Asexual Pride Androgyne Pride Non-binary Pride

Sunday, 15 January 2017

An Interview with Église Saint Bonaventure

Hello creatures!

This is a fake interview with a fake member of a fake band from my Instagram project where I provide a backstory for randomly-generated album covers. I've been sent a cover, so all I had to do was to create the story, and, since I got a bit carried away with it, I'm posting the complete text here!

By the way, everything in this post is absolutely fictional, and I've obviously never been to London, England or anywhere on the other side of the Atlantic (fuck, I haven't even been to the beach yet). So forgive me for any inaccuracies - and feel free to point them out, obviously.

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I'm waiting on my seat at The Greenhouse Deptford in a particularly cold November morning when a grinning Dave La Ponza finally arrives. This red-trousered, brogue-wearing lad is the frontman of Église Saint-Bonaventure, the five-piece band that call themselves 'the unavoidable future'.

Before we begin the interview, he asks me how I like my tea. Strange icebreaker, but I reply anyway - 'strong, with very little sugar'. 'Oh, you'll probably love the album then' - he snaps. 'It has a bitter aftertaste, just like your tea, but also tiny moments of sweetness.'

This scene is Église in a nutshell - the band, with their small but extremely devoted clique, is mostly known for David's quirkiness and 'poetic' approach to everyday things, such as a cup of tea, for example. Born in Los Angeles, Dave and his sister Holly, who plays the bass, moved to London to study at Goldsmiths, where they met drummer Andy Walker, guitarist Vicki Harris and trumpet/sax player Matthew Turner.

Previously called 'Shylock Must Die', they've played small venues and college events, and little by little they've been gathering fans with their flamboyant psychedelic-pop-punk-ish style which could only be described as the (very) odd child of the Flaming Lips and Barenaked Ladies.

While such a combination might sound highly unlikely to succeed, their first single, 'Liar In The Rough (Look At The Scars You've Left In Our Future!)' brought the attention of a few alternative radio stations and local bands as well, leading them to be supporting acts at festivals and to the release of their first album, 'Gravity Unspins', in April 2013. Their latest single, 'Living Ray of Intellectual Fire', was released on November 19th.

When I ask Dave about the title of the track, he answers, 'I wrote the lyrics in a state of grace. I was up late at night, painting, and suddenly I started to wonder how and where do our ideas start, like, you read a lot, you watch a lot of things, you listen to a lot of things, sure, but when you grab your paintbrush, or your manuscript, it's something completely new growing inside of you, it's like the words and the notes are writing themselves, you know what I mean? and I was awestruck, I felt like every song strikes you like lightning, completely ready, and you just have to let them burn inside you for a while until they're ready to be revealed. It's like everyone is kind of an intellectual ember, just waiting for art to ignite and take form.'

'The whole album will not be so poetical, though,' - he adds, sipping his mocha - 'me and Andy have been talking a lot about politics this year, the right-wing parties' rise of popularity amongst the working class, the relations between America and the ISIS, and so on. So expect heavier, more conscious lyrics, and less Renaissance song references - as much as I like them, it just wouldn't fit', he laughs.

On the opposite wall, a giant fox and a smaller owl, both the colour of coffee, look serenely at me. This kind of fairy-tale scenario, combined with La Ponza's idealistic enthusiasm, makes me feel a bit lost, like all this time I'm talking to some grownup Peter Pan. Just look up videos of Église on the web - especially a 2013 medley with a version of John Dowland's 'A Shepherd In A Shade' - and you will probably get the same feeling: the crowd loves them, loves their presumably obscure lyrics, their 'hey!'-laden choruses, their stomping drum lines. The public always sings along and, even though most of their songs sound alike, only with Église Saint-Bonaventure, whose members always look like they're playing the best show of their lives, you'd see so many people at a rock concert chanting a 17th century tune like drunken choristers. Everyone behaves like excited, unstoppable children, all hearty smiles while David shouts motivational phrases into the mic at the end of each song. It's like he's the leader of the Lost Boys.

I remind him that, even though their fanbase is increasing, their first album was definitely not loved by critics, having received much  negative feedback and an average rating of 3.0. A reviewer wrote that Église were '(...) a bunch of pretentious teenagers, leaded by a boy who pretends to be Thom Yorke and Shakespeare at the same time. While they can surely captivate their fans, all of their charisma will never pay for their lack of originality'. I ask him if they've decided to win the heart of the music press this time.

La Ponza just shrugs and shakes his head. 'Yeah, I remember that review. It was actually pathetic. This guy thought he would offend me by saying I was a Thom Yorke wannabe - but well, look at him, fucking look at him! Look at Wayne Coyne! They can do whatever they want, whether you like it or not, whether it's good or not. They don't give a flying shit about what some asshole has to say about their music. And that's why people listen to them, that's why people buy their records. If these guys don't care about reviews, then why should we? We care about our fans, about the people who really cares about our music; we're not sellouts. A critic does nothing but sit around all day listening to what people like me spent months working on. So we don't really care about them, no.'

While I can definitely disagree with him - especially on the 'not caring' part - , it seems that there's not much left to say. So I proceed to finish my slice of carrot cake while Dave adds calmly, 'You know, Église is not about a genre or a hit. We're not just a band. We're an ideology, we're the future. Our songs will never get to the top 40, people won't spot us in the supermarket, and that's great. But we know how to influence people. This is a gift; this is the true musical revolution. We know that everyone can change the world, and we're doing it, and our fans are doing it too. And, twenty years from now, there will not be a single English or American band that wasn't influenced by us. They may not sound like l'Église, but they'll have the inspiration, the attitude, the fire. They will do great things. This will be our legacy.'

I can't help but feel a slight pang of pity, yet Dave's optimism really amuses me. While Église doesn't sound particularly good or bad to my ears - in fact, their weakness is precisely sounding incredibly generic - , this man surely knows how to convince people. As we pay the bill and I thank him for coming, he writes something on a napkin and hands it to me. 'Don't let the world steal your Living Ray!', it reads, and I guess it will be one of his mottoes during the new tour. We leave taking opposite directions; he turns around the corner to his Neverland, and I head back home, wishing for my flame to someday be as bright as his.
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'Living Ray of Intellectual Fire, Made With Typorama' will be released by Low Fat Music on January 23, 2017.

(phew, that was really long.)

Wednesday, 25 May 2016

Nostalgia

I live in the threshold of time,
filing snippets of the future.
In the apathetic dusk
clouds are dancing;
Like the Sun, I am
Alone.

Tuesday, 10 May 2016

untitled draft 5.5

smile until they forget you
give good advice
say something that sells
listen
nod a bit, sip a drink
find illumination - not today
pretend there's no walls closing around your head
make a witty remark now and then
you're so smart
don't die
not yet
not while everyone's looking
laugh of their stupid jokes
say you're sorry even if you don't care
(they'll do the same)
breathe
catch a star
ignore the squid grabbing your ankles
forget you're drowning
say you miss them
don't ever see them again
sing like a child staring at a wall
don't die - not yet
it's not worth the effort
it's not like anything's gonna change
you should find a job sometime
find a love sometime
find a hobby
get a life
since you don't have any

Tuesday, 26 April 2016

untitled 04.20

every drop of air is my home
so why can't i breathe
drowning in light
i am a moth waiting for Easter
has she come, i wonder
i have eaten a museum
and it's dripping down my mouth as i stare at your fairy toes
where are they now
whose picture is it
stocked in the back of my mind like a book
amusing but not interesting

once i was caught in the fire
and i cannot fly since then
i was caught in the fire when i believed in water
now, tired and scorched,
i reckon it's my eyes, they're too glassy
i should probably resurrect somewhere

would you turn the lights off, please, I'm drowning
and there's no safe path to follow in the dark
my home is too thick to be cut
with my crumbling wings
funny that
i think someone waved at me
and ran away

there'a a glimpse of red and i've hit my head on the wall
trying to fly through myself like it's Easter
has she come
i should probably shake the past off my dusty hair
brace my solitude and drink it
summer is fading and so must I

Saturday, 16 April 2016

You are the first song of the morning dawning blankness upon my chest
as the city spills its dreary grin -

the ghost of Love lurks by the door
and her hopeful stare is frightening

There’s a smell of art as I lift the lid
but this shrine is a curse of a gift
for my pain is as sharp as its keys
reminding my hands of sirens

‘Mother dear, I cannot work the loom’
since all the colours I weave bear the same eyes
since my skin will be forever torn and sewn
to cover your poor son’s wings

Summer is fading and so am I;
there is peace enough but my heart is a stallion

Oh innocence, can you hear the sobbing walls?
The blinding sound of sunset blessed the hammers with her haunting presence
Purity is a buzz detuned and fragile;
her arms are now too small for my agony

(the ghost of Love lurks by the door -
I stare at the ceiling
with a mouth full of bees)

Mother of pearl

I am an oyster.
I float in the tears
of the whale mothers
and of all homesick sailors.
I feast on crumbles
And understand them.
I live off the lashes of the sea
so she and I can weep together.

I am an oyster.
I have thousands of hearts beating on every shore,
my guts are made of sunlight
and green serenity.
I greet fishes
sing with corals
and watch the seals in their winter ballet.
I turn my wounds into jewels,
for I will have to wear them.

I am an oyster and you eat me alive
and now I squirm and twist and yell just to stay aware
before the sea claims me as her child
before I cease to hear the bubbling shores
at least, you say, I have
a pretty shell.

Friday, 4 March 2016

Melancholia #1

I smother my love for you
and die a little.
It gasps for air
and I
Laugh.