It was snowing in Leipzig yesterday, quite heavily.
“And in the evening he entered a valley, and at the head of the valley he came to a hermit’s cell, and the hermit welcomed him gladly, and there he spent the night. And in the morning he arose, and when he went forth, behold a shower of snow had fallen in the night before, and a hawk had killed a wild fowl in front of the cell. And the noise of the horse scared the hawk away, and a raven alighted upon the bird. And Peredur stood, and compared the blackness of the raven and the whiteness of the snow, and the redness of the blood, to the hair of the lady that best he loved, which was blacker than jet, and to her skin which was whiter than snow, and to the two red spots upon her cheeks, which were redder than the blood upon the snow appeared to be.”
‘Peredur the son of Evrawc’, The Mabinogion, translated by C.E. Guest, 1841
So lively, so human, so gently heavy, so extremely thoughtful, brittle, with all many pin-point sorts of rhythms of newly-discovered colours compared in the unmoving mind of another chapter. This band take after the “personal narrative” who meets daily with universal native, tampering electricity on things. A warmth working of a welcoming hermit’s behest, organised and continual like a tale I tell myself sometimes.
I speak from a distance and note the emphasis within the band’s public relations on the promise of “performance art instillations and visual projections”, promise of a winter spent in organised emotional transit – the live performance that hermits may only bustle instead, welcome strangers. They headline a show at Electrowerkz in November.
It will all add up if it doesn’t even now.