
| Sign up for our Email Newsletter & Subscriber Only Specials |
 |
|
Phone Orders Welcome 425-336-4830
Payment Options Checks & Money Orders By Mail Accepted

|
Dracula
|
|
|
|
Quantity:
E-mail this product to a friend
|
 |
| Come in and rest in that pulsing world indeed. There are some
instruments for sure and some of their notes, some of the noises are
borrowed from here and there like Coppola's Dracula. Henry refers to
Wagner. Sure. But there the filiation is more in the creation of the
absolutely fascinating mesmerized oblivion of one's own self inside the
texture of the horror of the tale. We are so much part of those
witnessing walls that Dracula is nothing but the slight little thing we
watch strutting on the stage. But the owl, a bird, the wolf, all the
nocturne al animals crossing the stage are like tentacles from the
musical wall that contains the drama. Little by little these tentacles
of noise invade the whole space and the walls seem to be conquering the
stage with their own inner space and the whole stage is nothing but a
full sea with no surface and just an abyss of deep stirring movement in
which you can drown and that welcomes you entirely, bones, flesh and
all. Then you are finally totally part of the music. And you know about
it because it stops or suspends itself from one movement to the next and
you feel empty, inexistent, suspended between emptiness and void in a
chasm of non-existence. And the march of the essence of all-sensory
absolute existence starts again and you are taken along like a
clandestine passenger that is hoboing aboard the train of the apocalypse
that is transforming normal life into an exceptional episode with a
beginning and above all an end. Horror reigns and awe is the language of
your senses as they merge with that apocalyptic horror. You are part of
the infinite life that lurks behind Henry's invention of a world that
is tamed enough not to frighten us, at least too much. And that leads us
to the fourth moment in this fable. Dracula reigns and takes possession
of the world altogether. That ends nothing but rather starts en
enormous explosion of transformation and resistance to such from the
humans who know. But the battle is lost before even being waged. Who can
do anything against this vampire. A phrase from who knows what Vivaldi
or which Wagner will not change the beauty of that take-over that is
total, absolute, relentless. Humanity is lost in that flowing flux of
flooding surge of horror under the horrid buzzing of infernal mosquitoes
straight out of the marsh of decaying rot. But there is a marching
force somewhere that tries to plug itself on this satanic world. What
for, my God! A humming continuo behind is like the crowd of on-lookers
when the posse of vampire killers arrive on the stage of warlike life.
And a new sky opens that could liberate our inner world of its inner
enslavement. Listen to the train whistle in the valley, in the
mountains. But now we must advance slowly and carefully along the way
that leads to the shrine. Sunrays are like filtering through the clouds
of the totally overcast sky. And dogs are barking while the Wagnerian
theme is sounding our advance. And the end arrives on the vibrant
background continuo that stops to let the low looming and soaring
trombones take over and open the final battle in which he laughs, the
monster, they cry, the crowd. What end can there be if not full seizure,
upmost conquest, absolute control. There is no Van Helsing in Pierre
Henry's Dracula. The monster is part of us, is our own heart, mind,
soul, eternal truth: we are the blood thirsty blood drinking blood
sucker. And some light flute is not going to change the immense
transport of the rubbles of history into the streambed of our boundless
memory. What's admirable in this work is the extreme mixing and blending
of noise and musical instruments to the point of not knowing which is
which any more but we always keep the perfect conscience of each element
clearly distinguishable fro all the others. Blending maybe but not
mashing together. It is just that at times we no longer know on which
side of the draculean coin we are, the noise-like biter or the
orchestral sucker. But who cares, provided we get the ecstasy of the
deadly gift of the blood of eternal life. |
|
ARTISTS Pierre Henry |
| See all titles featuring Pierre Henry |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|

Product Rating:     (0.00) # of Ratings: 0 (Only registered customers can rate)
There are no comments for this product.
|
|
|
|