This book transfers sensation through words. We found it through the Danish publisher Basilisk, I think it is available in Swedish, Spanish, and Danish.
Lars Hollmer is a rather unique composer from Sweden. Primarily an accordionist but he also knows is way around a keyboard.
His music explores traditional folk but delves into the realms of progressive rock. He can be quite experimental at times, and this song in particular as its title suggests incorporates elements of Samba.
A friend turned me onto his work when I told him about my love for the sound of accordions.
There’s something very special about accordion music to me. As a teenager my family lived next to a Swiss guy. He was a timber framer and would employ and often host other Swiss builders with an expertise in the method.
Some times they would have parties on weekends and bust out the accordion singing loudly and drunkenly throughout the night.
I always enjoyed opening my window and tuning in to the affair like a regularly scheduled radio program. I think it fed my need for escapism and my desire to be somewhere else. I could imagine I wasn’t really in the same boring old place but far off in foreign lands - not just my rowdy neighbours next door, but all of Switzerland just outside my window.
I recently inherited my grandfather’s CD player and bought this CD at random, not having seen the film. I ended up listening to it every day for several months. It has everything: Angelo Badalamenti’s suspicious chords, grand orchestral parts, Nicolas Cage doing Elvis covers. There is a special thrill to the music being stationary - I can’t listen to it other places because the album doesn’t exist online. My apartment has become this music and the other way around.
Dozing off in the sun at your usual spot. This place is between our apartments in front of a church, with some big trees surrounding it. It should be a place you cultivate by going to regularly, should feel like home outside.
I saw these in a corner of the Leopold Museum in Vienna last week, after a friend recommended it. Kokoschka commissioned a life-size replica of his lost love, Alma Mahler, from the doll-maker Hermine Moos, based on detailed instructions