Aquí te las traigo piter!

News. Music. Photos. Food. Trips. Links... Things I want to remember.

This month’s installment of the Satoshi Tomiie Podcast comes from his live set at Viña Del Mar during his most recent South American tour. Satoshi delivered an unforgettable journey on the beach in Chile that kept partygoers wanting more during a seamless three hour set. His eclectic selection of underground tracks mesmerized the crowd and closing off the set by paying homage to the great Frankie Knuckles with ‘Tears’ left the crowd in a state of pure bliss.

kateoplis:

The cost of holding up a mirror to those who could barely stand to look at themselves.
“I had two contradictory but complementary responses to the news that Philip Seymour Hoffman had died of a drug overdose at the suddenly tender age of 46 — two responses, that is, beyond how terrible and damn, he was great.
The first was that there was no way Hoffman had died with a syringe still in his arm — no way that an actor who brought such finicky dignity to his portrayal of the most desperate characters had permitted himself to die so ruthlessly unmasked.
The second was that of course he had died in such a sordid manner — how else was Philip Seymour Hoffman supposed to die? There was no actor, in our time, who more ably suggested that each of us is the sum of our secrets…no actor who better let us know what he knew, which is that when each of us returns alone to our room, all bets are off. He used his approachability to play people who are unacceptable, especially to themselves; indeed, his whole career might be construed as a pre-emptive plea for forgiveness to those with the unfortunate job of cleaning up what he — and we — might leave behind. The only way that Philip Seymour Hoffman could have died in a manner more consistent with the characters he created would have been if he had died by auto-erotic asphyxiation.
And in the extermity of these two responses was, I think, the essence of Hoffman’s art.
He often played creeps, but he rarely played them creepily. His metier was human loneliness — the terrible uncinematic kind that has very little to do with high-noon heroism and everything to do with everyday empathy — and the necessary curse of human self-knowledge. He held up a mirror to those who could barely stand to look at themselves and invited us not only to take a peek but to see someone we recognized. He played frauds who knew they were frauds, schemers who knew they were schemers, closeted men who could only groan with frustrated love, heavy breathers dignified by impeccable manners, and angels who could withstand the worst that life could hand out because they seemed to know the worst was just the beginning. And what united all his roles was the stoic calm he brought to them, the stately concentration that assured us that no matter whom Philip Seymour Hoffman played, Philip Seymour Hoffman himself was protected.”
Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Final Secret

True

kateoplis:

The cost of holding up a mirror to those who could barely stand to look at themselves.

I had two contradictory but complementary responses to the news that Philip Seymour Hoffman had died of a drug overdose at the suddenly tender age of 46 — two responses, that is, beyond how terrible and damn, he was great.

The first was that there was no way Hoffman had died with a syringe still in his arm — no way that an actor who brought such finicky dignity to his portrayal of the most desperate characters had permitted himself to die so ruthlessly unmasked.

The second was that of course he had died in such a sordid manner — how else was Philip Seymour Hoffman supposed to die? There was no actor, in our time, who more ably suggested that each of us is the sum of our secrets…no actor who better let us know what he knew, which is that when each of us returns alone to our room, all bets are off. He used his approachability to play people who are unacceptable, especially to themselves; indeed, his whole career might be construed as a pre-emptive plea for forgiveness to those with the unfortunate job of cleaning up what he — and we — might leave behind. The only way that Philip Seymour Hoffman could have died in a manner more consistent with the characters he created would have been if he had died by auto-erotic asphyxiation.

And in the extermity of these two responses was, I think, the essence of Hoffman’s art.

He often played creeps, but he rarely played them creepily. His metier was human loneliness — the terrible uncinematic kind that has very little to do with high-noon heroism and everything to do with everyday empathy — and the necessary curse of human self-knowledge. He held up a mirror to those who could barely stand to look at themselves and invited us not only to take a peek but to see someone we recognized. He played frauds who knew they were frauds, schemers who knew they were schemers, closeted men who could only groan with frustrated love, heavy breathers dignified by impeccable manners, and angels who could withstand the worst that life could hand out because they seemed to know the worst was just the beginning. And what united all his roles was the stoic calm he brought to them, the stately concentration that assured us that no matter whom Philip Seymour Hoffman played, Philip Seymour Hoffman himself was protected.”

Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Final Secret

True

Wareika_LA PALOMA

“LA PALOMA” appear on “Wternal” Album, Visionquest
(Cd-004), 14th Oct 2013

Juno : www.juno.co.uk/products/wareika-wternal/507341-01/
Decks: www.decks.de/t/wareika-wternal/c24-f2

CD
Juno: www.juno.co.uk/products/wareika-wternal/507340-01/

“ALL LITTLE THING”
Remix ep on Visionquest (VQ037) is coming out in early December, including remixes by Visionquest & Gibler, Fred P aka Black Jazz Consortium & Kasper Björke.

Digital
Beatport: www.beatport.com/release/wternal/1169097

www.facebook.com/wareika

DIRTY HARRY!

I need a gun to keep myself from harm
The poor people are burning in the sun
But they ain’t got a chance
They ain’t got a chance
I need a gun
Cos all I do is dance
Cos all I do is dance

I need a gun to keep myself from harm
The poor people are burning in the sun
No, they ain’t got a chance
They ain’t got a chance
I need a gun
Cos all I do is dance
Cos all I do is dance

In my backpack
I got my act right
In case you act quite difficult
And your result is weakin’
With anger and discontent
Some are seeking and searching like nimoy

I’m a peace-loving decoy
Ready for retaliation
I change the whole location to a pine box six-under
Impulsive don’t ask wild wonder
Orders given to me is:
strike and I’m thunder with lightning fast reflexes on constant alert
from the constant hurt that seems limitless with no dropping pressure

Seems like everybody’s out to test ya
‘til they see your brake
They can’t conceal the hate
That consumes you
I’m the reason why you flipped your soosa

Chill with your old lady at the tilt
I got a 90 days digit
And I’m filled with guilt
From things that I’ve seen
Your water’s from a bottle mine’s from a canteen
At night I hear the shots
Ring so I’m a light sleeper
The cost of life, it seems to get cheaper
Out in the desert with my street sweeper
“The war is over”
So said the speaker
With the flight suit on
Maybe to him I’m just a pawn
So he can advance
Remember when I used to dance
Man, all I want to do is dance

(Dance!)
(Dance!)
(Dance!)

I need a gun to keep myself from harm.

#Blur #Chile #Live 07/11/2013

I don’t want whatever I want. Nobody does. Not really. What kind of fun would it be if I just got everything I ever wanted just like that, and it didn’t mean anything? What then?

Neil Gaiman (via kari-shma)

Disclosure - When A Fire Starts To Burn (Official Video) (by THUMP)

Top