Saturday, May 4, 2013

Free Download Mcguffin Electric

McGuffin Electric McGuffin Electric – Guitar Improvisation Project

2011-11-27 time: 29:02 min.
size: 57MB enc: 256Kbps
style: improvisation, guitar, classical music
  • streaming download MP3 download OGG VORBIS 01. [04:14] I am. I was. I am not. I never am.
  • streaming download MP3 download OGG VORBIS 02. [03:18] Chapter 1
  • streaming download MP3 download OGG VORBIS 03. [00:42] Damn!
  • streaming download MP3 download OGG VORBIS 04. [02:20] Chapter 22
  • streaming download MP3 download OGG VORBIS 05. [02:12] Goodbye Sailor
  • streaming download MP3 download OGG VORBIS 06. [01:31] I've already written all of that
  • streaming download MP3 download OGG VORBIS 07. [02:12] Chapter 30
  • streaming download MP3 download OGG VORBIS 08. [11:28] What about Caribbean?
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In order for music to free itself, it will have to pass over to the other side-there where territories tremble, where the structures collapse, where the ethoses get mixed up, where a powerful song of the earth is unleashed, the great ritornelles that transmutes all the airs it carries away and makes return.   ― Gilles Deleuze 
È jazz? È avanguardia? È contemporanea? È una nuova possibilità? È solo confondere le acque? It is jazz? Avant-garde? It is contemporary art? It's a new possibility? It's just muddying the waters?  
È così grave pensare e provare che la composizione deve abbandonare certe sue posizioni e scendere a valle? It's so serious thinking and prove that composition must give up some of his positions and go downstream?  
“If you're trapped in the dream of the Other, you're fucked.” ― Gilles Deleuze
“A concept is a brick. It can be used to build a courthouse of reason. Or it can be thrown through the window.”  ― Gilles Deleuze, Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia   
“Writing has nothing to do with meaning. It has to do with landsurveying and cartography, including the mapping of countries yet to come.”   ― Gilles Deleuze

There's no need to fear or hope, but only to look for new weapons.
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We're tired of trees. We should stop believing in trees, roots, and radicles. They've made us suffer too much. All of arborescent culture is founded on them, from biology to linguistics. Nothing is beautiful or loving or political aside from underground stems and aerial root, adventitious growths and rhizomes.

― Gilles Deleuze 
It is at work everywhere, functioning smoothly at times, at other times in fits and starts. It breathes, it heats, it eats. It shits and fucks. What a mistake to have ever said the id. Everywhere it is machines - real ones, not figurative ones:machines driving other machines, machines being driven by other machines, with all the necessary couplings and connections.
 ― Gilles Deleuze

PART 2: McGuffin Electric


Chapter 1

Naples, Agnano racetrack, 3 May
Life’s a pile of shit. So is death. Dying with your face in horseshit. I’m bricking it. What can I do what can I do what can I do? I start shouting, I’m bricking it, I implore St Anne who’s abandoned me, all the Madonnas I caused to weep and now they’re taking their revenge, I implore their forgiveness, yes, I’m pissing myself, forgive me forgive me forgive me Holy Mother and Steven Cement.
They’re going to hurt me, mamma mia why? They’re going to make me long for this shitty, icy cell. What can I do now that my luck’s run out, what did I do?
He just slapped me once and now I can’t hear out of my left ear, my eye hurts and my cheek stings like St Anthony’s fire. He’s tied me to this chair, he’s walking back and forth, an animal, snorting like the nearby horses, Jesus, he’s thinking about how to finish me off.
What lousy luck, what a bloody awful way to go! Salvatore Pagano known as Kociss, who hasn’t said a word, I swear on my mother’s life and all the saints, who knows what he’s been told, some grass or other, not a word, what did I know, it was that pig of a police commissioner Cinquegrana dumped me in it, he was the one, cursed be his children to the seventh generation! Those questions about Don Luciano, Cement, everyone will have heard them, he dumped right on me, the disgusting swine. But I never said a word! Every-one knows that Kociss doesn’t speak to guards or grasses or gravediggers.
I’d really like to tell Sister Titina, right now, because she always told me that I would live for a hundred years at least, because ‘Christ doesn’t want sad flesh’, isn’t that right, Sister Titina, so what do you
say to this? Go and tell that to Steve Cement, or bring Jesus Christ down here, right now, Sister Titina, right now this minute.
So are you saying I’m crazy? That I was going around blabbing my mouth off about Don Luciano? Why are you doing this, I don’t know a thing, my Lisetta, I didn’t say anything, shame about that dress I bought you, what a catastrophe, and the pure silk trousers, you were happy, don’t cry, never again will I smell your sweet fragrance that drives me out of my mind, Jesus, never again will I see Lisetta’s curly head jiggling as she laughs, don’t cry, that fawn’s muzzle saying, ‘Salvato’, you’re mad, you are!’
And what if he wasn’t that resolute?
Why hasn’t he killed me yet? Maybe some fuckhead, some absolute bastard gave them my name and told them I was in jail, but without saying ‘that guy’s been singing’, no, just for the sake of saying something, perhaps. Or maybe it’s just that he hasn’t made his mind up where to chuck the corpse, mamma mia, no!
No, no, we don’t know for sure that he’s going to kill you, take a good look at him, Salvato’, he’s as pissed off as a holymotherofgod, he’s snorting like a steamboat, but he seems to be thinking about other things, other matters.
Think, go on, think, Salvato’, quickly, think of something that will save your life, bawl your eyes out, fuck up his brain, anything at all, because otherwise you can forget all about Lisetta and this shitty life.
Steel myself. I’ve got to steel myself, and talk. Talk and say, ‘Signor Cement it’s all a terrible mistake. Salvatore Pagano known as Kociss is an admirer and Don Luciano’s devoted servant and yours as well, and never, ever, ever could he say a bad thing about you . . .’
Yes, I need to steel myself, my throat’s dry, my eye hurts, steel yourself, come on, and I stink.
A-hhm, Mister Cement, lissentumi –’
‘Shut up, shithead! Where is that fucking TV?’
The television?
Mistestiv, don’t worry, I’ll get it straight away, sure, don’ you worry, if that’s all it is, I bring it back, no worry!’
The television.
But how on earth could it be his?