The Prime of a Still Life

by Deja Mu

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about

released 15 March 2012
gmr 002
(p) § (c) grandmasrecords

“The prime of a still life” is set in a kitchen.
A man waits for his bride, from sunset to dawn.
Divided into 8 playlets, the songs push forward as night goes by, fluctuating with the moods, and branching out into still lives that will come to with the fantasies of the protagonist:
the kitchen furniture sets the scenery of an idealized romance; the items of a lush menu break apart with each sip of beer; fruits and vegetables proclaim themselves oracles in their own right; and dish-washing proves a liberating immersion ritual...
In these reveries that merge painting and cuisine, compositions reach a degree of liveliness that outdoes any idling reality at hand. Jerks in quintuple time, psychedelic flood, or limping children’s round dance, form does the twist with content, and both of them will take the lead.
The interludes entwined between the songs are like the glass of spirits between courses. Only dubbed by their number, they allow the songs to settle for a moment while weaving a secret frame in the scullery.

“The Prime of a Still Life” se passe dans une cuisine.
Un homme y attend sa promise. Du crépuscule jusqu’à l’aube.
Découpées en saynetes, les chansons avancent au fil de la nuit, fluctuent avec l’humeur, et se déclinent sous la forme de natures mortes s’éveillant avec l’imagination du héros : le mobilier de cuisine se transforme en scénographie d’une romance idéalisée; le catalogue d’un menu luxuriant se décompose au fil des bières écoulées; les aliments s’autoproclament oracle autonome; ou encore, la vaisselle devient un rite d’immersion libérateur…
Dans ces songeries qui mélangent peinture et cuisine, les compositions y sont bien plus vivantes qu’une réalité désœuvrée. Tour à tour jerk à cinq temps, déluge psychédélique, ou ronde enfantine clopinante, la forme twiste avec le fond, et chacun mène la danse.
Entre les chansons sont brodés des intermèdes, sortes de trous normands entre les plats. Uniquement affublés d’un numéro, ils offrent aux chansons un temps pour décanter, et tissent une trame secrète dans l’arrière-cuisine.

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released March 15, 2012

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Track Name: A Chair and a Stool, Evening
In the chair, you will sit,
Wearing a white sari, with pearls of tawny jasper.
Radiant like the sun goddess personified.

On the stool, I will be
Facing you, worshiping you, but bold as a knight
Ready to charge out for the conquest of love.

On the table, we’ll hold hands,
Unleashing a wave of lust and love spread through both of our bodies.
So much so, so much soaring we couldn’t withstand.

With the dish towel, I will trap you.
And squeeze you to my chest. Hands in hands, eyes in eyes.
We’ll begin slowly to dance, but soon, start to put the beat up.

Into the shelves, we’re gonna crash.
To the fridge, we’ll skate on flour.
To the sink, we’ll go for a midnight swim.
In the oven, we’ll hear those sugar bells ring.
In the chair, you will sit.
Track Name: Appetizers and a Dozen Beers
Roast cherry tomatoes with cucumber sauce.
Garlic breads and cauliflower sticks.
Guacamole toasts and spinach dips.
And a dozen bottles of beer waiting for us.

Garbanzo beans cooked with lime and orange juice.
Fiddlehead ferns with cremini mushrooms,
And peppers of red, yellow and green.
And a dozen or so bottles of beer waiting for us.

Roquefort grapes, baked wheel of Brie.
A log of goat’s milk cheese garnished with dried apricots.
A fine burgundy wine and some sweet white wine.
And a half dozen bottles of beer waiting for us.

Tangerine cream with pumpkin ginger scones.
Cinnamon cookies and ginger ice cream.
Poached pears with maple syrup and candied ginger.
And a single bottle of beer waiting for me.
Track Name: The Cauliflower and the Fiddlehead Fern
A cauliflower and a fiddlehead fern
Get together in a comely kitchen.
The fiddlehead fern asks the cauliflower:
“Would you be my partner for a lively five-step?
It’s easy to do and real fun too!
A one, a two and a three, then hit and reverse.”

“- It is such a thrill!” Yells the cauliflower
“That it is more kicking than a pressure-cooker.
“But we could venture and dig it further:
Match the motion to the syncopation,
Enhance the figures, try some new ones,
Risk a free spin, the Lindy tuck-in!”

“- Hey what the Hell! You’re stealing the lead!”
Strongly demurs the fiddlehead fern.
“-Well, if you can’t wing it, it is better to split.
My name is cauliflower, and not “follower”!”
Track Name: A Grape, a Pear, a Mango and a Banana
The grape lies on the pear.
The pear leans on the mango.
The mango supports the banana.
The banana joins the grape.

The grape holds the pear.
The pear hugs the mango.
The mango strokes the banana.
The banana loves the grape.
Track Name: Hair, Two Legs, a Chest, and a Back
I can’t help thinking of you.
Thinking of you, playing with the dogs,
Then tying up your hair,
And the sweat was running down the nape of your neck.

I can’t help thinking of you.
Thinking of you, when we went around that vacant house.
And when we went to sneak over the fence,
You had to hike up your dress.

So I repeat to myself: “What a woman’s made out of: bones, nerves, flesh and skin.”

But I can’t help thinking of you.
Thinking of you, in my cycle’s luggage rack,
When I got to ride you back.
I felt your arms surrounding me, and your chest wrapping my back.

And yet, I repeat to myself: “What a woman’s made out of: bones, nerves, flesh and skin.”

No, I can’t help thinking of you.
Thinking of you, when I dropped you at your house.
And so you said “Goodnight”. I was watching you go upstairs, staring at you, step by step.

So I repeat to myself: “What a woman’s made out of: bones, nerves, flesh and skin.”
Track Name: The Fiddlehead Fern and the Seahorse
There was a fiddlehead fern whirling in a sink.
There was a fiddlehead fern drowning in a sink.
Drifting from dull waters to the blackest depths.
When floundering in the ooze, he caught a glimpse of light.

“Though the brightness of the dark,
Though the fullness of the void,
Though the shiver of the idle,
There is no way but to pull the stopper out.”

There was a fiddlehead fern beholding a light.
There was a fiddlehead fern walking to a light.
The glow started to rise as he went up to the source.
There, like or as the rainbow of the skies, was a chanting seahorse.

“Though the brightness of the dark,
Though the fullness of the void,
Though the shiver of the idle,
There is no way but to pull the stopper out.”

“- Are you abiding here? Could I stay here too?”
But the magical fish kept on chanting.
“Don’t you fear the drought, if I pull the stopper out? Don’t you fear passing on?”
He was still singing:

“-Though the brightness of the dark,
Though the fullness of the void,
Though the shiver of the idle,
There is no way but to pull the stopper out.”
Track Name: Dishes Drying on Their Own
Hot waters gush about me.
Soap bubbles burgeoning all over.
I’m off for to see my love.

Clacks, clatters and reflections of sounds.
Oily creeks wane and wax on distorted shapes.

Spatters on the tiles, blisters in the Isles.
See the copper snake running down the wall!
He’s stricken by the detergent bird.
I’m off for to see my love.

The beast is overthrown.
Dishes drying on their own.
I’m off for to see my love.
Track Name: A Chair and a Stool, Morning
On a throne reigns Her Majesty Emptiness.
And on a stool yawns a knight-errant.
And on a table I lay my hands,
And on my hands I see your face
But it’s Emptiness’s face.
How come there’s no leg in my fork
Neither breast in my plate
But only odds and ends just dragging around
And driving me down.
I wanna ditch all of this
I wanna something that hits, loud and clear
Cause stillness is closing me in
And rubbing me out.
Need to breathe, gotta save myself from all this.
I leave the blue for the pink,
And the pink for the red,
And the red for the gold.
Yes the sun just arose.
Gonna deck myself out with my shining armor
And may take my basket to go to the market
In the hustle and bustle,
Among the seeds and the fruits
But let’s get out of here
And find whither motion is gone.