aftermath

Secret Symphony

I drop off some hangers
Outside the store I walk
Up the sidewalk
A small boy and his mother
Walk in front of me
The boy brushes the fence with his hand
After this fence finishes
He has to touch the next one
He pulls his mothers arm so he can reach it

An old man with big TV glasses
And an orange bald head
And lips the hide
Throws water on his patio

A faint sound of a TV is heard
in a nearby apartment

I brush my hand on a fence
I imagine plastic cups
Hanging on a wall
During an earthquake
A car passes down the street

Now Im sitting in the Cafe
Ive finished being careful not to spill spaghetti
On my clothes
Jazz Music is playing
I slurp my cofee
A child makes loud noises
A couple of middle aged women are chatting about their Husbands
Every now and then the bell above the door jingles

The sax goes up and down the scales
Like a walrus waddling up to his apartment
At 9 pm after a day of hard work
A child makes sounds
An aluminum pan crashes
Someone stirs their Iced Latte with a straw
The cofee machine spins
The child wines
The woman ehhhs...
They laugh
A spoon hits a plate
The child da dub dahs
A waiter serves lunch
He apologizes for the wait
Knives and forks jangle plates
A newspaper is folded to the business page
An old guy rumbles
Looking the opposite way as he talks to his wife
Plates in the kitchen are separated for incoming customers
A fork hits a plate
A straw stirs an ice drink
The sax fights like a boat in a whirl pool
The child "da da da da"
The women laugh
Cups jangle in different parts of the room
"Irashimase!"
The bell above the door jingles
The child "ha ha ha "
"A wy ke a why ke"
"ii yo ii yo"
"Majide"
"He he he"
A young girl stands twirling her bag
The child "Da Ki Ta a ma Ka"
"Ow Ow ha ite"
The sax mumbles soft and low
Beep beep beep
An alarm goes off
A pizza is ready in the oven
A woman puts her wallet into a a bag
She takes her coat off
A young girl steps in shoes this way
Trays are ordered in a stack
"Date so so so"
The child "Ka Oh e"
The sax "Da da da du du duh"
"De da da dum"
Butter melts on an order of waffles next to me
The young girl steps this way again
Bags are put down
Coats are takin off
The air from the espresso machine blows into a cup of espresso
Sun rays hit my table
The man still reads his paper
A high heeled woman jangles her tray onto the table
Ans shuffles to her seat
I can see a young red glassed beige shirt woman in the mirror
On the other side of the cafe
An orange sweater womans arms dance while her friend nods her head
I cannot hear them at all
I smell some sweet aroma
Water washes dishes in the distance
A woman snaps open her cell phone
A woman twists pasta in a spoon
Forks are put onto a tray

For 50,000 Lunatic Fans (To be read after City Agents 001: Jack on the Corner)

★i don't know Jack. i've only heard the legends. But i think i met a few of his cousins, a few of his friends.

★He sat there, on the bricks, playing a steel guitar. He'd known Jack, not the best of friends, but they understood each other, they'd shared the stage. We stopped to listen. Folk, blues, rock as seen through a kaleidoscope of experiences the kind Bukowski wrote about, the kind Frost encouraged others to strive for. "I was back out in the East," he started, the last chord of his just finished song still resonating from his guitar. "Laying train tracks, now that's some hard work..." He played on, the occasional Samaritan tossing change into his guitars case. His voice was rough, but beautiful. He sang the blues not out of desire, but necessity. He told us about Bob Dylan. "You see, back in Bob's day people wanted a guitarist, they needed a guitarist," he cleared his throat, "you could play guitar for a living! Nowadays, it's like playing for a cup of coffee, if you're lucky..."

★Walking around drunk. Destination either forgotten or never really known. And there he is, sitting comfortably on a park bench, playing the accordion. He'd probably never even heard of Jack, but he'd been searching for him. i toss a bill in his hat and keep walking. He offers a smile as his melodies carry me away like the gentle flow of the Seine.

★Two kids, teenagers, sitting outside the station. Playing guitars, singing, playing harmonica. They play pop ballads for their girlfriend-hopefuls. i grab my video camera and approach them. i ask them to play something on camera, they ask me what, i ask them to play something original. They look at each other in confusion and surprise. After a pause of hesitation, they start playing an ultra-popular j-pop ballad (the third time i'd heard it played in this location). i sit and listen and watch and record. When they finish i give them ￥500, and pray for their paths to cross Jack's.

★We approach a Picasso museum in Barcelona, the streets lined with historic beauty. Just another block, or so. A melody appears in the distance. He sits there with his guitar, on the stoop of a deserted building, creating worlds of infinite beauty with every note.　Jack lays his head in the grass and closes his eyes, the sun lightly shinning through his eyelids, the Spaniard's melody carrying him off to sleep.

My Room on a Street

Outside my door
I am on my way to the station
I ring a bell on a bicycle(1)
I knock three times on a white metal barricade(2)
My hand glides a green fence(3)
Then a white one(4)
I open and close a red mail box(5)
I brush a red gridded fence(6)

My Room on a Street (verse 2)

High up on the electric wires a bird sings(7)
Erikos boots clack on the sunny asphalt(8)
I open and close a rusty old mail box(9)
My shoes step on a metal sewer grate(10)
I use my toe and make a zipping noise(11)
I step on a loose cinder block hiding a storm drain(12)

My Room on a Street (verse 3)

I tap aluminum pipes that run a long a building(13)
and a pole carrying an irrelevant road sign(14)
I brush a black car parking gate(15)
On my left a construction site(16)
A man talks inside his dust mask
I can hear the drilling of drills
And the banging of hammers on steel
I knock on wood(17)
I step on a loose cinder block hiding a storm drain(18)

My Room on a Street (verse 4)

I hear the water running inside a sewer drain(19)
I hear a classroom full of teenagers cheering
From the 4th story of a building(20)
Techno fills the air as we pass the cellphone store(21)
We get to the station
In front they sell flowers and play pop music(22)
There are footsteps and look held beeps and short clicks of tickets moving through machines(23)
We pass through
And on to the hum of an escalator(24)

My Room on a Street (verse 5)

A recorded voice echoes the space from various speakers(25)
On the platform a workman is kicking rocks next to the track while his partners are peering over the wall with an umbrella(26)
The speakers announce the coming train(27)
A song is played
On the train announcements are made from a speaker inside the air conditioning vent in a male's voice(28)
We get off the train
A crowd squeezes onto a narrow escalator(29)
At the ticket gate
I peek into a window covered by a curtain
Creating a soft pillow light(30)

Last Days

The Last Days of Kurt Cobain, by Gus Van Sant.

Sounds in the movie:

1. Tree leaves rustling
2. Waterfall
3. A campfire crackling
4. Shotgun's shoulder rest hitting wood floors
5. Car speeding out of the driveway
6. Drums reverberating in a warehouse
7. Guitar played in a car on the highway

Of course, the music was nice too.

City Agents 001: Jack on the Corner

This is not Jack. Jack can be found, on these rare occasions, on the corner of Theobald's Road and Gray's Inn Road in Clerkenwell. It took me a while to talk to him, but that is mostly because he has no rhythm, no pattern for being where he is. Yet, you can still count on him being there, at that spot on Theobald's and Clerkenwell. You'll know right when you see him. He's the guy playing the six string acoustic with only 2 strings, 3 or 4 if you're lucky. Sometimes he comes with just a harmonica, but then you know you've been trying to find him too long ...


This is not Jack either, though, we are getting a bit closer. Jack is the white Jimmy Hendrix. Headband and all. When he is there, and I emphasize WHEN, you can't miss him. He is playing to a sold out stadium crowd of 50,000 people all out of their fucking heads crazy to hear Jack play his epics. All this on the corner of Theobald's and Gray's Inn ...


This is definitely NOT Jack. Jack never asks for tips. He gives tips. He gives advice to those lucky enough to catch his eye. A difficult thing to do really. Jack spits. He foams at the mouth, and because he is so excited, flinging "fucking" as if it were an integral word for the construction of every sentence in the english language, this spit will land on your face. Let it. You're lucky, you've caught Jack, Jack is giving you advice in front of 50,000 lunatic fans.


Jack, not even close. Any keen person would know thats in New York, and Jack is certainly not in New York, though, he might have played a sold out show there. Talk to Jack once, he'll remember you. How? I have no clue, but he'll wink as you pass by. Just once, talk to him and he'll tell you. He'll ask you, and he will tell. I told him I was studying architecture. He asked me why do we all stand there looking up at buildings as if we were looking at a pair of tits?

I said, "Maybe we are."

And to that he said, "well, you are a bunch of perverted fucks then!"

Eli, Eli Lema Sabachthani

A movie made by Shinji Aoyama in 2005. Starring Asano Tadanobu. Its a story about this band Steppin Fetchitt, a world famous noise band. The year is 2015 and millions of people are commiting suicide because of the lemming syndrome. A wealthy man's grandaughter, has got the virus and is trying to save her. A doctor informs him that Steppin Fetchitts music has saved some people. The best part of the movie is the bands experiments recording noises and making instruments

Sounds in the movie
1. a hand squishing a tomato

2. spilled milk

3. a laundry hanger with seashells

4. plastic tubes attached to an umbrellas frame attached to a fan.

5. a shot gun

A man reading to us a Comic book

We were waiting in front of Shimo Kitazwa station. I say hello to Rob and Aya. Then I hear a loud behind me screaming a loud noise. I take a look and see some young kids laughing. Then in front of us a woman was singing some pop music. Here dance movements were slightly out of sinc. Shes trying to get a rise out of the people around her but not so successful. We start walking toward the restaurant. Rob said we should pay this guy to read us a comic. The guy is quite tall with dreadlocks and glasses that are scotch taped together. He asks me to choose a book. Looking at about 60 different covers, I was trying to imagine which one would make him go the most crazy. I chose a book with a picture of a man whose face was bloody. He pulled out some plastic bowls for us to sit on. In a crouched position our guy read the story of two samurai fighting to the death. He read the words like a true actor. He was hardly shy as a sword entered the body of an oponent. When things got reallly crazy in the battle, our guy swung his crazy hair around intermittently shouting. It was fantastic. In the end we gave him some money, and he gave us doughnuts. Later when we were going home, he was standing there reading comics to people passing by.

12 Tone City: A Chromatic Scale

By observing our surroundings we can notice a number of consistencies in the spontaneous sounds of our environment. Train engines, motor bikes, birds, telephones, cats, tree leaves, thunder. Choosing from these sounds and ordering them in varying pitches, we are able to create a musical scale, hence changing the city into an instrument. The city becomes our piano. Of course, we can use this idea to create our own compositions. Steve Reich used a similar idea for his piece Different Trains, in which he took audio recordings of speeches and translated them into the nearest possible musical notation (12-pitch European), which was then played by traditional instruments (strings - played by the Kronos Quartet). However, if we assume a passive position, if we remain the observer, we can experience the city's transformation into the composer. Having limited the number of sound possibilities by creating a set scale, we create a more tangible listening experience for ourselves, the audience. A walk in the park, a train ride to work, waiting for the bus, etc. all become movements of a symphony.

An Audio Representation of a Train Ride in Tokyo (in words)

Old women's gossip - pressure released from neighboring train - announcement (female) - train melody chime - doors close - engine accelerates - announcement (male) - cell phone charms jingle - train passes over inconsistencies in the tracks below (a clicking noise) - train passes in the opposite direction - train's sound reverberates off buildings - engine slows - hiss from the brakes - passing through a station (reverberation changes) - vinyl bag crumpled - train slows - engine hums - train changes tracks - pressure release - another train departs - vinyl bag being swung - doors open - footsteps - doors between carts manually opened and closed - dragging footsteps - running footsteps - announcement (female) - train melody chime - doors close - engine accelerates - young men converse - train passes in the opposite direction - movement of a down jacket - train reverberation echoes over a river bridge - engine accelerates - engine slows - engine accelerates - doors shake - train reverberation echoes over a river bridge - announcement (male) - old women's gossip (continues) - man sneezes - engine slows - man snorts - engine slows further - old women coughs - young man coughs - my pen rattles - engines slow further - train passes over inconsistencies in the tracks below (a clicking noise rapidly growing louder) - passing through a station (reverberation changes) - train slows further and further - old woman coughs - people stand - doors open - footsteps

Music For Architecture No. 1 (Homeless)

Soundtrack:
Building Steam With a Grain of Salt
-Dj Shadow

Waiting for friends in Shibuya. i decide to kill the time by trying to get lost. Crowded crosswalks, train tracks, bridges, pedestrian shops, littered parks, noisy streets, alleyways. Along the journey i stumble upon a small homeless community bordering a walkway that passes underneath a train bridge. Dark skies. Orange street lights. Thundering of trains passing above. My breath. My footsteps. Cardboard boxes in a variety of combinations and positions form skyscrapers, castles, haunted mansions, cabins, and condominiums. A few business men pass by trying so hard to ignore the presence of the homeless community that their heads turn the opposite direction, leaving their heads and bodies on different paths. i think to myself, what makes a person homeless?