kalebeul: anythingarian bubbles and troubles from the land of the fretting nun
kalebeul's barcelona walking tour service. why else would i write this blog?
kalebeul anythingarian bubbles and troubles from the land of the fretting nun
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/ kalebeul / 2005 / 11 / 03 /

Damn Chinese

As a sideline (no mainline yet) I write musical arrangements, principally for big band and for choir. Problem: piracy. Tonight trade war looms with China (I’ll probably have a curry instead): a reliable source tells me that a Shanghai choir is using my version of ET Mensah’s Tea samba.

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“Musicians process music as language”

If what Lucy Patston says is true, then how come most singers in cover bands seem to find it easy to learn both lyrics and tune?

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Feet-scuffing in the Fifth Republic

‘“They were good kids coming back from a football game. Their criminal record was almost completely clean,” said Kolan, a black 22-year-old who was part of a foursome, all of North African origin, scuffing their feet in the estate entrance.‘

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Catalonia is a dog

Zapatero says that Catalonia isn’t a nation but that he’s going to impose award it a national identity. I guess this makes it the group equivalent of beings that have a personal identity but are not people: God, androids, dogs.

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Poisoning pigeons

There’s a bunch of mad old guys in the neighbourhood who come out and feed the pigeons, which then crap all over benches, bicycles and toddlers. One of the locals has discovered how to make them stop. He puts a handful of salt in his pocket, lies in wait till he sees them emptying their [...]

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Apparently some ladies & gents with whom I sing when the big geezer is off doing other stuff are going to be on the telly quite a lot.

Apart from the odd bit of arranging, the barrel organ is the thing at the moment, when I get time. It’s a somewhat more lonely path, but I’m not very good at dance steps or 80s music anyway.

Kalebeul wouldn’t watch a hagiography of a faghating totalitarian fuckwit like St Paul, so it sees no reason this weekend to take cinema seats away from Barcelona’s chiliastic masses in their nostalgic lust for Hispanic dictators and good-looking saints. Paul Berman’s piece from 2004 applies. Even the regime sociologists seem to have noticed that Cataloonia has lost track of reality.

Graffiti of Camarón de la Isla and guitarist, somewhere in Barcelona, I think in Carmelo, so overlooking the place where he died:

More here.

Kabe-Otoko/Wall Man, neither human nor demon, observes the world from within walls:

Velen verzeggen Schiedam, maar sluiten dadelijk een verbond met Barcelona.” Is it about drinkers swearing by Dutch gin/jenever, only to turn to Spanish wine and brandy?


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