"In July of 1988 the Palace of Culture of the Soviet Union premiered Shankar’s “Swar Milan,” although the recording of the concert was called Inside the Kremlin. It was an epic piece with seven passages, using more than 140 musicians and singers from the Russian Folk Ensemble, the Chamber Orchestra of the Moscow Philharmonic, the Government Chorus from the Ministry of Culture, and Shankar’s own Indian ensemble. The composition was successful in bringing together the various music of these greatly different cultures, and once again Shankar was able to create a completely new sound."

Ravi Shankar, Three Ragas in 'D' Minor

Blue Origin's New Glenn

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, Push The Sky Away

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, Magneto

Dion DiMucci, The Wanderer

Pharoah Sanders, The Creator Has A Master Plan

Coda by Dorothy Parker 

There's little in taking or giving, 
There's little in water or wine; 
This living, this living, this living 
Was never a project of mine. 
Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is 
The gain of the one at the top, 
For art is a form of catharsis, 
And love is a permanent flop, 
And work is the province of cattle, 
And rest's for a clam in a shell, 
So I'm thinking of throwing the battle- 
Would you kindly direct me to hell?

4/9/2016 = 2²/3²/4²

Kazimir Malevich, Soldier of the First Division, 1914

Eugène Delacroix, Liberty Leading the People, 1830

Steve Reich, Music for 18 Musicians, 1978

On the Move By Thom Gunn

The blue jay scuffling in the bushes follows
Some hidden purpose, and the gust of birds
That spurts across the field, the wheeling swallows,
Has nested in the trees and undergrowth.
Seeking their instinct, or their poise, or both,
One moves with an uncertain violence
Under the dust thrown by a baffled sense
Or the dull thunder of approximate words.

On motorcycles, up the road, they come:
Small, black, as flies hanging in heat, the Boys,
Until the distance throws them forth, their hum
Bulges to thunder held by calf and thigh.
In goggles, donned impersonality,
In gleaming jackets trophied with the dust,
They strap in doubt – by hiding it, robust –
And almost hear a meaning in their noise.

Exact conclusion of their hardiness
Has no shape yet, but from known whereabouts
They ride, direction where the tyres press.
They scare a flight of birds across the field:
Much that is natural, to the will must yield.
Men manufacture both machine and soul,
And use what they imperfectly control
To dare a future from the taken routes.

It is a part solution, after all.
One is not necessarily discord
On earth; or damned because, half animal,
One lacks direct instinct, because one wakes
Afloat on movement that divides and breaks.
One joins the movement in a valueless world,
Choosing it, till, both hurler and the hurled,
One moves as well, always toward, toward.

A minute holds them, who have come to go:
The self-defined, astride the created will
They burst away; the towns they travel through
Are home for neither bird nor holiness,
For birds and saints complete their purposes.
At worst, one is in motion; and at best,
Reaching no absolute, in which to rest,
One is always nearer by not keeping still.

James Jean, Chang'e, 2015

Nice Cave and the Bad Seeds, Tupelo

Tindersticks, We Are Dreamers (feat. Jehnny Beth from Savages)

Born this day

James Ensor, La Mort Poursuivant le Troupeau des Humains (Death Pursuing a Flock of Mortals), 1896

Rodolphe Bresdin, Comedy of Death, 1854