Man Ray, "Sans titre (Untitled)", 1930.

1862

Numéro 113 May 2010 | Sang d'Encre | Sølve Sundsbø

I luv Delorean

From their twitter:

SF filmmakers @yourstrulysf shot a gorgeous session w/Delorean that drops Friday on Pitchfork.tv. Check the teaser:

Delorean "Grow" Teaser from Yours Truly on Vimeo.

Machine Drum - Footwerk Classixxx Mix

This mix is really fucking good. There's no tracklist, so you're gonna have to just trust me on this one.



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BBC 6 Mix – 2010-04-25 – Erol Alkan

"DJ and producer Erol Alkan returns for the latest edition of his 6 Mix residency. The founder of London’s legendary Trash night at ‘The End’, and producer of bands including the Mystery Jets and Late of the Pier, Erol has been named as one the most influential DJs in the UK and is currently garnering praise for his latest single ‘Lemonade’ featuring Boys Noize. Erol has just returned from America, where he played some of the biggest parties at Miami’s infamous Winter Music Conference, and California’s Cochella festival with 2ManyDJs and Flying Lotus. In his latest show, Erol plays an eclectic selection of bleeps, beats and bass collected on his DJ travels, and in the last half hour he takes to the decks for another one of his infamous ’secret’ mix sets."

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TRACKLIST:

Peter Gordon – That Hat
New Young Pony Club – We Want To (Micky Moonlight Remix)
Roundtable Knights – Calypso
Munk – La Musica
Boys Noize & Erol Alkan – Lemonade (Justin Robertson’s Deadstock 33’s Remix)
Carte Blanche – Gare Du Nord
The Fall – Bury Part 1
Turzi – Baltimore
Dan Deacon – Woof Woof (Hudson Mohawke Remix)
Flying Lotus – Do The Astral Plane
Mandre 4 – Magic Woman
Matthew Herbert – Leipzig
Toro Y Moi – Lissoms
Chilly Gonzales – Never Stop (Pianopella)
International Peoples Gang – Seconds (Coyote Remix)
Meno Le Tough – Eurodanser
Marcos Cabral & Shux – Life Time Groove
Phoenix – Love Like A Sunset

EROL IN THE MIX

Untitled
SECRET TRACKLIST

LIFE//IN//PICTURES

1896 Empress Alexandra in France

Jaroslav Rossler, ‘Untitled’, 1931.

Lillian Bassman, 1943(?)

Nicolai Abraham Abildgaard, Nightmare, 1800.

Loghi Kimon, Post-Mortem Laureatus, 1896.

Fire -- 6th Ave. & 18th, 1916.

Thomas Pynchon, V.

'"Just as its own loose sand was licked away by the cold tongue of a current from the Antarctic south, that coast began to devour time the moment you arrived. It offered life nothing: its soil was arid; salt-bearing winds, chilled by the great Benguela, swept in off the sea to blight anything that tried to grow. There was constant battle between the fog, which wanted to freeze your marrow, and the sun: which, once having burned off the fog, sought you. Over Swakopmund the sun often seemed to fill the entire sky, so diffracted was it by the sea fog. A luminous gray tending to yellow, that hurt the eyes. You learned soon enough to wear tinted glasses for the sky: If you stayed long enough you came to feel it was almost an affront for humans to be living there at all. The sky was too large, the coastal settlements under it too mean. The harbor at Swakopmund was slowly, continuously filling with sand, men were felled mysteriously by the afternoon's sun, horses went mad and were lost in the tenacious ooze down along the beaches. It was a brute coast, and survival for white and black less a matter of choice than anywhere else in the Territory."

"...and all you heard was the tide, slapping ever sideways along the strand, viscous, reverberating; then seltzering back to sea, violently salt, leaving a white skin on the sand it hadn't taken. And only occasionally above the mindless rhythm, from across the narrow strait, aver on the great African continent itself, a sound would arise to make the fog colder, the night darker, the Atlantic more menacing: if it were human it could have been called laughter, but it was not human. It was a product of alien secretions, boiling over into blood already choked and heady; causing ganglia to twitch, the field of night-vision to be grayed into shapes that threatened, putting an itch into every fiber, an unbalance, a general sensation of error that could only be nulled by those hideous paroxysms, those fat, spindle-shaped bursts of air up the pharynx, counter-irritating the top of the mouth cavity, filling the nostrils, easing the prickliness under the jaw and down the center-line of the skull: it was the cry of the brown hyena called the strand wolf, who prowled the beach singly or with companions in search of shellfish, dead gulls, anything flesh and unmoving.'

CATCH//UP

Charles Bukowski (Bone Palace Ballet: New Poems)

"you've got to burn
straight up and down
and then maybe sidewise
for a while
and have your guts
scrambled by a
bully
and the demonic
ladies,
you've got to run
along the edge of
madness
teetering,
you've got to starve
like a winter
alleycat,
you've go to live
with the imbecility
of at least a dozen
cities,
then maybe
maybe
maybe
you might know
where you are
for a tiny
blinking
moment."

Vogue Paris May 2010 | La décaDanse | Mario Testino