and why? I asked her. Talk to you because you can not remember better the first hours and days of my arrival in Canada. * * *



I take a small break to talk about another friend who accompanied me greatly during the summer. I talk about solitude. At the friend I met earlier in the street, I launched a few words about solitude, that made me feel that Montreal, sometimes with pain this summer. At this time last year, I lived in a village outside of Montreal. There, almost everyone knew each other. All were nice, but it was sometimes difficult to avoid spillage of promiscuity that shot in bars and cafes. I loved, I loved the company of these creatures, but I lived with the awareness that this could not last forever for me. Almost overnight, I left this village.

In recent weeks, I thought back to last summer spent in the suburbs, specifically in this village. I revisit those months, years governed by the certainty that there would always (at least) a friend with whom to go for a drink. Then, in the house where I lived, the housemates were shown a heat and a brotherly welcome if they made me forget the loneliness that I would try again one day or another. That moment arrived, it was this past summer in Montreal. Yes, I had a loneliness that I did not choose always, being nevertheless aware that it was necessary to the strengthening of writing and of my being. I wanted to say no a few times, but life decided otherwise, and I respected that. So, I wrote, I read and sometimes I would sit at the piano and I was composing. * * *



With this friend cross earlier, we discussed the topic of loneliness, ours and that of others. Of seeing and talking with me temporarily forget it mine. Still seated at the cafe, I timidly advanced a pawn offering to break bread with me at my apartment located close to the cafe. His answer was charged so spontaneously that I am still puzzled a moment. "Yeah, you did not hesitate to answer!" 'I said, "I expected that you invite me" she said candidly. * * *



Proust was right to say that our misfortunes and our happiness is never as great as people think. Every time I sink into sadness or discouragement, the sentences of the great Marcel rescued me. My ideal is to always read Proust is to say, to have time and quiet necessary for another dip in the Search . I wish Proust meets Mozart, he writes about him.

Before saying goodbye to my friend, I played a little piano and sang a part of my composition. Then I just drove up to the door, mulling over the way our conversations in the afternoon. Showed up when the loneliness and the urge came to me writing.

Santro Cigarate Lighter

Retirement: all the special arrangements!

Concept:

A panel of experts would give each trade code or "family business", the estimated time of its exercise according to its harshness, its dangerousness, taking as reference one hand, the life expectancy of that type, and age of retirement of reference, on the other.

The age of retirement Reference would be that of mean that balances the accounts. If 62 years now, either! If life expectancy continues to increase and the contribution of assets to decline, the average reference age increase. If these data had to be reversed, this average would fall.

We now have enough to compile statistics, dynamic surccroit.

These generalize the special regimes rather than suppress them.

An average would be made by individual professions exercised in his life from the age of 18 (or earlier for apprentices, for example) to define his retirement.

Thus, some may be to withdraw 55 years, others to 58 years and 7 months, others at 67.

This college data integration ( life expectancies, specific diseases, accidents travai l, depressions, ..) from different organisms (Occupational, Social Security , Old Banks, ...) and would cross to establish a schedule of different exercise time by sectors (or occupations if possible).

This scale would be re-updated as new elements (diseases or wear specific example, etc. ..)

workers, night workers or the chain, those subjected to harsh conditions, etc. .. would be compensated extreme hardness of their business through reduced their working hours; thereby restoring justice with respect to the time of the enjoyment of retirement .

Those who would see their unemployment the age of retirement increases (index above the reference age), thereby stimulating the resumption to work and alleviate the frustration of those believe that certain unemployed abuse.

The training would also taken into account to avoid penalizing those who do lengthy studies or who leave training. These will be subject to such basic scale (the reference age).

Similarly, other justices may be restored as domestic work, which brings his great contribution to society. Women (mostly) at home would in this sense, subject to the benchmark. However, every pregnancy would save time supplementary retirement, which would be a fair social recognition of motherhood.

The two blocks that comprise the public and private, would p have in opposition since both would be subject to "the same regime."

(...) Finally, it seems relevant to create a cross between pensions and Social Security for these two blocks are connected such as communicating vessels should not be blind eye because sometimes it takes away Paul and Jacques were made to pay.


Lucia D'APOT
Strasbourg in January 2003
This concept had been sent jointly to Jean Pierre Raffarin and François Hollande


PJ: Contribution of indicators of life expectancy without disability to the study of social inequalities in health

Motorcycle Labyrinthitis

60 after, we are where?

© Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Paris,

Secretariat General, Vol. 57, ff. 3-6.

Changing The Matlab License File

When the City of Strasbourg uses force to escape his responsibilities!


I tried to summarize what is currently happening to the homeless in Strasbourg.

- The City of Strasbourg has agreed to develop the project of Don Quixote to build an island for emergency shelter. Certainly it has transformed the original one that was more "green" and which was based on self-build but has nevertheless implemented.

- The surprises of polluted soil on the site chosen Meinau, near highways, delayed the work. Also, the emergency shelter, to be open year Last should be in July 2010.

- March 31, when the end of the winter, the homeless are turned away from emergency shelters without their only alternative will be proposed. The majority of them are places here and there, others go "elsewhere". Remain the most socially vulnerable and those who have dogs. About thirty. These have a vital need for the minimum of social grouping that is trying to preserve their status as Don Quixote does not yet allow it, nor to re-insert, or being alone.

- With the help of Don Quixote, they set up camp on wasteland, road Schirmeck. A chance for the community that men like Alexander and Renaud Engel Glardon manage the situation. They should be thanked and paid for all this work and the time invested. Instead, they are exhausted.

Yet local residents, not only do not complain of the camp but became supportive of Don Quixote by providing that water, that food, which some comfort.

- Last week the City of Strasbourg demand the evacuation but, again, propose an alternative.

- Faced with the refusal to "clear out" of the homeless who do not know where to go, the city assigns to the Tribunal. It is unsuccessful. It returns the next day with the police to a bailiff. Rebelote: court. The city wins the grounds of "property rights"!

- The homeless encampment and fold up in the "baggage" (or rather their necessary survival) and are looking for another site.

They simply ask that we stop the hunt and they are allowed to settle on land for a period up to July, when it announced the delivery of emergency shelter cabins .

This is still not too much to ask, right??

Can we accept this point of despising people which, besides being of citizens are simply human beings?

Moreover, it is in our collective interest to get down to chart the course office until the end of the chain, namely at the level 0 of the social ladder because without it we can create the famous trust among citizens, conscious in the background that nobody is safe from a meltdown, especially with running times of crisis.


For moral support or assistance citizen, contact the leaders of Don Quixote

Renaud Engel 06.28.33.87.73
Alexander Glardon 06.66.41.92.07

Real Homemade Brazilian

The Children of Don Quixote (continued): The City of Strasbourg hounds. The EDQ is a collective. The Don Quixote

Alexander Glardon

STRASBOURG, April 21, 2010 - 07:30

"The City of Strasbourg has just completed a new finding of Usher at 07:30 this morning in the company of law enforcement.
We are putting together a group of lawyers to defend the 35 homeless people present at the camp. "
Renaud Engel

Contacts:

Alexander Glardon 06.66.41.92.07 06.28.33.87.73
Renaud Engel