74
Search of Duende,” by Federico Garcia
Lorca.
The “duende” is an expression
from old Spanish folklore, meaning a
mischievous sprite. The term was also
used for people that “had duende,”
flamenco musicians transporting their
audience with out-of-control magic. I
read on…
“This “mysterious power which
everyone senses and no philosopher
explains,” is, in sum, the spirit of the
Earth… Behind those black sounds,
tenderly and intimately, live zephyrs,
ants, volcanoes, and the huge night,
straining its waist against the Milky
Way.”
I’m amazed. It’s as if Lorca’s
describing the magical power of Gang
Gang’s music while eerily connecting to
my own Gaia Mythos obsession. I keep
reading.
“…We have said that the Duende
one day I realized there was yet another ensnaring, unwinding rainbow arcades.
loves the rim of the wound, and that he
level. In our era, if a ‘new myth’ is to be Stops and starts, worlds spinning,
draws near places where forms fuse
found, perhaps it is most likely to be catabolic collapse and claps of thunder,
together into a yearning superior to their
found hiding in … whipped by rain, beauty growling in
visible expression…”
MUSIC! guitar – the air is clear and bracing
Absorbed in Lorca, I look up in a
Because it’s not something you like after a hurricane. I know they are
daze to see Pablo. He doesn’t know
can argue with. Because it ignores channeling the same primordial rapture
Gang Gang Dance is here for one of the
boundaries of language, race and that captured Jimi and Janis and Jim
other bands. With time on our hands
culture. Because it is still closely tied to and Syd and Sandy, and I know it’s
and Pablo’s willing ear, I launch into my
the body, to dance, to sexuality, ecstasy been worth the wait, letting go of the
rant connecting Gang Gang’s music to
and altered states. Music, because it machinic dj dance-floors in search of
the Gaia Mythos.
MOVES. something new.
“It was summer 2005. I was doing
Behind closed eyelids, shaking
research for my Burning Man art * * *
and sweating, I hear Lorca’s ode to the
project. I googled “Gaia Hypothesis + “But there are neither maps nor
Duende:
planetary culture” –and it lead me to exercises to find the duende…
“The duende… where is the
metahistory.org, and an essay called, …The duende must know
duende? Through the empty arch
“Sharing the Gaia Mythos”. The author, beforehand that he can serenade
comes a wind, a mental wind blowing
John Lash, proposed we need a myth death’s house and rock those branches
relentlessly over the heads of the
to truly coalesce an ecologically attuned we all wear, branches that do not have
dead, in search of new landscapes and
post-industrial culture. But instead of any, cannot have any, consolation.”
unknown accents; a wind that smells
concocting a new myth from scratch, he I’m dancing to their music now, in
of baby’s spittle, crushed grass, and
argued that we need to resurrect Sofia, the middle of the crowd at The Smell,
jellyfish veil, announcing the constant
the Fallen Goddess of the Gnostics, and barely able to move. It’s so packed,
baptism of newly created things.”
retell her story in a current idiom. I have to keep my hands in the air,
Spinning off of Lash’s manifesto, conjuring strange hand sigils, vibrating,
I envisioned the new Gaia Mythos not shaking, mesmerized, running in place,
so much as a VERBAL story, but as as I hear the haunted desert wind at
something to emerge mainly through dusk pour through Lizzie’s vocal shards
performance, ritual and dance. … but like ripped prayerflags, tom toms
avantoure
|
homo ludens
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