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Thulsa Doom
New Member
http://www.otcentral.com/forum/showthread.php?t=12403&page=3&pp=40
Hope your head blows up trying to figure that one out.
Hope your head blows up trying to figure that one out.
Ms Ann Thrope
New Member
Normally I wouldn't approve of an entire concert devoted to a single 20-minute piece, especially with so many deserving contemporary works begging to be heard on the MusicNOW series. But this one, during which Robertson took "Antara" apart, then played it in its entirety, was a model of how to break down the barriers of fear and loathing between listeners and living composers. He made "Antara" an adventure into strange but absorbing aural territory one was eager to undertake.
Written as a commission for the 10th anniversary of Paris' IRCAM, the subterranean institute for electro-acoustical research founded by Pierre Boulez, "Antara" is the Incan word for the panpipe. Benjamin used IRCAM's 4X computer to synthesize "sampled" antara pitches and various other computer-altered timbres that are activated by musicians playing two Yamaha synthesizer keyboards. These sounds merge with the live sounds of flutes, brass, percussion and strings. So complete is the sonic transformation by the end that one can't be sure which is live, which is Memorex.
If this sounds like a simplistic duel between folkloric naivete and machinelike intellectual rigor, it isn't. The synthesized Peruvian panpipe sounds and loud clangs derived from "playing" the pipework of the Centre Pompidou (where IRCAM is housed) float through the subtly colorful textures like ghostly echoes of a past very ancient and very new. Seldom in any live electronic work have spontaneity and calculation coexisted so masterfully.
Robertson proved a splendid tour guide, helpful and informative without talking down or up to the audience. He deconstructed the score layer by layer, with profuse musical illustrations from the expert 16-member ensemble, so we could hear how the music is made. Then he put it all together in a reading as pellucid as his analysis.
Written as a commission for the 10th anniversary of Paris' IRCAM, the subterranean institute for electro-acoustical research founded by Pierre Boulez, "Antara" is the Incan word for the panpipe. Benjamin used IRCAM's 4X computer to synthesize "sampled" antara pitches and various other computer-altered timbres that are activated by musicians playing two Yamaha synthesizer keyboards. These sounds merge with the live sounds of flutes, brass, percussion and strings. So complete is the sonic transformation by the end that one can't be sure which is live, which is Memorex.
If this sounds like a simplistic duel between folkloric naivete and machinelike intellectual rigor, it isn't. The synthesized Peruvian panpipe sounds and loud clangs derived from "playing" the pipework of the Centre Pompidou (where IRCAM is housed) float through the subtly colorful textures like ghostly echoes of a past very ancient and very new. Seldom in any live electronic work have spontaneity and calculation coexisted so masterfully.
Robertson proved a splendid tour guide, helpful and informative without talking down or up to the audience. He deconstructed the score layer by layer, with profuse musical illustrations from the expert 16-member ensemble, so we could hear how the music is made. Then he put it all together in a reading as pellucid as his analysis.
Kawaii
Well-Known Member
dread ( P ) Pronunciation Key (drd)
v. dread·ed, dread·ing, dreads
v. tr.
1. To be in terror of.
2. To anticipate with alarm, distaste, or reluctance: dreaded the long drive home.
3. Archaic. To hold in awe or reverence.
v. intr.
To be very afraid.
n.
1. Profound fear; terror.
2. Fearful or distasteful anticipation. See Synonyms at fear.
3. An object of fear, awe, or reverence.
4. Archaic. Awe; reverence.
adj.
1. Causing terror or fear: a dread disease.
2. Inspiring awe: the dread presence of the headmaster.
v. dread·ed, dread·ing, dreads
v. tr.
1. To be in terror of.
2. To anticipate with alarm, distaste, or reluctance: dreaded the long drive home.
3. Archaic. To hold in awe or reverence.
v. intr.
To be very afraid.
n.
1. Profound fear; terror.
2. Fearful or distasteful anticipation. See Synonyms at fear.
3. An object of fear, awe, or reverence.
4. Archaic. Awe; reverence.
adj.
1. Causing terror or fear: a dread disease.
2. Inspiring awe: the dread presence of the headmaster.
Thulsa Doom
New Member
PuterTutor said:
*head blows up*
freako104
Well-Known Member
freako104
Well-Known Member
Stop Laughing
New Member
Hope yer enjoy it hun! (can’t believe yer’ve never read it 
)
THE RAVEN
by Edgar Allan Poe
(1845)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown
before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!
-- THE END --
I sent that bugger weeks ago
*looks suspiciously at his pasteboard*
SL!......Yer scaring me dude!
)THE RAVEN
by Edgar Allan Poe
(1845)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown
before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!
-- THE END --
I sent that bugger weeks ago
*looks suspiciously at his pasteboard*
SL!......Yer scaring me dude!
BeardofPants
New Member
Stop Laughing said:
You got something you wants to share with us, SL ?
ralphie
New Member
Regular Practice
Tuesday [3/30] - 3:45-5:15
Wednesday [3/31] - 3:45-5:15
Tuesday [4/6] - 3:45-5:15
Thursday [4/8] - 3:45-5:15
Monday [4/12] - 3:45-5:30
Dress Rehearsals
Wednesday [4/14] - 3:45-6:00 [Run Through Show]
Thursday [4/15] - 3:45-6:00 [Final Dress Rehearsal]
Performances
Friday [4/16] - 6:30 Cast Call; 7:00 Show
Saturday [4/17] - 6:30 Cast Call; 7:00 Show
Tuesday [3/30] - 3:45-5:15
Wednesday [3/31] - 3:45-5:15
Tuesday [4/6] - 3:45-5:15
Thursday [4/8] - 3:45-5:15
Monday [4/12] - 3:45-5:30
Dress Rehearsals
Wednesday [4/14] - 3:45-6:00 [Run Through Show]
Thursday [4/15] - 3:45-6:00 [Final Dress Rehearsal]
Performances
Friday [4/16] - 6:30 Cast Call; 7:00 Show
Saturday [4/17] - 6:30 Cast Call; 7:00 Show
Stop Laughing
New Member
12 departments:
XX TShirt preset $12
XL TShirt preset $10
LG TShirt preset $10
MD TShirt preset $10
SM TShirt preset $10
YL TShirt preset $10
YM TShirt preset $10
BowlTowel preset $ 3
Pict Card preset $ 2
50/50 Inc prompt straight dollar value
Donations prompt any dollar amount
Misc Fees prompt straight dollar value
here you go, BoP, figure this one out.
XX TShirt preset $12
XL TShirt preset $10
LG TShirt preset $10
MD TShirt preset $10
SM TShirt preset $10
YL TShirt preset $10
YM TShirt preset $10
BowlTowel preset $ 3
Pict Card preset $ 2
50/50 Inc prompt straight dollar value
Donations prompt any dollar amount
Misc Fees prompt straight dollar value
here you go, BoP, figure this one out.
BeardofPants
New Member
You is making a pair of pants out of all that? 