My monthly article, “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”, published in Burst Magazine.
Issue 22, November 2014 features Frank Zappa.
See full issue here: http://afternoiz.com/burst/item/7586-november-2014
Author: helenmariejoyce
The House on the Hill (Chapter two)
Voltaire – To the living we owe respect, but to the dead we owe only the truth.
Her hands dug deep into the moist and dense soil. It had only just stopped raining, and the ground was so wet, she could feel the water drench her clothes at her knees as she sat on all fours at the base of the hill. The great tree that she had taken refuge under, to sit out yet another Electric Storm, had wept; its old bark had cracked and tears of resin had trickled down to its base. She had an awkward sense that it was tears of resentment, and rushed to her feet. She touched its resentful resin, and it burned to her touch. Sucking on her sore finger she thought she heard a voice: a child’s voice, coming from the base of the tree, no, from beneath the roots, rising up and reverberating through the bark’s cracks and resin pus.
“Hurry”.
The old voices had stopped since she had crossed the river. This voice was of a new order, sounding innocent yet compelling enough for her to pay serious heed. She knew she had no place there, amidst the strange nature, the twisted nature of past, of longing, of yearning, there, deep in the Forest of Forever. She knew it even before she decided to cross beyond the silver river and penetrate the unknown North, but the Gray Wolf left her little choice. He had seized her thoughts, entering her mind at his will, during the dead of the night, and she often could see through his auric eyes, images of frustration, of chase, of want, of desire. She would wake each time thirsty and hungry to venture into the Forest to seek the questions, to which she already knew the answers.
“Hurry, follow the Moon”.
The Forest of Forever (Chapter one)
So she walked a whisper like walk, weightless and wistful, as her white gown trailed behind her frail footsteps. Her head hung low and the usual sea of thoughts filled her mind. It was no wonder she could not hear the sound of her feet or the rustling of leaves; voices muffled and reverberant, a multitude of shrieks and woes, of secrets and confessions. For the all of eternity this would be her price to pay, in the conscious awake part of her being, in penitence, in restlessness, in the prison of her mind for the crime she had been condemned of. According to her impious fate, now, as it was written in the Scrolls of the Stars, she roamed the Forest of Forever, searching for questions she only knew the answers to. ‘Balance’. She sought the equilibrium of Balance.
The voices were never discernible. The voices were always there. Day in, day out. Her dreams were her only haven. She solaced in the revelry of her subconscious escapades where she would be free from fear, free from frustration. ‘In Somnii, Veritas. Per Somnii, Libertas.’ She had no other place to go than to retreat to her core at nightfall, in the midst of the Forest and seek redemption for her scarred soul.
Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door … Jim Morisson
My monthly article, “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”, published in Burst Magazine.
Double Issue 20, September 2014 features Jim Morisson, pg. 14-16.
See full issue here: http://afternoiz.com/burst/item/7451-september-2014
21
Τα παιδιά της γειτονιάς παίζουν στο προαύλιο. Ήταν μία από αυτές τις πολύ ζεστές μέρες του Αυγούστου, όπου όλα λειτουργούσαν σε βασανιστικά αργούς ρυθμούς. Ένα λεπτό φαντάζει σαν μία ώρα και νιώθω όλο και πιο ανήσυχη.
Προσπαθώντας να ξεγελάσω τις σκέψεις μου, συγκεντρώνομαι στις φωνές των παιδιών. Καιρό τώρα προσπαθώ… Προσπαθώ να ξεχάσω τι συνέβη γιατί όσο τριγυρνούν οι αναμνήσεις στο μυαλό μου, βρίσκομαι σε σύγχυση και νιώθω εγκλωβισμένη, και μέσα μου φουντώνει μια ανάγκη να γυρίσω τον χρόνο πίσω, και να βρίσκομαι εκεί, τότε, πριν συμβούν όλα αυτά, πριν την κατάρρευση, πριν την λεγόμενη «Αναγέννηση», πριν χαθούν οι αξίες, πριν βρομίσουν οι ψυχές των ανθρώπων από απληστία, πριν ποτισθούν τα μυαλά τους από εξουσία. Με πλημμυρίζει νοσταλγία για την εποχή όταν η ζωές μας ήταν πλούσιες μέσα από την απλότητα τους.
Τα παιδιά της γειτονιάς παίζουν στο προαύλιο. Οι κραυγές τους τώρα, πιο κοντά από πριν, καλύπτουν τον χτύπο του ρολογιού που είναι κρεμασμένο στον τοίχο. Οι φωνές τους εισχωρούν στο δωμάτιο σαν μία πολύχρωμη συρροή από νότες που σχηματίζουν μια εκστατική μελωδία, οδηγούμενη από έναν επίμονο ρυθμό. Έναν ρυθμό που τον έμαθα καλά, και πού ακόμα και τώρα, μετά από τόσο καιρό, μου προκαλούσε ρίγος.
Έκλεισα τα μάτια μου.
Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door … Rory Gallagher
My monthly article, “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”, published in Burst Magazine.
Issue 19, July 2014 features Rory Gallagher, pg. 12-14.
See full issue here: http://afternoiz.com/burst/item/7211-july-2014
Josh Homme article and QOTSA ‘…Like Clockwork’ album review
Rockwave Festival Day 4
On a typical Tuesday evening in early July, with temperatures reaching a scorching 34 degrees celcius and after a full day’s work, I could think of nothing better to do than to make my way to TerraVibe, pumped up for listening to some quality music. An irritating fact of this year’s Rockwave festival (apart from it’s overall incongruous choice of acts) was that half of it was held on weekdays, and I regretfully was unable to be at the grounds for the start of day 4. Mahakala, Tardive Dyskinesia, Acid Death, Opera Chaotique, Chaostar, I’m sure you all did a good job despite the lack of people and the undying sun.
The mesmerizing Dead Can Dance were on my ‘Unmissable Acts’ list; even if they were playing in a cave or on the top of a cliff somewhere, I would not hesitate to attend. Actually, the setting of a (fenced!) cliff top with a view of the vast sea at sunset would be an excellent choice for a venue; perhaps I should put a suggestion in for future consideration.
Septic Flesh, whom I had seen once before, are one of the few Greek bands that have achieved world acclaim in their field, Symphonic Death Metal, so paying my respects to them for that.
Monophonics, the groovers, the funkers, the soul shakers, I was psyched to see, I had not had the chance to see them on their last visit to Athens nine months ago, and boy did they funk our world.
Craig Walker, ex member of Archive, I admit I was entirely indifferent to begin with, so his act had the best chance out of making a good impression from a clean slate. Let’s see how that went.
The Tale of Santa
Once upon a time, in a land of ice and snow and reindeer, two twin boys were born to a broken mother and a caring father. Their mother was a sad figure, depressed, and full of sorrow; she neglected her children, feeling nothing but pity for them and disgust for herself. The death of her baby daughter a few months before the twins were born had cost her her soul. She would listen to them cry, bawling out in hunger, and she would turn a blind eye, looking out the window at the frozen, white landscape. Her condition became worse as the days went by, with nothing her husband could do to help reverse the sickly process of her mourning. He could only contribute by offering an alleviating substance, an amnesiac that made her forget her woe by stewing rare violet mushrooms he found in the forest surrounding their cottage. Yet in the winters, there were none to collect and the husband felt helpless to watch his wife on her bad days. Little consolation did he find in caring for the boys.
SPIRITUAL BEGGARS @ Kyttaro, 11.10.13 with Full House Brew Crew, Six for Nine, Drunk Motherfuckers.
Arriving at the venue, regrettably later than scheduled due to horrendous traffic, Drunk Motherfuckers were already laying out some of their usual quality stoner riffs. The sound blasting out of the amps was overwhelming, a combination of playing at Kyttaro that is a shoe-in venue, and the perks of opening for a band with nearly 20 years of music on their resume. Drunk motherfuckers played some of the old, with the usual excitement even more so than the time I last saw them. They also played some new stuff, closing their set strictly after 35 minutes of down tempo’ed hard stoner rock, with riffs that were free and unhinged keeping the crowd on their toes as the tone changed to sludge in some cases, hints of Sabbath and then back to their signature Drunk n ‘Roll desert ramblings. These guys are good to listen to, drunk or sober. Continue reading SPIRITUAL BEGGARS @ Kyttaro, 11.10.13 with Full House Brew Crew, Six for Nine, Drunk Motherfuckers.
Helen Marie Joyce 