Samizdat Issue 1

8/8/2019 Samizdat Issue 1

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SAMIZDAT

i S S U E 1 F R E E


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This zine represents for me the manifestation of a thought I had aboutsix months ago. Originally we wished to call the zine New Current but

finally decided on the current title. I had a desire, an inclination, to

self-publish some of my thoughts, opinions and ideas. Maybe it was just

a desire to express myself.

I always liked the idea of expressing an opinion with printed words, to

argue lucidly (fingers-crossed) and maybe to inform and influence some

readers. But even if I dont, and even if you disagree, on the other

side of the coin were still young and foolish and hope to learn

ourselves.

Herein lie thoughts, musings and possibly ambiguous sentiments and you

may call it an egotistic handprint but I really hope it doesnt seem

that way. Were works in progress, like our opinions, and certainly

dont believe we know better.

MM

This first issue of Samizdat marks both an ending and a beginning. It is

the cumulation of an idea that I have been able to develop with my co-

editor, under the general concept that as a consumer and critic of

culture, one must sometimes also be a contributor to what is out

there. In that sense, the work published here will not be held on to by

us or repeated it is now up to the other side, the reader anddisregarder, keeper and disposer, of this zine, to do with it what they

wish.

In another sense, however, it marks a beginning of an idea that may go

somewhere, nowhere, and anywhere. With critical response and the

promulgation of original thoughts by other people both in response and

continuation of the ideas expressed within these pages, perhaps

someones life can be enriched in some small way. Yours or ours.

Maybe it is the end, and maybe it is the first small step to something

bigger. At the very least it exists for this moment a conversation

between us the editors and you the reader.

KS


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5/24

during my regular scour through the best

musty op-shops, perusing through the LP's I discovered something

special. Behind 'Kamahl', 'Tijuana Brass', 'Wales in Song' and the rest

of the usual trite records, the beguiling eyes of Paul Robeson caught my

attention. I hazily recalled hearing of him from my father, something

about an African-American singer who was repressed by the Americangovernment, or something similar. After purchasing the vinyl out of

curiosity along with an uninspiring Joyce Cary novel and some nice

silver cuff links I didn't rush home. I wish I had, for when I played

the record months later I discovered something unnervingly sublime.

Lying on my floral sheets the scratchy record lifted those transcendent

Negro spirituals into the space around me, each gorgeous line rose into

the ether and then gently floated down, each unpretentiously followed by

another. Every syllable venturing from his lips wooed me and his

gloriously deep bass voice an incantation which seemed an honest vehicle

for a sad Negro history.

With an immediate admiration I wondered just why I hadn't

discovered this black singer earlier, for blues, gospel and folk music

own a large slice of my music collection. But after delving into his

history I wondered why anyone shouldn't know of this great man. So

here's me spreading the gospel of Robeson, hopefully some of you will

listen.

Born 1898 to an ex-plantation slave father,

Paul excelled exceptionally in academic life.

Graduating with honours from high school andreceiving an academic scholarship to attend Rutgers

University, becoming only the third African-American

to be accepted (the only one during his time there).

He was one of only a handful accepted into

illustrious academic societies and gave the class

valedictory speech. After graduating from Rutgers he

attended Columbia as a law student where he also

excelled and graduated in '23. Robeson was an

exceptional athlete in basketball, baseball and

track and field but was best known for his skills asa footballer. He was twice named in the All-American

college football team (1917 and 1918), one coach

claiming Robeson to be the best player he had ever seen. Even more

amazing is the fact that he paid his law tuition fees at Columbia by

playing in what was then the equivalent of the NFL. But even his

athletic and academic prowess didn't stop him from being discriminated.

He was constantly targeted and attacked on the football field, and quit

his first job in a law firm after graduating due to racial

discrimination from staff under him.

Paul Robeson was also an extremely accomplished Thespian,

appearing on stage and in eleven films. His run of more than 300 shows

on Broadway as Othello was (as of 2006) still the longest Shakespeare

production ever, performing to over half a million people. What I'd give

to see him perform live. His singing achievements, which most people


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know him by, sent him all over the world singing and became the first

person to bring the Negro Spiritual to the stage. He became versed in 20

languages, becoming fluent in 12 of them including Chinese and Russian.

His gorgeously deep voice was reputed to have gone as low as C

below the bass clef, considered by some to be the purest bass-baritone

to ever sing on the concert stage. My favourite Robeson recordings would

have to be the moving 'Shenandoah', the sublime 'Stealaway' and the

timeless Ol Man River; they never fail to make me close my eyes andimagine that great man singing in front of me.

Now, I wondered earlier just why Paul Robeson isn't celebrated or

remembered justly. He was always a staunch civil-rights activist and

constantly fought against the injustices to the African-American people.

He even travelled and sung in Wales in support of the plight of the

Welsh miners. He travelled many times to Russia (they even named a type

of tomato after him!), claimed once to believe in the morality of

Socialism and admired Stalin (he was only human after all!). His regular

outspokenness and civil rights activism led the U.S authorities to

revoke his passport in 1950. Authorities at the state department saidthat his frequent criticism of the treatment of blacks in the United

States should not be aired in foreign countries, his name was

retroactively struck from the All-American teams he played in 1917 and

'18 and his passport was only reissued after eight long years. At this

time also, his films and recordings were censored and for more that two

decades, one could not hear or see what Robeson had done. In 1956, in

the furore of McCarthyism, Robeson was brought in front of the House of

Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC). After claims of being un-

American and a member of the Communist Party he was asked why he hadn't

remained in his beloved Russia, he passionately retorted;

My father was a slave and my people died to build this

country, and I'm going to stay right here and have a part of

it, just like you. And no fascist-minded people like you will

drive me from it. Is that clear?(June 12 1956)

He then exclaimed that it was not he who was un-American but the

officials on the committee, another event I wish I had witnessed!

Paul Robeson was under surveillance by the FBI for more than 30

years until 1974, a year before his death. He rarely made any public


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appearances in the last years of his life. Whenever I think of this

great man I naturally feel inadequate. Why aren't there more Paul

Robesons? Some people may believe that Howard Blair was, or at least had

the potential to be, Australia's Paul Robeson, but that's a whole other

article in itself. Was Robeson a freak, a one in a hundred million, or

just an exceptional product of his times? Or do we view his

achievements with our 'black' filter? That somehow, even as a negro he

became an intelligent, over-achieving, civil-rights zealot, this might

raise our opinions of him. And why are so many great people's potentialshindered or even halted by authorities, institutions, governments and

tradition just because they think they know better? Or, to raise a

clich, are they afraid of the truth? The wonderful, glorious, beautiful

truth that Paul Robeson ached to express, that Martin Luther King,

Harold Blair, Solzhenitsyn, Jan Palach and many others desired toreveal. This all makes me wonder where our zeal, as students and

citizens, has disappeared to. Disappeared to regurgitated words on the

clipped wings of university publications, the flaccid liberal

conversations around a Starbuck's table and shallow platitudes in

uninspiring tutorials. Despite enormous pressure for him to give in,

Robeson still strained for his truth, and without our silver-spoonprivilege.

But I keeps laughing

Instead of crying

I must keep fighting

Until I'm dying

And Ol' Man River

He just keeps rolling along

I once saw a small snippet of a recording of when he visited

Australia, he was singing the above song (which he popularised), his

pursed lips were tensed in syllable, he softly rolled those beautiful

rs and his monstrous athletic chest heaved with committed breath, good-

will and conviction. I implore you to listen to Paul Robeson (the state

library has a best-of CD in stock), research him if you're interested

and I hope you will, like I, take something good from the knowledge of

what this great man did in his lifetime.

MM


8/24

White wine Why whine?

Wedged between an article on a black, zealous civil-rights-

promoting, bass-singing socialist and another on deconstructing our very

existence and its experiences and emotions, you might say that this page

on goon is unworthy of its position. I'm going to have to disagree, for

without the stupor that goon has induced for us on many contemplative

nights in my co-editors shed, this zine, these articles and the ideascontained within them may have never come to fruition. Goon is not given

enough credit and believe it or not, it has sometimes been attributed

with a rather derogatory reputation. Goon has a lot going for it;

firstly and most importantly, it's extremely cheap. Also, by drinking it

you're continuing a uniquely Australian tradition, and once you've wiped

the 'two-fruit' chunks off your cheek and French-kissed your friend's

Schnauzer, the inflatable foil bag doubles as a pillow. Who doesn't

cherish the memory of late-night lay-backs and that vile aftertaste? For

me, goon has never been undesirable and herein I will share with you

some of my goon wisdom. In this issue I'm writing about my currentfavourite type of goon, the dry white, and I'll give you all a great

recipe to improve your goon-drinking experience.

When I was fifteen I used to drink red good like it was God's

nectar but soon realised that white goon was much more palatable. If you

prefer the sweeter dessert white then that's your own prerogative, but

personally I prefer dry wine. There are many dry white goons out there

and with a quick glance in one bottle shop I noticed many brands; Golden

Oak, Cellar Choice, Lindemans, Berri Estates, Kaiser Stuhl, Coolabah, de

Bortoli, Paddlewheel, Stanley and Sunnyvale. I must stress that I amcondoning the use of the budget goons and not the 'eastern suburbs'

goons which come in the more expensive two-litre variety, because at the

end of the day, if you want something more sophisticated than a goon

bag, buy a bottle. Berri Estates make classic, fresh, crisp, and smooth

in the dry white variety and personally I think this is superfluous.

Stick to the fresh or the crisp and you'll be fine. Paddlewheel is

budget but bollocks, Sunnyvale is also very cheap (I once found it at

$5.70 a cask) and for its price, quite palatable. But my ultimate

preference is Stanley's fresh dry white which chilled, could almost fool

you as a mediocre sauvignon blanc.

Goon punch: After years of pretending, practising and

improvising, this is a recipe which has served me well in many

situations. It's simple; find two casks of white goon (this shouldn't in

any situation cost more than $14), and the equivalent volume of lemonade

or lemon squash. Empty the goon and the soft-drink into a vessel which

will accommodate the necessary volume. At this stage, although the

mixture is drinkable, there are a few additions which can help. If

possible, purchase pineapple or tropical juice and add to taste, or add

cordial, bitters or whatever seems appropriate at the time. I once added

kirsch which created an amazing result. Furthermore, equal parts goonand soft-drink can provide an ideal platform to add spirits. In this

mixture, a whole bottle (700 ml.) of white rum or vodka will be masked

easily and adds an extra hidden punch. Whatever you add from here is

open to your imagination, so experiment. Please enjoy your goon and

don't feel guilty for drinking it, its not as bad as everyone lets on!


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Jacques Derrida coined the term

deconstruction in the 1960s, the technique of making implicit

assumptions about underlying meanings and themes in thoughts, objects

and experiences by taking apart aspects of them has become

increasingly prevalent and popular. In short, our experiences of life as

dictated by the people we meet, the art to which we are exposed, and thesurroundings in which we find ourselves, are constantly subjected to

rigorous examination.

Although Derridas technique and philosophy is quite specific and

complicated, the word deconstruction has, especially in scholastic

circles, has become synonymous with in-depth and often over enthusiastic

assessment of objects. For the purposes of this article, I have used

deconstruction in the sense that most people semi-incorrectly use it

today in order to impress others and fool themselves into deeper yet

often more false understandings. This meaning relates to the over-

analysis and tenuous links created between a process and a result.

At first, uncovering the questions behind the answers that a

work of art or experience of life may pose seems initially to both a

fruitful and honourable process. For instance, increasingly in a sphere

of modern art that pushes objective realities, it is a humanistic

tendency to understand the motivation and desire of an artist in order

to subjectify and value the work they may produce. How else could we

attempt to understand and reflect upon works such as Damian Hirsts The

Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living, sold in

2004 for USD $8 million.

Damian Hirst

The Physical Impossibility

of Death in the Mind of

Someone Living(1991)

Tiger shark, glass, steel,

5% formaldehyde solution,213 x 518 x 213 cm."

With this in mind, the desire to find appropriate and relevant

retroactive questions to arts answers is obviously not entirely without

any substance. Obviously, many pieces of art transmit their messagethrough an underlying meaning. For instance, Solzhenitsyns One Day in

the Life of Ivan Denisovich is much less a work of fiction as it is an

autobiographical documentation of slave labour camps in the USSR. Hirst,

too, is perhaps trying to convey something more than an impression.

However, over-analysis goes beyond these motivations. Since Freud, the

idea of an authors subconscious bursting its way through a medium, and

art and actions taking on elements unknown to the artist, has been

widely developed and popularised. Although it must be conceded that this


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phenomenon can and often does occur, over-zealous application of the

principle can lead to erroneous conclusions.

The formulation of extreme hypotheses, that are often

entertaining and shocking, through over-analysis and deconstruction has

proliferated a movement of academia where even the most tenuous and

irrational links between artist and artwork, or person and experience,

are applauded. Writers such as Michael Drosin, who analysed and

subsequently applied a code to the Bible to find words that predictedthe assassination of Yitzakh Rabin in 1994, have made their living by

pulling apart art and objects to find something more interesting to

the greater public than the initial matter of communication.

Indeed, with such rigorous examination of art and life, any link,

no matter how tenuous, can be found through apparently legitimate means.

In response to Michael Drosins challenge: When my critics find a

message about the assassination of a prime minister encrypted in Moby

Dick, I'll believe them. (Newsweek, Jun 9, 1997) Brendan McKay found at

least nine such deaths predicted by Moby Dick using similar methods.

(http://cs.anu.edu.au/~bdm/dilugim/moby.html)

However, it is crucial to maintain that a piece of visual art or

music, drama or literature does not potentially answer every question

and does not have infinite meanings. Not every tenuous link can be made.

There is a line that must be drawn from both practical and logical

perspectives. Indeed, from a purely logical viewpoint, if two artworks

have infinite meanings, they also potentially have the same meaning and

therefore become non-unique and artistically without merit. This,

clearly, is not an appropriate solution. The infinity of meanings is a

pernicious doctrine that is attractive only because it allows us to stopthinking about the relative strengths and weaknesses of varying

interpretations.

As voyeurs of the artistic process and life in general, we must

evaluate the specific quality of an artwork or experience as we relate

to it to give it meaning. The easiest way of doing this is by keeping it

simple; to evaluate a piece of artwork or an object or thought on its

obvious merits and failures and the first impression it makes upon us as

an individual. All too often, our secondary impressions take over as we

ask ourselves of the relative value of an impression in accordance withsocietal norms. This is demonstrated commonly in listeners disliking a

song only after the artist is revealed, delighting in a painting after

learning of its high sale price, or ignoring technology after its

workings have been grasped. The question must be posed is something

more or less valuable to us as an experience because we should perceive

it as so? Does popular neo-surrealist drama deserve more merit than the

dandelion growing between the bricks of a terrace?

Indeed, the idea of pulling apart thoughts, experiences, and

objects is destructive in the sense that it gives a false impression

that it is understood, and destroys both the mystery and possibilities

of meaning. By finding meanings within an artwork, we lose the

potentiality of limitless intentions and also the simplest and most

beautiful meaning the emotion in us as we experience something for the

first time.


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This notion is really an ancient one. The dichotomy between

classical and romantic, the rational and irrational, has long existed.

Is it better to know every element of something, or to simply enjoy it

as it is, a sensory impression that creates a stimulus of emotion? Is a

sunset more beautiful before or after you know what makes the sky glow.

To use a crude example, Richard Middleton wrote of The Animals

1964 song Im Crying: The cross relations in the ostinato (which ismelodic and harmonic) are the equivalents of blue notes, arising from a

conflict between melodic and tonal implications. The modal melodic

movement of the ostinato, with its minor thirds, clashes with the tonal

need for major triads imposed by the 12bar blues structure. Alan

Price, of the Animals, responded: I wrote the music and Eric did the

words and we just threw it together in rehearsal in Blackpool. But,

realistically, neither version will tell you what the song is like to

hear for the first time.

The late great Indian thinker Osho writes that if

one has truly been affected by an experience, one willanswer with an exclamation mark, not a question. In

questioning something beautiful, we are attempting to

understand it, to bring it back to a level to which we

can comprehend and feel comfortable. By questioning and

understanding, we possess knowledge about an item, and

put ourselves above it. Humanitys flawed and typically

egocentric view of the world states that it is

unacceptable to simply observe and enjoy; one must

possess and understand.

Indeed, this concept of not-knowing is fundamental to many

religions Christianity, Buddhism, Taoism, Sufism, Zen all require

that there is an element of a clear mind that is unpolluted with others

problems. Many prophets have commented that humans should be childlike

when experiencing life in order to recognise the beauty of creation.

Instead, we cannot help but judge life with external influences.

Deconstructing a thought, object, or experience that creates an

emotion, has the effect of destroying the initial reaction we have

towards it. This is not to say we should not question these things infact, quite the opposite. However, it is important that we ask the

questions we want to ask to find the answers that we found in our

experience. To live by ones convictions and have no fear in holding on

to the first and most pure experience of our existence.

After inquiring, I now know what makes a trees leaves turn

orange and yellow through autumn, why the sky is blue and clouds are

white. I understand what makes a minor chord, and how Monet went about

painting his lilies.

But that little part of me wishes I never asked those questions. I dont

need to know the answers when the meaning is right in front of me.

KS


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Forgotten...


13/24

Abram Goldberg says:

Oy vey! Dont leave your stuff lying around! I still

cant find my Led Zeppelin Yarmulke from the 80s


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The streetlights are denying darkness but the sun has retired

without informing me and after work my lazy shoes take me to a club. WhyI occasionally go I have never known, and whether its enlightening or

depressing is confusing. But I know I dont fit in. The bouncer is a

Sumo wrestler sung Tom Waits, but this is no Waits-esque bar. He allows

me entry, the only control he has in his life, and I walk past the

smelly bathroom, giggling sluts and well-groomed cave men. A scotch and

soda is in my uncomfortable grip, I take a hit, need another. I feel

uncomfortable, why do I try so hard? Does it matter? I take another hit,

feels better, now I can observe. I never intended for this to be an

observational exercise, but everything seemed so alien. I was no native-

ethnographer here; sure I had been to clubs, vitamins in my system, been

a sweaty body in the throng and I had woken the next morn with good andmaybe somewhat false memories. But here, I had no fun, so I observed

and in this way I felt better, superior and now I feel a little guilty

for that. Swallow another scotch. Buy another. A couple stands in front

of me, fifteen years older than most here (and I feel uncomfortable!).

They awkwardly observe the dance floor. Are they observing like me?

Maybe theyre plucking up courage, or lamenting their tattered youthful

years, or maybe theyre just fools. A big black hand reaches from below

for the empty bottles of Crown Lager. The older man speaks listless

platitudes into his wifes ear (or maybe shes a mistress, lucky girl!).

Now he leans forward. I swallow another malty mouthful. He removes hisleft leg from pressing against her ill-fitting jeans and steps back to

glance at nothing behind him (he pre-empted this for something to do;

liven up his life a little the champion). He looks back at the dance

floor, scratches his chin, sips his beer, another platitude in her ear

(I bet she smells like air-freshener), and looks at nothing in

particular again. Finish off my scotch in one hit. This time Ill get a

whiskey sour I think. Theres a big girl, self-consciously dressed with

her arms crossed around her midriff. Occasionally she plucks her top

away from her stomach. She looks lonely, she has a nice face, she waits

for someone, but no-one is interested. Shes probably already given uphope. She plucks her shirt again, I concentrate on my drink. A group of

older single women dancing like embarrassing mothers. A balding, thirty-

or-so year old comes dancing up to them. He leans in and yells in their

ears, I wonder if hes telling them hes in his twenties. He coaxes them

with his peculiar yet common dance moves to join in on the choruses to

the 90s songs that the asshole of a DJ is playing. The women love this

man, but they dont know whats hip anymore, who does? They call this a

whiskey sour? Cobblers. I Look into the mass of people moving below me.

One man dances with no expression on his face. I think he does this on

purpose, maybe he doesnt want to look like a fool, but he wonders why

all the other guys that look like fools make breakfast for someone the

next day. I see a few guys who in another environment might look

different, alternative and for that matter maybe worth talking too.

Sip with a grimace, why am I as bitter as some of my drinks? Fuck it.

One guys stands there with no-one but his pint. He pretends to text, or


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even make a call occasionally then he pretends to be interested in

whats playing on the screens above the bar. Wait, thats me. Does

anyone really feel at home, comfortable and content with being here? I

personally only feel comfortable (or as close to as Ill ever be), when

Im by myself. Vodka and tonic; mouthful. Feel a bit warmer and

welcoming inside now. Were social animals, yet we torture ourselves

whenever we are. Do we, all go to these sometimes-horrible cesspits of

immorality and awkwardness because somehow we like to suffer? Or maybe

its because billions of years of evolution is subtly nudging us in theribs and whispering you know, it would be sweet if you got laid tonight

sport. I wished my night had been different and I wish it hadnt.

Finish my vodka in a hit, feel okay now but Ill still only be cooking

breakfast for one lousy soul. Sweet dreams.

MM


16/24

Romas Kalanta

1953-1972

On 14 May 1972, Romas Kalanta, a nineteen-year-old student in Kaunas,

Lithuania, poured gasoline over himself and struck a match. The act took

place in front of the theatre where in 1940 the Peoples Assembly hadstaged its session to vote on incorporation into the USSR. Kalanta

subsequently died in hospital. His funeral sparked riots involving

several thousand students.


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(60)

Who enjoys the thrill of a personal challenge? Certainly I do, says

the man in his tweed coat, but the slight twinge in his voice is

powerful in its subtlety. He ponderously sucks on his pipe, all the

while dreaming of old Chopin, Kant, and Degas, playing a familiar

artistic melody that resonates in the fabric of his soul

(48)

His soul

(46)

Soon will come the new glories, he dreams it to be. But an awkward

shuffling reveals more than just the most heartfelt bravado. Surely hissmoky leather shoes and hashed walnut pipe are not as comforting as the

confines of his own knowledge or is it not so?

(37)

It must be said, however, that the little old man in the tweed coat has

had many good years, the sort of years that cause a smile when

remembered, but sad eyes when recalled for too long. The sort of years

that made him feel like his dreams would never turn into regrets. No

matter...

(28)

No sad eyes, no smile today, the world surely is not as wicked as itlikes to pretend, and surely I am the worlds master, although I may

serve some of those who feel nothing. With a sigh, he tells himself that

he is the worlds master, although he himself can not help but judge a

book.

(22)

The room is far too large for the man, small and stout, yet the

emptiness is comforting, for it can be filled. And potential is greater

than accomplishment, thinks the man, (though his masters may disagree)

(15)

From this room, he chooses to speak his challenge to the world: Do notrest until the room is filled, and in the resonance of his bravery he

chews his pipe, takes a sip from the warm mug to the right of him and

sits on what I believe is his favourite chair.

(8)

And yet somehow the little man in the tweed coat knows that the room

will never be filled, and part of him is happy. For without desire and

longing, we are but as lifeless as a tweed coat and walnut pipe. And we

know that every dust-covered book will only serve the create a thousand

more chapters. And there is no time

(0)

KS


18/24

Blow your own trumpet.


19/24

So, youre running late for dinner at your girlfriends parents and you

cant find you good tiepin? Afraid that your tie will fall in the

shepherds pie?

Use a teaspoon you fool!

It really is very simple; this is how you make a teaspoon tiepin

Look through your cutlery draw and find a nice teaspoon. Many have

wonderfully quaint floral patterns, some are more minimalist, and its

up to your own taste which one you use.

TEASPOONTIEPIN

Bend the bowl back on the handle; it is important that the convexside

of the spoon is bent back.

There should enough gap between the bowl and the handle so that it

fits snugly over a tie. If you think it is not bent enough and yourfingers cant do the job, I use my teeth (dont tell your dentist youre

doing this).

Slide the clip over the tie with the handle visible and voila!

Eavesdrop

Adelaide University Unibar:

Male 1:

I heard that you can only call

champagne champagne if its from France

Male 2:

No, you can only call it champagne

if its from the champagne region of France

Female 1:

...whats Omni then?


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MIX TAPE (SIDE A)

Max Richter Shadow JournalIts hard to describe the music of Max Richter. The closestdescription reads; Max Richter combines chamber music with ambient

recordings, spoken-word pieces and experimental electronica,creating a distinctive and beautiful blend of the traditional and

the futuristic. This track, spanning more than 8 minutes includes

spoken notes from Kafkas diaries, echoing electronic drum-beats and

ethereal violin refrains. Let Richter accompany you in the upcoming

wintry days with his minimalist Arvo Prt-esque compositions.

Blind Willie Johnson Dark Was The Night, Cold Was The GroundThis blind bluesmasters haunting vocals will give you goosebumps as

his slide guitar echoes each line. One of the greatest, his cracklyrecordings from a time almost forgotten but which influenced modern

music profoundly.

Monsieur Camembert Dance Me To The End Of LoveA gypsy fusion band hailing from Sydney, Monsier Camembert perform

wild, swinging, fun gypsy songs. This cover of Leonard Cohen is done

brilliantly; the squeeze box lulls you into a dream, swaying as if

waltzing in your black-suit, favourite tie and of course your new

teaspoon tiepin. They are playing at the upcoming Adelaide Cabaret

Festival, incidentally playing all Leonard Cohen covers! Dont miss

them for they are amazing live.

Dead Combo RumberoI know, little about this band. They are from Portugal and I found

this song on a compilation. They play all instrumental stuff, and

you can check them out on MySpace.

Les Hurlements DLo PomesA tremendous French alternative-rock band with lots and lots of

traditional French influences. Beguiling violin and accordion, and

when a woman sings in it always gives you a hard-on no matter what

theyre singing about.

Sam Cooke CupidI know its corny but I like it. Sam Cooke is one of the greatest

soul singers and even though the words in this song are clich, his

voice and his melody-writing skills are superior.

MM


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MIX TAPE (SIDE B)

Beirut NantesDrawing on influences from French Chanson and Eastern European gypsy

melodies, Zach Condon has found popularity with his latest project aftera number of experimental albums, including a lo-fi album at age 15, and

a doo-woop album in homage to Frankie Lymon & The Teenagers at 16.

Simple melodies and simpler words are greater than the sum of their

parts. This album also has home-recorded film clips for all tracks

available online or on DVD.

Mikelangelo & The Black Sea Gentlemen A Formidable MarinadeGifted songwriters and competent musicians play black cabaret with

elements of Balkan culture and 19

th

century mystery. However, the realbeauty lies in the lyrics: In your body Ill dream of things/like

geese, and mustard, and cabbages and kings/thermoses full of chocolate

sauce/men who live on only remorse/sodomy is not just for animals/ human

flesh is not just for cannibals. Brilliant.

The Herbs Whats The Time (Mr. Wolf)Best known from the Once Were Warriors soundtrack, this song stands

rightfully on its own as a reflection of the Maori culture and the

Reggae and folk influence on modern New Zealand music.

Orange Juice Rip It UpAmongst the post-punk bands that received widespread recognition such as

New Order and Depeche Mode, Orange Juice fell through the cracks but

managed to record this dancefloor gem and driving song that is second to

none from the era. Hear it before some DJ remixes and ruins it.

Sufjan Stevens Casimir Pulaski DayAnother prolific musician, Stevens hopes to release a full-length album

documenting narratives for each of Americas fifty states. On

Illinois, he tells historical stories and folk tales from the region

with precision and passion that reflects a real humanistic interest and

fervour for communicating his and others experiences through song.

Carla Bruni Quelquun Ma DitHeiress to millions, supermodel, current husband to French president

Nicolas Sarkozy, it is hard to go past the hype that this woman can

create. Nevertheless, somehow, these songs stand on their own. Its not

brilliant music, the vocals have moments of imperfection, but at the

same time it is breathtaking. If not for musical value, dont tell

anyone you bought it and just enjoy with a candlelit dinner and bottle

of wine.


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KS

SAMIZDAT contributors

The helpful

...and the not so helpful

Mrti Medenis & Karlis Stemsands


23/24


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The first thing God

created was the journey,

then came doubt,

and nostalgia.

- Niko, Ulysses Gaze

c2008

Samizdat Issue 1

Documents

Transcript of Samizdat Issue 1