by Dan
Please note: MP3s are only kept online for a short time, and if this entry is from more than a couple of weeks ago, the music probably won't be available to download any more.



Himalayan Bear - "How Could Death Contend"

Ah, the lonely hunter. His territory marked, allotted to his charge. An oblong on the map, a flag of equal shape, a crest of cresting hill, raised up each windless dawn. And in the eve, be it lake-sparkled sunset, or swaying cloudy cough, crank it down, crank it down, crank it down. The hunter's only love is the first meal from a catch, he'll howl a song or tell a tale, the only ears the trees. If he doesn't use his tongue, it will dry up, turn to stone. Be at peace, be at peace, be at peace. A tale was once re-answered, by a voice amidst the green, the hunter's ear tuned quiet, balked at noise so clear. The voice said, "The hunt has ended, the territory's sold." The hunter struck the voice, between the ribs and guts, reap the news, reap the news, reap the news. A head of warning raised on the flagpole, grinned in laughing twist. The hunter guards his borders, his thinking mind at rest. [order from Absolutely Kosher]

Black Widow - "Come to the Sabbat"

I often dream of Leopold Carter and his many-spired brow. Leopold Carter was my grandfather's night nurse in the last years of his illness. My parents were social diplomats, integral to the massive machinery of international politesse, and thus were often away. I, still a boy, would be the only family to stay with grandfather in these stretches; weeks at times. During the day I would go to catechism and at night I'd boil grandfather's food to a brown reduction. I would go to sleep around nine or ten, and then I would hear the door open, the steady shuffle of shoes to slippers, and I knew it was Leopold Carter come calling. I would hear the sloshing swish of a flask, I'd smell his odour pass by. The walls were thin and I could hear them conversing. I think they shared drinks most of the night. But Leopold Carter made a point of never speaking to me. Whether he thought it unseemly or he simply didn't want to talk to anything that could move away from him on its own, we never exchanged a word. And this, for me, as a boy, made him terrifying. Half-asleep during his nightly patters down the hall, and his murmurs through the walls, they came all the more dream-like to me in my memory, they came all the more distorted, horrifying, grotesque. I remember his face as the front of a castle, his drawbridge mouth and his bubonic beard. His earlobes hung like chains, his hair like black and rotten straw. His nose the swollen fulcrum of his downturned half-lids, his eyes like condemned doors, missing their handle, missing their function. His brows were spindly, like spires that seemed to climb upward to his sagging forehead, his surrendered mind. I only once expressed this disfavour to my father, who became quiet and gritted his teeth, "Grandfather likes him, just pretend he's not there." Advice that proved only the truth of it's opposite; pretending the monster you see isn't there is far worse than fearing the one you know isn't. [Buy]

(image is of The Man Who Flew Into Space From His Apartment, an installation dear to my heart, by Ilya Kabakov)



The Renaissance Man. lutist. blind dirtbiker.
A lovely and wondrous little documentary about learning to do something impossible. I could talk at length about how well-made this is; simple, honest footage cut superbly and with pitch-perfect tone. I could talk about how in 12.5 minutes they've created two full characters that I can't wait to see more of, I could talk about the first emotionally visionary use of a helmet cam I've ever seen. But I'll simply mention those things and you can do your own expounding. Enjoy.

Posted by Dan at November 15, 2011 1:49 AM

What a wonderful documentary. Thanks, Dan. When /where might I find part 2?

Posted by Miguel at November 16, 2011 10:15 AM

Hey Miguel, I hear word that the next part is coming in December. Apparently it's unfolding in the present!

Posted by dan at November 16, 2011 11:57 PM

That was 12.5 minutes well spent. Thanks so much for sharing that.

Posted by Karin S. at November 25, 2011 1:25 PM

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about said the gramophone
This is a daily sampler of really good songs. All tracks are posted out of love. Please go out and buy the records.

To hear a song in your browser, click the and it will begin playing. All songs are also available to download: just right-click the link and choose 'Save as...'

All songs are removed within a few weeks of posting.

Said the Gramophone launched in March 2003, and added songs in November of that year. It was one of the world's first mp3blogs.

If you would like to say hello, find out our mailing addresses or invite us to shows, please get in touch:
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Please don't send us emails with tons of huge attachments; if emailing a bunch of mp3s etc, send us a link to download them. We are not interested in streaming widgets like soundcloud: Said the Gramophone posts are always accompanied by MP3s.

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"And I shall watch the ferry-boats / and they'll get high on a bluer ocean / against tomorrow's sky / and I will never grow so old again."
about the authors
Sean Michaels is the founder of Said the Gramophone. He is a writer, critic and author of the theremin novel Us Conductors. Follow him on Twitter or reach him by email here. Click here to browse his posts.

Emma Healey writes poems and essays in Toronto. She joined Said the Gramophone in 2015. This is her website and email her here.

Jeff Miller is a Montreal-based writer and zinemaker. He is the author of Ghost Pine: All Stories True and a bunch of other stories. He joined Said the Gramophone in 2015. Say hello on Twitter or email.

Mitz Takahashi is originally from Osaka, Japan who now lives and works as a furniture designer/maker in Montreal. English is not his first language so please forgive his glamour grammar mistakes. He is trying. He joined Said the Gramophone in 2015. Reach him by email here.

Site design and header typography by Neale McDavitt-Van Fleet. The header graphic is randomized: this one is by Neale McDavitt-Van Fleet.
Dan Beirne wrote regularly for Said the Gramophone from August 2004 to December 2014. He is an actor and writer living in Toronto. Any claim he makes about his life on here is probably untrue. Click here to browse his posts. Email him here.

Jordan Himelfarb wrote for Said the Gramophone from November 2004 to March 2012. He lives in Toronto. He is an opinion editor at the Toronto Star. Click here to browse his posts. Email him here.
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our favourite blogs
(◊ means they write about music)

Back to the World
La Blogothèque
Weird Canada
Destination: Out
Endless Banquet
A Grammar (Nitsuh Abebe)
Ill Doctrine
A London Salmagundi
Words and Music
Petites planétes
Gorilla vs Bear
Silent Shout
Clouds of Evil
The Dolby Apposition
Awesome Tapes from Africa
Matana Roberts
Pitchfork Reviews Reviews
i like you [podcast]
Nicola Meighan
radiolab [podcast]
CKUT Music
plethoric pundrigrions
Wattled Smoky Honeyeater
The Clear-Minded Creative
Torture Garden
Passion of the Weiss
Juan and Only
Horses Think
White Hotel
Then Play Long (Marcello Carlin)
Uno Moralez
Coming Up For Air (Matt Forsythe)
my love for you is a stampede of horses
It's Nice That
Song, by Toad
In Focus
WTF [podcast]
The Rest is Noise (Alex Ross)
My Daguerreotype Boyfriend
The Hood Internet

things we like in Montreal
st-viateur bagel
café olimpico
Euro-Deli Batory
le pick up
kem coba
le couteau
au pied de cochon
mamie clafoutis
tourtière australienne
chez boris
alati caserta
vices & versa
+ paltoquet, cocoa locale, idée fixe, patati patata, the sparrow, pho tay ho, qin hua dumplings, caffé italia, hung phat banh mi, caffé san simeon, meu-meu, pho lien, romodos, patisserie guillaume, patisserie rhubarbe, kazu, lallouz, maison du nord, cuisine szechuan &c

drawn + quarterly
+ bottines &c

casa + sala + the hotel
blue skies turn black
montreal improv theatre
passovah productions
le cagibi
cinema du parc
pop pmontreal
yoga teacher Thea Metcalfe

Cult Montreal
The Believer
The Morning News
The Skinny