saltations – Tweed & Hyenas

kr. 199

Katalognummar: HJF618
Útgávuár: 2025
Sangir: 12

Lýsing

saltations

Saltations er ein livandi fløga hjá Jon Klaemint Hofgaard, har eitt ótrúligt savn av tónleikarum eru við, eitt nú Ben Madeley, Toby Couling og Max Goff. Tónleikurin blandar fløkju við beinleiðisleika, og fangar lívsins lagføstu ruðuleika gjøgnum fløktan, kenslubornan popp. Tað er ein soniskur dansur millum ljós og tíð, sum bjóðar lurtarunum at fevna um bæði tilverunnar gleði og kaos á ein vakurt serstakan hátt.

I Saltingar

Her er ein fløga sum varð gjørd av einum hópi av frálíkum tónleikarum (kjarnubólkurin hjá Ben Madeley, Toby Couling, Max Goff; og ein víðkað leiklut ov víðkað til at lista her, full credits niðanfyri) – og sum í høvuðsheitum er høvundur av vinmanni mínum Jón Klaemint Hofgaard. Hann nevndi tað við einum orði, sum eg ongantíð hevði hoyrt: ’Saltatiónir’, læra vit, kunnu vísa til eina knappliga stóra mutatión í lívfrøðini, ella eitt rúkandi, hoppandi dansistig. Ah, eitt fínt orð tá.

Eyðsæð er her tónleikur, sum vit kunnu dansa til, á okkara rykkjandi og brotna hátt heima; ella feigur, við einum útvortis vakrum óførum forsvarligheit, meðan vit flúgva spent og bara fyri hesa løtuna so frí inni, við vinum og verðandi elskarum ella veruligum elskarum, í hvørs nærveru vit kanska enn eru feig. Tað er ov myrkt at síggja nakað nógv á myndunum aftaná, vit nýtast hóast alt ikki at óttast fyri at síggja ørkymlandi út.

II Um frávíkjandi beinleiðissemi

Poppsangir, sum draga okkum ymsar ættir í senn, eru kanska góðir poppsangir, tí lívið dregur okkum ymsar ættir í senn. Kenslur, sum vit kenna tær, eru lagdar, óeinfaldar. Og lívið sum uppsamlingin av hesum tvídráttarligu upplivingunum er, vit vita øll, eitt stórt rumbul: ógvusligt vakurtmortiferandi umrættandi rotið sublimt eydnugleðiligt og tað er stutt, oh og tað er langt og tað er stutt gud veit, orðini eru nyttuleys enntá knúst saman. Men tónleikur kann klára seg betur við hesum.

Eitt ting at beundra her. Sum tónleikarar kunnu vit siga ‘Eg vil skriva beinleiðis, beinleiðis sangir’ og recoil, mortifiserað, skuldu vit nakrantíð komið nærri at náa tí sama. Tað, sum vit kunnu vóna at fáa, er hetta slagið av beinleiðisleika, sum ikki forðar fyri kensluligum fløkjuleika, ella krevur, at vit bert arbeiða við tí mest kenda tilfarinum. Lat okkum nærkast tingunum beinleiðis, spyrja vit, men úr einum vinkli. Mínar kenslur fyri tær eru veruligar…

III Um ljós og tíð

Trø veva stór yvir ‘Saltingar’, goypa ljós og tíð, ja andandi luft afturfyri, troyst og skjól frá ódnum av einum vitleysum heimi eisini. Eitt stað at fáa sær eina smyrjibreyð, blítt rusl av bløðum, grøna blásandi gleði. Bogmaðurin er ikki stak niður sum Tunn Amren, hann gongur topparnar á trøunum, ljósur sum ljósur, ljósur sum tíð. Saxofonir og sólskin, eitt barn, sum er føtt til eina undarliga tíð, London og oyggjar í fjasta Norðuri. Spegl, Millión, Mjólkamaður, Mel, ljós sum ljós, ljós sum tíð.

(Um høvundan: JH spælir trummur í Rutger Hauser og rekur mikro-plátufelagið The Lumen Lake.)

Sanglisti

  1. helicopter
  2. million days
  3. assembly setter
  4. only the finest
  5. sound & fury
  6. the benefactor
  7. popheniaa
  8. after hand
  9. bogman
  10. milkman
  11. forever recipe
  12. mel

Útgivið:
Á LP og talgilt (Spotify, Youtube, Apple Music, etc.).
Lurta her: https://bfan.link/saltations

saltations
Helicopter
…a sense of fur
and I’m already out
running to my favourite spot
behind Darren’s museum
there’s a green patch
a nice place to sit down
…and there you are

how
deep
can you take
a hunting dog

how
high it must feel like
to be ten
and never die of old age

a thousand years linked
will I remain with you
the thought soars like
a helicopter
nothing below is above me
bye bye Zoysia

let’s find a new lawn

how
deep
can you take
the heart of a dog

how
high it must feel like
to be ten (feet)
and never die of old age

Million Days
You come to life
when I stir the wheats
a passing from older times
a post war separation
have to travel in time

A telltale that fills my stomach
with chestnuts and promised times
I should have known about that terrible winter
shrunk my days to sand

I am still here counting
a million days
we will meet again

What to do but to write inner books

about pure states, blackness and rhymes
Fellini really helps me dream better
and all that can’t be transcribed

Dear companion, my sequoia
so carefully coded spiral
Without roots the past won’t follow
a parasite always makes files

I am still at the jetty
a million days
we will meet again

here at Orly Airport
hope we will meet soon
a big event is coming
mimosas are in full bloom

I am here right next to you
there is Yahtzee and there is rice
you were so worth the wait
we are like dates in sunrise

Assembly Setter
A bang occurs
and a road appears
Squire shocked
by the vision

Sally is holding
her sign
this time
stops, she is stuck
in a kettle

Can you see that
giant puppet coming here
voices building
folks assembling

Barbara is
completely agog
summer has stopped
The sign reads “clear all male fog”

A change
serial turning
is coming your way
right here
push and settle for
EPA

A labour of pain
with radical thought
a sisterhood
against order

Herstories rebuilt
for a past
of lost class
unleash imaginative disruptions
on all streets

Let us all gather forces
for a £6 raise
four hundred women
dealing four hundred blows

Their footsteps sustained
like anecdotal gain
channel this road
that still remains

a change
serial turning
is coming your way
right here
push and settle for
equal pay

Only the Finest
Only the finest
presents for you
decided today

Let us skip the walk home
I know a good place
that nobody has seen(a)
but Jerry, David, Chris and Tina

There is a city in my mind
where every appointment has been moved to last week
we will see the shoreline
look where my hand was
this is where time is on our side

With our feet in the air
We are having fun with no money
on a road to nowhere
and the future is certain
we are shakedown dreams walking in broad daylight
we are Talking Heads walking in
new daylight

Sound & Fury
sweet walk
a summer shade
half asleep
carried all day

shake off
icing dust
another year
is suddenly here

stand up
there is no duck
withdrawn from our system
we wasted our luck
eyes glow…
suns arise
the fields are flushed
romantic scenes
advertised in rose

—-

a slip of paper
burning leaves
before our storm
do you remember snow?

sound & fury
is all I feel
how thick a tree did fell?
everyone knows Shell is hell
I tell there is promise of air
I think
I stoop
oh dear…

wake up
a tunnelled room
where did the sky go?
turn on display

eyes glow…

suns arise

the fields are flushed
romantic scenes
advertised in rose

A slip of paper
burning leaves
before our storm
try to remember snow

sound & fury
is that all I feel
how thick a tree did fell
everyone knows Shell is hell
I tell there is promise of air
a chill
I stoop
oh dear…

6. The Benefactor

I want to hear you
soft and loud
be your many lovers

the kind of life
you have led for me
is like a
magic mountain

against these
interprets
philologic
imagestrates

funky fuck!

all style
& no substance

My feelings for you are real
but in a way
they are about
moi et moi et moi

Many aperçus and one-lines
make you the greatest
of all time

Apply dreams
to your one and only life
you will see
that metaphors lie
and that many orgasms
give you more time

Gorgeous mistress
it is evident
my Jewish diva

no romance
just flights
of fanciful glance

My feelings for you are real
but in a way
they are about
moi et moi et moi

Many aperçus and one-lines
I benefit from you all time

Apply dreams
to your one and only life
you will see that metaphors lie
and dance and music
give you more time

7. Popheniaa

Arrive in forty minutes
and twenty seconds
five dampened windows
five fine signs

Counting clouds and fibres
on emu headrests
all brothers are electric
my sister forgets this night

Our car is a searcher
made of cartography
my mother is always singing
“Let the wind take the steering wheel”

Popheniaa plays all night
my father sleeps…

Surrounding sites weave in
shakes and we are leaving;
passing all cities
that lack a clear way out

The tires flat and chugging
and we are all hugging
there is a felt love;
for stillness
for this place

Our home is a searcher
made of homo fabers
dreams cut in
the wheels let go
we will reach higher
to
all
soaring
worlds

Popheniaa plays all right
our breath consumes all light-eyes
we are awake all night

8. After Hand

After
a while
oil will
settle

rest now
hang up
pussy
willows
pillows

giant
brush strokes
lap them
slap them
surface matters
meaning follows more work

write on
write on
write on
WRITE ON
WRITE ON

9. Bogman (intro: 3:00)

its limbs they tremble
eyes terrifyingly dry
heart is autophagic
with wild inimitable logic

a wreck so attractive
like remains of a chewed Roman sole
its passion is deathless
looks around you, relentless

unknown speech yet worldly
breathes through porous skin
phonetics whispered to a flame
like horrors of a secret toil

a mythogrammic question
that charts a semblance of lost kin
eyelashes flutter like flamed fronds
it contemplates the lonely that burn out

rocking on top of a tree
twigs snap under its feet
a howling that can only give fright
“there is no thing that contains such light!”

make sure to wrap and suss it
in heaps of dried cedar leaves
a human turned savage to right
“make sure to contain all the light!”

what it will lose in strength
it will gain in senses, love order
forget how forests think
suffocate dreams of sunlight

its taste for pure water is telling
as rain falls it’s always leaving
crawling for more incisions
the moon is handing out commissions

10. Milkman

“…one more drop”
utters to us
towards dogwood drive

First waiters live here
cut their own hair
no hands to glance

abstain from
dreamy afterlives

become business class

to sea – “to me”
you see – “a tree”

Where does he hide it?

“serve it”
“drink it”
“then you let it slide”
Why is it like this?

“gift it”
“open”
“then you let it slide”
How come he is like this?

“former”
“creature”
“then you let it slide…”
like poetry
slip in Louise Glück
till both knees collapse

things that we eat
are servants to a name
too great to shame

simply can’t
be carried
needs a sack – “and a map”
to hold – “to zero”
the milk – “the fugue”

it is like milk – “it is like silk”
Where does he hide it? / “Tell me I am sleeping”

“serve it”
“drink it”
“then you let it slide”
Why is it like this? / “Why is it silent?”

“gift it”
“open”
“then you let it slide”
How come he is like this? / “Lie still and watch it”

“former”
“creature”
“then you let it slide…”
11. Forever Recipe

Lately aged well
some say like chine
still as a stone
earth feels alone

dig holes for time
by walls of China
when I play chess
rain is endless

12. MEL

A certain spell
has been cast on me
like golden sand
Swayze eyes
and dressed to kill
you are blood and light

All flowers inhale

every single time
you blow my mind

I am enjoying this play
our cat walks
on Dartmoor ponts

We are performing
whether in or not
our body talks
All truffles exhale

and every single time
you blow my mind

a tilt
a sway
a fountain
so intense
melodies commence

extend the time
a swim
with seamless fins

under tarpaulins

A heron’s night
estranged
goodbyes
until next time

Credits

Composers and Authors

Musicians

Jón Klæmint Hofgaard

(sang, gittar, klaver á 12)

Ben Madeley

(gittar, kór, klaver á 1)

Max Goff

(bass, kór)

Toby Couling

(trummur, slagverk, kór, synthar, orgul á 4)

Tim Ower

(tenor saksofon á 9)

Jonathan Griffiths

(bariton saksofon)

Sam Dorrell

(trombon)

Jack Kendon

(trumpet)

Lydia Clowes

(sang á 6)

Alice Barlow

(sang á 10)

Isobel Risk

(sang á 10)

Jack Beddis

(trummur á 8 og 9)

Choir

(Haberdashers’ Hatcham College school á 5)

Production

Toby Couling

(framleiðsla)

Janus Rasmussen

(ljóðbland)

Mastering

(Stephen Kerrison)

Julian Ferraretto

(strúkaraarrangement á 1, 10 and 12)

Bobby Lamont

(blásiarrangement á 6, 9 and 12)

Noel Summerville

(Lacquer cut)

Joakim Drescher

(listaverk)

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