Having tossed me this personal-narrative bone, van Lierde strips down to his swimsuit. The Belgians, it has been said, are of two distinct physical types: the ample, rosy burghers famously depicted by Rubens, and the wraithlike subjects of van Gogh. Stomping around in rubber boots, complacently hosing down the pool deck, Damien van Houck appears pure Rubens. Lean and rope-muscled, his hair a severe black skullcap, van Lierde seems van Gogh to the core.
to a very large canvas and to hundreds or even thousands of colors. But the canvas and the colors come from the past. They are hand-me-downs. As we learn to use them, we find out that those around us have strong ideas about what can be drawn, in which proportions, in what combinations, and for what purposes. As any artist knows, there is an ethics of drawing and coloring as well as a market that will react sometimes capriciously, but many times quite predictably to any individual attempts to place a mark in the history or representation or simply readjust the proportions of certain spaces at the margins … Just like art-works, our linguistic products are constantly evaluated, recycled or discarded.
I’ve been anticipating the release of Brownswood Bubblers 4 for quite sometimenow and here it is now, available on Brownswood and iTunes. De-lish.
Forging ahead with the Bubblers series, Brownswood Recordings are proud to present another awe-inspiring assortment of delightfully obscure ditties and underground heaters that have been clogging Gilles’ record bag and radio playlists of late. Kicking off with the honey-coated Motor City soul vibes purveyed by Mayer Hawthorne on ‘Maybe So Maybe No’ and weaving a path through to Lone’s lush, widescreen beatscape ‘Sea Spray’. This is Gilles Peterson in his element – flitting between Oumou Sangaré’s soaring African melodies, Maryland beatmaker yU’s coarsely chopped hip hop soul, El Michels Affair reworking classic ODB material for the jazz headz, New Look’s spine-tingling electro pop, and the rich sub low cinematics of Floating Points.
Friends, family and colleagues often inquire about the progress of my PhD. When will you submit? Why are you losing so much hair? You look stressed out. How come? In my mind, I often contemplate random acts of violence but mostly reply with a polite feline hissing sound. Maybe I should try the mental health hotline.