Gioachino Rossini - Tanti auguri, Maestro!

Gioachino Rossini
by Francesco Hayez, Pinacoteca di Brera, Milano

Today is the birthday of the great italian opera composer Gioacchino Rossini. (Yes, he was a leapling !: 29 February 1792 - 13 November 1868).

One of my absolute favourites, he wrote music that had deep roots in native italian rhythms. I do not wish at this point to write an extensive post about him. I simply wanted to share with you, on occasion of his birthday, two videos: a fantastic tarantella composition of his, sung by my favourite tenor of all times, Alfredo Kraus and the most beautiful performance of the "Largo al factotum" aria from Il Barbiere di Siviglia that I have ever heard, by baritone Thomas Hampson.

La Danza (Tarantella Napolitana)






Già la luna in mezzo al mare, mamma mia,si salterà;
l'ora è bella per danzare, chi è in amor non mancherà.

Già la luna in mezzo al mare, mamma mia,si salterà;
l'ora è bella per danzare, chi è in amor non mancherà.

Già la luna in mezzo al mare, mamma mia si salterà.
Presto in danza a tondo a tondo, donne mie, venite quà;
un garzon bello e giocondo a ciascuna toccherà.
Finché in ciel brilla una stella e la luna splenderà,
il più bel con la bella tutta notte danzerà.

Salta, salta, gira, gira, ogni coppia a cerchio va;
già s'avanza, si ritira e all'assalto tornerà:

Salta, salta, gira, gira, ogni coppia a cerchio va;
già s'avanza, si ritira e all'assalto tornerà.
Serra, serra colla bionda, colla bruna va qua e là,
colla rossa va a seconda, colla smorta fermo sosta.
Viva il ballo a tondo a tondo, sono un re,sono un pascià;
è il più bel piacer del mondo, la più cara voluttà.

Mamma mia, mamma mia, Già la luna in mezzo al mare,
... mamma mia, mamma mia, si salterà;
frinche, frinche, frinche, frinche, frinche, frinche, mamma mia si salterà,
frinche, frinche, frinche, frinche, frinche, frinche, mamma mia si salterà, la la la ra la ra .....

With a translation by me:
(Already the moon is at the middle of the sea, mama mia how we'll jump about!
The time is right for dancing, whoever is in love will not miss it.

Quickly at the dance, round and round, my ladies come here
a handsome, cheerful lad will dance with everyone fo you
As long as a star shines in the sky and the moon glows
the most handsome one will dance all night with the most beautiful one

Leap and leap again, go round and round, every couple swirls about
now the advance, now they retreat and return to the assault!
Held close and closer with the blonde, with the brunette go here and there
then go with the redhead, with the pale one take a break.
Long live the ball, round and round, I am a King, I am a Pasha
it is the greatest delight in the world, the dearest pleasure!)




Largo al factotum



I was particularly moved when I found this video because that show which was a gala night or special anniversary for the New York Metropolitan Opera was, when broadcast by EPT (that was how it was called back then) my first visual contact with opera. It opened with Verdi's Rigoletto with the late Luciano Pavarotti. I had taped it and watched it over and over again until some 10 years ago it was accidentally taped over. Anyway, you can see at the end of the video that the conductor, James Levine is moved to tears by Hampson's excellent performance...

Largo al factotum della città, largo!
Presto a bottega che l'alba è già, presto!
Ah, che bel vivere, che bel piacere
per un barbiere di qualità!

Ah, bravo Figaro!
Bravo, bravissimo!
Fortunatissimo per verità!

Pronto a far tutto,
la notte e il giorno
sempre d'intorno in giro sta.
Miglior cuccagna per un barbiere,
vita più nobile, no, non si da.
Rasori e pettini
lancette e forbici,
al mio comando
tutto qui sta.
V'è la risorsa,
poi, de mestiere
colla donnetta... col cavaliere...

Tutti mi chiedono, tutti mi vogliono,
donne, ragazzi, vecchi, fanciulle:
Qua la parrucca... Presto la barba!
Qua la sanguigna...
Presto il biglietto...
Qua la parrucca, presto la barba,
Presto il biglietto, ehi!

Figaro! Figaro! Figaro!....
Ahimè, che furia!
Ahimè, che folla!
Uno alla volta, per carità!
Eh, Figaro! Son qua.
Figaro qua, Figaro là,
Figaro su, Figaro giù,

Pronto prontissimo son come il fulmine:
sono il factotum della città.
Ah, bravo Figaro! Bravo, bravissimo;
a te fortuna non mancherà.

(Make way for the factotum of the city,
Hurrying to his shop since dawn is already here.
Ah, what a fine life, what fine pleasure
For a barber of quality!

Ah, bravo Figaro!
Bravo, bravissimo!
A most fortunate man indeed!


Ready to do everything
Night and day,
Always on the move.
A cushier fate for a barber,
A more noble life, is not to be had.
Razors and combs,

Lancets and scissors,
At my command
Everything's there.
Here are the tools
Of my trade
With the ladies...with the gentlemen...
Everyone asks for me, everyone wants me,

Ladies, young lads, old men, young girls:
Here is the wig...the beard is ready...
Here are the leeches...
The note is ready...
Here is the wig, the beard is ready,
The note is ready, hey!

Figaro! Figaro! Figaro!, ...
Ah, what frenzy!
Ah, what a crowd!
One at a time, please!
Hey, Figaro! I'm here.
Figaro here, Figaro there,
Figaro up, Figaro down,

Swifter and swifter, I'm like a thunderbolt:
I'm the factotum of the city.
Ah, bravo Figaro! Bravo, bravissimo,
You'll never want for luck!)

Das Edelweiß - Das schönste Blümlein auf der Welt

From the Sea, back to the Mountains:



Ahhhhh, the Edelweiß... the most beautiful flower in the world! Used as a device by German and Austrian royal and imperial Heraldry (or, rather, Armory, to be more accurate), the Edelweiß served a very interesting purpose in folklore:
Young men would risk their lives on steep cliffs to bring Edelweiß to their hearts' chosen: to the fair maiden the flowers would serve as a sign of love, bravery and devotion.

Exactly the kind of stuff to poke fun at!



The Austrian brass ensemble Mnozil Brass in a rare display of their vocal skills sing a beautifully gross version of the popular Bergsteiger song "Das schönste Blümlein auf der Welt" (The most beautiful flower in the world), in heavy south-austrian idiom.

Mnozil Brass

Fortunately, the user who uploaded the video posted the lyrics, with a translation as well. (Thanks Irratzo!)
Enjoy!

I.
Die schönste Bluam in der Natur
Ist doch das Edelweiß!
Die Sennrin sogcht zum Holterbuam
"Geh hol ma so a Gstraiß!"
Dulljöh!

Die Sennrin sogcht zum Holterbuam
"Geh hol ma so a Gstraiß!"

(The fairest flower in nature
It is the Edelweiss.
The (alp) shepherdess asks the peasant's boy
"Go and bring me a bunch!")

II.
Der Bua erblickcht das Edelweiß
Gnuag für en ganzen Strauß
Und wie er's dann hat pfluicken wuin
Auf oimal rutscht er aus.
Dulljöh!

Und wie er's dann hat pfluicken wuin
Auf oimal rutscht er aus.

(The boy finds the Edelweiss
Enough for a whole bouquet
And as he's about to gather it
Suddenly he slips.)

III.
Der Abend naht, der Sennrin graut
Der Bua war nu nit zruckch
Erm hat's die Felswand abig'haut
Sei Hirn war ganz zerdruckcht.
Dulljöh!

Erm hat's die Felswand abig'haut
Sei Hirn war ganz zerdruckcht.

(Dusk approaches, the shepherdess is in worry
The boy was still not back
He fell over the rockface
His brains were completely scrunched)

IV.
Die Felswand hat's erm abighaut
Sei Bluat war no ganz woarm
Die Nierndln san erm außig'hängt
Und hoch drom piegt (?) der Doarm.
Dulljöh!

Die Nierndln san erm außig'hängt
Und hoch drom piegt (?) der Doarm.

(Over the rock face he has fallen
His blood was still warm
The kidney's hung out
And high above lies the colon.)

V.
Jedoch!
In seiner Hand - DAS EDELWEIß!
Vom Bluat war's nu ganz rot
Z'erscht hat er nur en Saifzer gmacht
Und glei drauf war er's (?) tot.
Dulljöh......

Z'erscht hat er nur en Saifzer gmacht
Und glei drauf war er's (?) tot.

(And yet!
In his hand - the EDELWEISS!
The blood had drenched it red.
He yet let out a sigh
And right upon he/it (?)'s dead.)

(In the outro the band spells their website's URL: )

Outro:
h t t p
h t t p
w w w PUNKT
mnozilbrass PUNKT
a t

For those who are linguistically-minded I post the more "standard" German version (where Bub read: Junge) and the Saxon version. Both with bloody flowers but without the scattered intestines! :-)

Standard German:

1. Das schönste Blümlein auf der Welt
Das ist das Edelweiß.
Es blüht versteckt an steiler Wand,
Ganz zwischen Schnee und Eis.

2. Das Dirndl zu dem Buben sprach:
Solch' Sträußlein hätt' ich gern,
Geh, hol' mir so ein Blümelein
Mit so ein' weißen Stern.

3. Der Bub, der ging das Blümlein
Hol'n im selben Augenblick.
Der Abend sank, der Morgen graut,
Der Bub kehrt nicht zurück.

4. Verlassen liegt er ganz allein,
An steiler Felsenwand.
Das Edelweiß, so blutig rot,
Hält fest er in der Hand.

5. Und Bauernbuben trugen ihn
Wohl in das Tal hinab,
Und legten ihm ein Sträußelein
Von Edelweiß auf's Grab.

6. Und wenn des Sonntags in dem Tal
Das Abendglöckchen läut't,
Dann geht das Dirndl an sein Grab,
Hier ruht mein einz'ger Freund.

Austrian (EDIT 29/2/2008 - I assumed that this was Saxon because I had once found this version in a "Bergsteigen in Leipzig" site. Irratzo noted that this dialect is Austrian.)

1. Das schönste Blümerl auf der Alm,
das ist das Edelweiß.
Es blüht versteckt auf steiler Höh'
so zwischen Schnee und Eis.

Es sprach ein Dirndel zu ihrem Buam:
"So a Sträußerl möcht' i gern.
Geh', hol mir a Sträußerl her,
mit so'nem weißen Stern!

2. Da ging der Bua a Sträußerl hol'n
im selben Augenblick.
Der Abend naht, der Morgen graut,
der Bua kehrt nie zurück.

3. Er liegt verlassen ganz allein
auf steiler Felsenwand.
Ein Edelweiß, von Blut ganz rot,
er hält's in seiner Hand.

4. Und wenn da drunten in dem Tal
die Abendglocke läut't,
dann kniet das Dirndl an sei'm Grab:
"Hier ruht mei einzig Freud!"

To quote the Flying Circus once more: So much for Pathos....

Dulljöh !

Silence and distance

Deus ao mar o perigo e o abismo deu,
Mas nele é que espelhou o céu.
----------------------
To the sea God gave gave peril and the abyss
But He also made Heaven to be mirrored in it.

Fernando Pessoa, Mar Português, Mensagem.

The Sea is an enchanting and unforgiving mistress. Her charms are matched only by the dangers that contact with her entails. She brands irrevocably anyone open to her wiles. Out there, the measure of a man's worth is constantly weighed against her seduction at the cost of his own life as well as the lives of his mates.

This mystique is what surrounds populations that come in close contact with the sea and makes them so different. The unmistakable air of cosmopolitan nobility combined with the far-reaching gaze into the sea in search of the beloved ones returning.

I will be returning to her as often as I can. It was about time I started from the basics...

For those that showed me what all this really means:

"Silence and Distance" (Andre Matos)

Been here for so long
On the morrow I'll dare
Silent and distant
Reaching out, unaware
Stealing the whispers
From my deepest request

And you watch me
Waiting for something new
My hands, as empty
As my body and soul
Could keep pretending
But in the heart I'd be gone...

Still stare at my face
But lost seem your eyes
Keep hold of the sails
Against the blue sky

Ooh, I'm intending
A way back to the sea
This emptiness burns inside
And leads on for endless miles

Don't let me go
Away across the sea,
It may be much more wide
Than what it seems to be

Oh, I'm still searching
The way back to be freed
The loneliness hangs around us
However we can't see

Now let me go
Away across the sea,
The waves can't be as high
As they pretend to be

And now I know
In my heart, I won't forget
The sails against the blue sky
That taught me how to live

... with no sorrow
And tomorrow we'll share
Silence and distance
'till our faults are repaired
You'll be the mistress
Who I'll never forget.

Για το Γιάννη, τη Μαριάννα, τον Πέτρο, τη Ματούλα, τη Μαρίκα, τη Δέσποινα... για τα χρυσά απογεύματα στο Μερσινίδι...

The colour of a fallen angel

Few things are as sad as the sight of the remnants of snow.

How that powdery white blanket of pristine dazzling beauty vanishes, leaving behind, where the heavier drifts had been, a slowly melting crystallized mass of dirty ice surrounded by black sludge.

Like the plumage of an angel that has fallen from grace...

The Statics live @ Lazy Club Vrilissia - When music is mostly about fun...

Too many mistakes... that was all Tasos, (keyboards) had to say as Static completed their set and stepped down for the headliners of yesterday's live performance at Lazy Club, Diafygonta Kerdi.

Static are comprised of Lora Matthaiou (vocals), Haris Hadjiioannou (guitar), Yiannis Mastroyiannis (bass) (mom and dad, that is- or is it the other way around? ) with Tasos Grigoriadis at the keyboards and Dimitris Kouris behind the drum kit.

Garage and surf is mostly what they play and do they play it well? - Technically, I am not to say yet. The current lineup of the band is very fresh. They did not play a long set since they played support for the other group. The venue was not as small as other live performance venues but this turned out to be a disadvantage as the stage did not dominate the space and it failed to project the potential of the group (with special reference to the bass player! ).

This means that any discussion on technique and accuracy of execution has no meaning at this point.

Was it fun? Let me just say that it did not feel like a cover band. It did not feel like a small-venue gig. Not once did I get the impression that they were struggling to catch up with the original music. Not even when they played "The Letter" and "Human Fly". I knew they were having fun playing that music. And so did we.

For more definte conclusions I would like to see them in a gig fully on their own. Perhaps even in a more favourable venue. Stay tuned for future live dates. I will be following them. I strongly suggest you do the same.
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Πάρα πολλά λάθη...αυτό μονο είχε να μας πεί ο Τάσος (πλήκτρα) όταν οι Static ολοκλήρωσαν το σετ τους και κατέβηκαν για να ακολουθήσουν οι "Διαφυγόντα Κέρδη", headliners της χθεσινοβραδινής ζωντανής παράστασης στο Lazy Club .

Οι Static αποτελούνται απο τους: Λόρα Ματθαίου (φωνητικά), Χάρη Χατζηιωάννου (κιθάρα), Γιάννη Μαστρογιάννη (μπάσο) (η μαμά και ο μπαμπάς δηλαδή - ή μήπως το αντίστροφο; ) με τον Τάσο Γρηγοριάδη στα πλήκτρα και τον Δημήτρη Κουρη πίσω απο το drum kit.

Πάιζουν κυρίως garage και surf και παίζουν καλά; - Απο τεχνικής απόψεως δεν έχω άποψη ακόμα. Η παρούσα σύνθεση του συγκροτήματος είναι πολύ πρόσφατη. Δεν έπαιξαν μεγάλο σετ καθώς έπαιζαν support για άλλο συγκρότημα. Ο χώρος δεν ήταν τόσο μικρός όσο άλλοι χώροι για ζωντανές παραστάσεις αλλά αυτό αποδείχθηκε μάλλον μειονέκτημα, καθώς η σκηνή δεν κυριαρχούσε στο χώρο και αδυνατούσε να προβάλλει τη δυναμική του συγκροτήματος (με ιδαίτερη μνεία στον μπασίστα! )

Αυτό σημαίνει πως οποιαδήποτε συζήτηση για τεχνική και ακρίβεια εκτέλεσης δεν έχει κανένα νόημα αυτή τη στιγμή.

Ήταν διασκεδαστικά; Θα πώ απλώς ότι δεν έδιναν την αίσθηση "μπάντας διασκευών". Δεν έδινε την αίσθηση παράστασης σε κάποιο μικρό χώρο. Δεν μου δόθηκε η εντύπωση, ούτε για μία φορά, ότι αγωνίζονταν να μην υποσκελιστούν απο την "αρχική" μουσική. Ούτε όταν έπαιζαν το "The Letter" ή το "Human Fly". Καταλάβαινα ότι όταν έπαιζαν αυτή τη μουσική διασκέδαζαν. Κι εμείς το ίδιο.

Για πιο συγκεκριμένα συμπεράσματα, θα ήθελα να τους δώ σε μια παράσταση εξολοκλήρου δική τους. Ίσως και σε ένα πιο ευνοϊκό χώρο. Μέινετε συντονισμένοι για ημερομηνίες μελλοντικών ζωντανών εμφανίσεων. Θα τους παρακολουθώ. Σας προτείνω να κάνετε το ίδιο.

Networking Basics....

A long time ago,during my school days, my uncle used to show me how he used his "modem" to connect to Ariadne, the first (I think) greek BBS and went on to demonstrate all those marvellous things a personal computer could achieve.
Despite my tender age however, I was rather unimpressed (he worked for Apple after all...) and I stood firm by my decision to pursue high, mighty and lofty sciences.

Despite that, I have been online without almost any interval for about nine years. By greek standards, this is not bad for someone not in the IT studies or business.

Wary of computers and knowing that much of humanity's tribulations are brought about by improper procedural implementation (socialist state bureaucrats were right it seems in their insistence on proper "process" ...), I always performed dilligent maintenance of my hard drive, I always ran updated anti-virus and anti-spyware software and I always used authentic software which I installed and uninstalled by proper procedure.

Everything was really simple and if it was not then that meant that I had no business with it. And everything ran as smoothly as a Pentium processor at 500 MHz could allow to.

Then things changed. Instead of modems we needed routers. Riiight...Routers connect to the PC via Ethernet NICs. Riiiiight.... Routers use digital data transmission. That means that what matters is the signal to noise ratio. Because there is attenuation. And don't forget the distance to the DSLAM. And why are my torrents that slow? Are the proper ports open? How the hell do I set up my wireless router as an access point for a wireless LAN? And what in the name of the Nine Hells keeps accessing my hard drive?

I was suddenly neck-deep in more than I could manage and I realised that years of modem-slow networking simplicity had left me lagging in computer knowledge. I did not have an understanding of basic concepts and here I was, trying to configure MACs and subnet masks...

So I decided to use the one skill I have spent my life honing to bleeding-edge perfection: STUDY!

Last week,I contacted a couple of knowledgeable people in the field that I knew I could trust and were not total quacks and they directed me towards two books: For heavy duty studying they proposed Andrew Tanenbaum's Computer Networks 4th Ed. (Prentice Hall) and as an introduction, the Networking Basics Companion Guide to the Cisco Certified Networking Associate certification (CISCO Press).

I promptly got both (thanks cous!) and I got myself cracking on the CISCO certification companion.

I quote from page 22, explaining frequencies (get on with it, people...) :

"The length of time it takes for one complete cycle to occur is called period.The number of times that cycle occurs in one second is called the frequency. For example, the frequency shown..... ....is 3Hertz (Hz). (Hertz is a unit of measure that means "number of cycles per second."

Jesus H. Christ. According to that book, entry level CISCO Certified Networking Associates can easily come from highschool reject stock....

In this context, I am rather confident that since I hold a University degree and am quite competent in above entry-level Physics, I will one day rise to CTO for AOL.

Sweet... :-)

PS: Which reminds me of a very old strip from a Web comic that I had lately stopped following. The comic is Help Desk (yes, helldesk...) by Christopher B. Wright and can be found here. (The word here is a link for those who will no doubt ask for one...) It is fortunate that I was able to find that strip:

Contra Ecclesiam? - For the moment, just the Sound of Silence...

On February 17, 1600 the "philosopher" - occultist Giordano Bruno was burnt at the stake by the SECULAR authorities of Rome after the Roman Inquisition had found him guilty of heresy.

(Note that the Vatican authorised Holy Office of the Inquisition - as opposed to the Spanish Inquisition which was an instrument of the spanish Kings - did NOT by regulation carry out torture and executions. These were left to the secular authorities, because after all it was them that were mostly concerned, as heresy was an affront to the social establishment and power structure)

I had the intention to write a scathing post as an introductory to my series of posts against ecclesiastical errors against humanity and human thought.

However, in the Bruno case, after a lot of thought I found that I didn't have much to write. It is now widely believed and argued that Bruno's condemnation as a heretic had very little to do with his superficial endorsement of the Copernican cosmology and his belief that there are numerous other worlds, most probably inhabitable by sentient life (the two views that would eventually - and rather unfortunately - vindicate the insufferable quack that Bruno was...) :

"Pope Clement VII (r. 1523-1534) had reacted favorably to a talk about Copernicus's theories, rewarding the speaker with a rare manuscript. There is no indication of how Pope Paul III, to whom On the Revolutions was dedicated reacted; however, a trusted advisor, Bartolomeo Spina of Pisa (1474-1546) intended to condemn it but fell ill and died before his plan was carried out. Thus, in 1600 there was no official Catholic position on the Copernican system, and it was certainly not a heresy. When Giordano Bruno (1548-1600) was burned at the stake as a heretic, it had nothing to do with his writings in support of Copernican cosmology."

( "Nicolaus Copernicus" entry at the online Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy )

Indeed, Bruno had adopted a weird animism and reincarnation theory, had become a Calvinist (for the love of God !!! ) and would have ended up warming the bench of a Japanese or American soccer team if he were given such an option in his days; Inconsistent, incoherent and totally disorganised in his thought and methods (After all, he did pass for some time as an "alchemist", at the side of John Dee...)

So, what WILL make me gripe is the way the Catholic Church always overplay their hand, probably because of arrogance and greed and create martyrs out of nobodies. One would have thought that the Reformation had taught them a couple of things...

Anyway enjoy the Simon & Garfunkel song The Sound of Silence by The Masters of Chant , witness what a powerful force Ecclesiastical tradition has been and imagine it unfettered by obsolete dogmatic inhibitions. Almost scary...

PS:

"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach to you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence...

The Winter, it hunts all their hearts in fear....

As General Winter prepares for his strategic withdrawal before the oncoming springtime, he chose to fight this spectacular rearguard action as a reminder of his strength...

(Maroussi)

LET IT SNOW
Oh the weather outside is frightful,
But the fire is so delightful,
And since we've no place to go,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

It doesn't show signs of stopping,
And I've brought some corn for popping,
The lights are turned way down low,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

When we finally kiss goodnight,
How I'll hate going out in the storm!
But if you'll really hold me tight,
All the way home I'll be warm.

The fire is slowly dying,
And, my dear, we're still good-bying,
But as long as you love me so,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!



(Αρε μάνα... σας κοροϊδέψανε..ποιό Μαρούσι..στη Σιβηρία σας πουλήσανε σπίτι...)


(completely snowed-in...)

General, we pay our respects, and we salute you huddled by our fireplaces!

PS:Our necessary comic relief....:

(Tiger II in the wrong environmet for its camouflage...)

-Herr Obersturmführer, there must be something wrong with our panzer...
-Don't worry Fritz, as soon as we get to our unit in Napoli, things will be ok...
-Herr Obersturmführer, it's just that I've never seen Americans using T-34s before... are you sure you know where we're going?

Love will tear us apart

This morning, with the weather as a perfect backdrop, I saw Control, the film about Ian Curtis. A stunningly dark film that catches the mood underlying the music of the Manchester scene. Ian Curtis was the singer for Joy Division.

This was their most succesfull song. Apart from a wonderful rhythm and melody, apparently people saw the truth in it.

Now, I see it too.

(His tombstone, in Macclesfield Cemetery. The words on it are chosen by his wife Deborah..)

LOVE WILL TEAR US APART

When routine bites hard
and ambitions are low.
And resentment rides high
but emotions won't grow.
And we're changing our ways
taking different roads.

Love, love will tear us apart again.
Love, love will tear us apart again.

Why is the bedroom so cold
turned away on your side?
Is my timing that flawed
our respect run so dry?
Yet there's still this appeal
that we've kept through our lives.

Love, love will tear us apart again.
Love, love will tear us apart again.

Do you cry out in your sleep,
all my failings expose?
Gets a taste in my mouth
as desperation takes hold.
Why is it something so good
just can't function no more?

Love, love will tear us apart again.
Love, love will tear us apart again...

Tony Wilson, a co-founder of Factory Records and one of the most influential people in the Manchester scene once recounted :

"I'd been warned on a train to London two weeks earlier by Annik [note: Annik Honoré, Curtis' lover]. I asked her, 'What do you think of the new album.' She goes, 'I'm terrified.' I said, 'What are you terrified of?' She replies, 'Don't you understand? He means it.' And I go, 'No, he doesn't mean it; it's art.' And guess what, he fucking meant it."
(Factory: Manchester from Joy Division to Happy Mondays. BBC documentary 2007)

Indeed. Ian Curtis knew better. Love CAN tear people apart....he commited suicide on 18 May, 1980.

The Meaning of Life pt. III: Fighting each other. - Would I fight?

(Greek War Flag flying Greek colours and St. George, the patron saint of the Greek Land Army killing the serpent - October 2006)

One year ago I completed my compulsory time of service in the Greek Army. The "anniversary" was 2 days ago but illness prevented any celebrations.

(6-inch Guns of the Artillery firing blank salvoes to salute celebrations of Greek 28 October National Holiday)

The question, even though one year has passed, still remains haunting: Would I fight and possibly die? And, if yes, why?

(Second posting special forces - winter 2006-7 : I must have been really pissed off that day...)

The answer to the first question is easy. I am now under oath and I would do it. Not because of the oath per se.
Oaths have a special mystique of their own and the very notion of allegiance to death resonates deep into the soul of a warrior. And it has proven destructive, as it was demonstrated when during the Second World War most officers of the Wehrmacht stayed true to their oath of allegiance to Adolf Hitler even though he was clearly leading Germany to total annihilation.

(First posting -infantry - autumn 2006 :"Hey Doc, do you know anything about electronics?" "Yes Lieutenant, as a matter of fact quite a few things..." "Ok then, you get the radiophone..." αργότερα... πού'σαι ρε μαλάκα Αντωνιάδη, πάρε με στο κινητό δε λειτουργεί αυτη η μαλακία που μου δώσανε...)

But, no, I am afraid and very sorry to say that it is not the oath to the flag that would be my main drive to fight. Very sorry indeed to say that because many people, many good people died for that flag.

(Second posting -special forces winter 2006-7: Hellenic Air Force C-130 Hercules approaching paratrooper drop zone for the first sortie of the day)

In all honesty, who would appreciate the idea to die for a country run by worthless and utterly corrupt politicians, petty and unworthy servants scurrying to do the bidding of mindless masters dealing in high-stakes finance? Who can forget that the fat blubbering slobs that claim to represent the people of Greece are smugly seated in their parliament chairs simply by stepping on the bodies of the young men that died under the treads of tanks fighting for an ideal that has become what we now try to pass as democracy?

(Infantry grenade launcher - first posting - summer 2006 - why would a doctor need a grenade launcher anyway? but of course to show off...)

(First posting - infantry - summer 2006 :Aboard a Hummer with a mounted KORNET anti-tank missile launcher. Note the funny "shoot the doctor first" helmet)

No, the ideal is dead and its carcass is being raped everyday by politicians, journalists and civil servants all across the country.

(Second posting - special forces - John Rambo beware...)

(Second posting - special forces winter 2006-2007 : "Hey Sarge, where are my medical supplies?" "We'll deliver them to the dressing station, doc!" Instead of medical supplies I got 3 crates of hand grenades. Guaranteed to permanently cure anything out of existence)

I would fight for it is in our nature to do so. Because the aggressors would try to impose a new order that would inevitably be worse than the present status. And it is only natural to resist that.

(Second posting - special forces - 08 February 2007 - On my discharge day. Not allowed a moment of respite even on my discharge day I got to cover a paratrooper landing covered by Malcolm Brabant for BBC World on a report on those pussies that are dodging conscription to the Greek Army - watch the video here: Greek crackdown on draft dodge. I got to be on BBC TV as "Dr. George Papadimitropolous". At least they got it half-right...)

And not because we cannot bear the yoke if need be. Humans can tolerate and get used to almost anything. What I would and could not bear however is the indignity of seeing the people I love bear that yoke.

I can think of no better words than those of the poet Richard Lovelace,one of the Cavalier poets who fought for King Charles against Oliver Cromwell. From his poem:

To Lucasta: Going to the Warres

I.
Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkinde,
That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde
To warre and armes I flie.

II.
True: a new Mistresse now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith imbrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

III.
Yet this inconstancy is such,
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Lov'd I not Honour more.

You see, I would fight for the people next to me. I would fight for my friends. I would fight for my family. I would fight for my childhood playgrounds. I would fight for the one I love. I would fight so that her eyes remain unclouded of tears. And I would die, I would die a thousand deaths rather than having to bear the shame of having to watch this. How can someone love anyone, if one does not love Honour more?

PS. To lighten things up a bit: "A man may fight for many things: his country, his principles, his friends, the glistening tear on the cheek of a golden child. But personally I'd mud-wrestle my own mother for a ton of cash, an amusing clock and a sack of French porn. - Edmund Blackadder The Third.

(In 2007 Santa Claus arrived with a free-fall parachute. This year I hope he chose something more convenient that allowed for more gifts...)

Der Panther

After the neo-greek interlude, we return to the artistic production of civilized nations: I hereby post Rainer Maria Rilke's famous poem Der Panther along with my attempt at translation.

Der Panther

Im Jardin des Plantes, Paris

Sein Blick ist vom Vorübergehn der Stäbe
so müd geworden, dass er nichts mehr hält.
Ihm ist, als ob es tausend Stäbe gäbe
und hinter tausend Stäben keine Welt.

Der weiche Gang geschmeidig starker Schritte,
der sich im allerkleinsten Kreise dreht,
ist wie ein Tanz von Kraft um eine Mitte,
in der betäubt ein großer Wille steht.

Nur manchmal schiebt der Vorhang der Pupille
sich lautlos auf -. Dann geht ein Bild hinein,
geht durch der Glieder angespannte Stille -
und hört im Herzen auf zu sein.


6.11.1902, Paris

The Panther

At the Jardin des Plantes, Paris

His gaze,from pacing behind the bars that stand before him
has grown so exhausted that there's nothing it can hold
It seems to him as if there are a thousand bars before him
and beyond these thousand bars no world.


The soft footfalls, the supple muscular canter
that goes about in ever-smaller turns
is like a dance of power around a fixed center
in which, like dazed, a greater spirit burns.

And only at times the curtain that obscures the sight
silently parts -. Right then an image shoots through the eye
goes through the limbs - then strained quiet -
straight to the heart only for it to die.

(1) "fixed" in stanza 2, line 3 to be read fix-ed and not fix'd
(2) "quiet" stanza 3 line 3, noun and not adjective.
(3) Stanza 3 awkward in form and metre but read aloud it actually sounds good and retains cadence.

[Despite the fact that I faced it like Nabokov, as a predetermined failure and with annotation as deemed necessary, I think the effort is not bad, so I stick to my copyright (whatever that means on the internet) and reproduction only with mention of this source, my blog.]


EDIT 6/2/2008:

I received feedback for the poem by Brian Jones who noted that "lay before him" [stanza 1] (referring to the bars of the cage) conveyed the image of horizontal bars, instead of vertical ones. Indeed, it was an inappropriate selection, so I replaced it with "stand" as was his suggestion as well. Another correction was made as well since footfalls was "footfals".

Brian Jones keeps a treasury of the arts and lore from the past, The Beckoning. A visit there is time well spent.

Το Λίκνο του Δυτικού Πολιτισμού

Συγχρονος Ελληνικός Πολιτισμός

Ράν-ταϊμ έρρο! (Βασίλης Πάλλης)

Έλα πάμε... μην κωλοκάτσει κανένας

Έλα κι έχω το Service Pack το 2...

Μ'έχει παρει απο κάτω
πού'χεις γκόμενο βαρβάτο
Και εμενανε με φτύνεις
με delete πολλά με σβήνεις

Τονε βρήκες στα ιντερνέτια
και θαρρείς πως έχει "τέτοια"
Πίκρες κάνω copy-paste
γιατι εσύ δεν έχεις taste

Αν μ'αγαπας δεν ξέρω
Αν μ'αγαπάς δεν ξέρω
Βαράει η καρδιά μου τρελλά runtime erro!

Έλα μάνα μου, μάνα μου κι έχει πέσει το δίκτυο
Και πως θα το σηκώσω;

Σαν το DOS αργά σε χάνω

Άπειρα format θα κάνω
Kαι θα βάλω τα "γουίντος"
Μήπως και γυρίσεις, μήπως...

Μην ξεχνάς πως έχεις βέρα
Άσε τώρα τον ξενέρα
Γύρνα πίσω στον Bill Gates
Μην κολλήσεις κανα AIDS !

Αν μ'αγαπας δεν ξέρω
Αν μ'αγαπάς δεν ξέρω
Βαράει η καρδιά μου τρελλά runtime erro!


Αχ γιατί μου τό'κανες αυτό;
Αχ και δεν αντέχω τα format!!
Οχι αλλο format, όχι άλλο !!

....καλά κρασά!!!

(Για να ευθυμήσουμε ολίγον...George ευχαριστω για το video, κορυφαίο! )

We Stand Alone

Certain recent events have made me contemplate on many things.


You see, at some point or another, one has to reflect on the fact that life is (or at least should be, I have come to believe) a road that we walk by ourselves.

Enforced good will and merrymaking, as portrayed by consumerist advertising and a protected life can lead us to have a completely befuddled perception of concepts such as loneliness, uniqueness and solitude.

Though the three concepts are, I believe, inextricably linked, they should not be used interchangeably.

Solitude derives from uniqueness. It is self awareness, this potent realisation that in the universe our individual intellects are each by itself unique, that makes us something so much more than a sack af biochemical complexities.

This of course means that we are alone. It is sad to see people striving against that. And sadder still that I sought to preach against it to wiser ears, that it is all a "misconception".

It can be lessened as a condition. When individuals become flocks and they seal their fates on the decisions of others, then their tracks on the infinite web of choices and possibilities that stretches like an ocean before us converge. Bt when courses on the ocean converge, the result is collision and tragedy. Solitary means, in the end, impossible to herd. And that is what humanity should accomplish. Never put all eggs in one basket...

"I have everywhere sought, and nowhere found, so I lift the bleeding bodkin, and thrust the grief deepest in..."

There it is, the lyrics that haunted me for the last 11 years, ever since I listened to it. The song is Ad Astra, by Arcturus. And I finally begin to see what this is all about.

This grief, the grief of solitude, the grief of travelling our cosmic path and not finding another soul to greet, this grief that makes us bleed like a bodkin, leaves an aftertaste. And that is loneliness. It can be bad. It can be really bad. But it is inevitable. Because when we let ourselves free of narrowminded concepts like mandatory companionship (however menial the person we choose to throw ourselves upon is), there is nothing around us but the vast possibilities that we know we will never be able to explore in our short lives. And that hurts.

There are wounds that bleed inside us
There are wounds we never see
They are part of our refinements
That allow a man to be

There are wounds that bleed in silence
With aristocratic grace
There are tears we keep beside them
Never seen upon a face

(Savatage, The Wake of Magellan)

Catalyst for this realisation was a conversation from the latest film by the Coen Brothers, "No Country for Old Men" that I saw recently.

The unstoppable killer Anton Chigurh faces the meek Carla Jean Moss with the sole intention of killing her, after the death of her husband who would do anything to protect her but in the end was unable to protect himself:

-You got no cause to hurt me...
-No. But I gave my word.
-You gave your word?
-To your husband.
-That don't make sense. You gave your word to my husband to kill me?
-Your husband had the opportunity to save you. Instead, he used you to try to save himself.
-Not like that. Not like you say.You don't have to do this.
-They'll always say the same thing.
-What did they say?
-They say you don't have to do this.
-You don't.
- (flips a coin) This is the best I can do. Call it.
-I knowed you was crazy when I saw you sittin' there. I knowed exactly what was in store for me.
-Call it.
-No. I ain't gonna call it.
-Call it.
-The coin don't have no say. It's just you.
-Well, I got here the same way the coin did...

Her life decided at a coin-toss and she was only pleading "You don't have to do this".
One is a sad man when one pleads others for the things one needs in one's life.
One is a sad man when one allows others to have so much say in one's life.

One must learn to walk alone. Otherwise,I have come to see, life will only be a succession of crutches that will only allow us to limp for a certain distance before they fail us. And to think that I used to be so much ashamed for the time I used auxilliary wheels for my bike...

P.S.... Guess what...

Сталинград ! The Sword of Stalingrad: Paulus kapituliert...!

"Rodina, dorn radnoy..." The statue of Mother Motherland commemorating the Victory

"At midday on 2 February [1943] a Luftwaffe reconnaisance aircraft circled over the city. The pilot's radio message was immediately passed to Field Marshal Milch : 'No more sign of fighting in Stalingrad'. "
(Antony Beevor, Stalingrad, Ch. 23 : 'Stop Dancing! Stalingrad Has Fallen')



It is very difficult to find words for the Stalingrad epic and a simple historical reference goes beyond (and does injustice to) the scope of this blog.

First of all it is difficult to grasp the fact that a city of secondary importance in the Eastern front became the theatre of the biggest, bloodiest and most brutal battle of Human History, an inferno of suffering and slaughter that showed how high and how low human nature can reach.

Adolf Hitler, once more behaving like a deranged cartoon villain, each word and action a caricature of leadership, heavily laden with hubris, split and messed up the advance of Heeresgruppe Süd, commiting the better part of it to the capture of the city of Stalingrad and the securing of the western bank of the Volga river as part of the glorified mess that was codenamed Operation Blue (Fall Blau, "Case: Blue").

The attack was spearheaded by German armour under the command of officers such as the hero of Stalingrad, "der Panzergraf", Hyazinth Graf Strachwitz von Groß-Zauche und Camminetz (who by the end of the war had been awarded Diamonds to his Swords and Oakleaf of his Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross - Ritterkreuz des Eisernen Kreuzes mit Eichenlaub, Schwerten und Brillanten). Meanwhile the city of Stalingrad was being pummeled to smoking ruins by Wolfram von Richthoffen's Luftflotte 4...

(Panoramic view of Stalingrad, from the eastern bank of the Volga. This was the sight that arriving Soviet troops faced as they were ferried across the waters of the mighty river, to fight in the ruins of Stalingrad and usually die within 24 hours)

Der Panzergraf

Despite the rapid success of the advance because of the ideal conditions of the Kuban steppe, the offensive bogged down in the ruins of the city. And so, the drama began to unfold in all its gruesome splendour....

The task of taking the city itself fell to the German 6th Army, under the command of General der Panzertruppen Friedrich Paulus. Meanwhile the rest of the Heeresgruppe B, as that half of the Heeresgruppe Süd had been renamed manned the Don - Volga front around the siege.

Facing them were the heroic Soviet 62nd and 64th Armies, eventually under the command of General Vassily Chuikov, subordinate to the General Who Obviously Won the Second World War By Himself, Field Marshal Georgy Zhukov.

Vassili Chuikov

Four times Hero of the Soviet Union, Marshal Georgy Zhukov

In the city ruins the German Army lost all of the tactical advantages that it had under the Guderian-inspired doctrine of blietzkrig. Instead of that, they became involved in murderous streetfighting (as per Chuikov's plan, the Stalingrad Academy of Streetfighting never left the Germans a moment of respite). In this gruesome slaughterhouse, tanks and aircraft lost their tactical significance. Amidst the ruins of the city the weapons of choice were grenades, bayonets, flamethrowers and spades with sharpened edges, which when wielded properly could literaly hack a man in two.

The Stalingrad Academy of Streetfighting

With suicidal bravery (backed by Chuikov's brutality, who knew that they HAD to keep Stalingrad or die in the attempt and Stalin's order "Not one step back - the Volga has only one bank) the Soviet soldiers turned each and every heap of rubble into a mighty fortress or a deadly trap that had to be reduced at a heavy cost of German casualties. It was usual for an appartment building floor to belong to one side while the top and bottom floors were occupied by the other.


This rats' warfare (Rattenkrieg) wore down the German forces, as the Sovites were slowly readying the axe that was to fall...

On November 19 1942 a massive Soviet counteroffensive (Operation Uranus) broke through the Romanian (who were ill-equipped) and Italian (who honoured their tradition of being weak-kneed and pathetic in combat) armies who "guarded" the German flanks and encircled the 6th Army.

"Wacht im Osten" (Guard in the East) by Emil Dielmann, 1943. "Es steht ein Soldat am Wolgastrand/er wache für sein Vaterland..."

A counteroffensive to relieve the besieger-turned-besieged 6th Army failed and the men under the command of Friedriech Paulus were doomed.

"Errinerung an Stalingrad" (Memory of Stalingrad) by Franz Eichhorst, 1943

The Soviets slowly started to crush the encircled Germans and the remnants of Wehrmacht's largest formation capitulated on February 2 1943.

The Battle of Stalingrad was over.

German prisoners of war, the remnants of the 6th Army, marching to their doom in some Soviet Gulag.

It had lasted almost 200 days claiming the lives of about 2 million soldiers from both sides. But even this figure does scant justice to the ACTUAL suffering.

In the Battle of Stalingrad humanity witnessed its most dire extremes. Bravery mixed with treachery and with lethal cunning, cruelty of unspeakable proportions countenaced with unparalleled self -sacrifice and all this as the stench of the dead and the moans of the thousands of wounded who were piled in makeshift dugouts along the bank of the Volga.

If there has ever been anywhere, anything close to hell,then it was Stalingrad during those days.

And in the icy ruins of the city lay the foundatins for the most total and bloody disaster that Germany would face two years later.

At some point Hitler had publicly declared that he considered the success in Stalingrad vital in avoiding another Verdun. Well, he didn't get his Verdun, all right. Instead, what he got for Germany was fire, rape and death to such an extent that made Verdun look like a slap in the hand.

"Heimkehr" (Homecoming) by Hans Adolf Bühler, 1940. No consolation after Stalingrad....

Oh, the way nations commit themselves to destruction....