關於 contemporary music meaning ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

Have you ever had your heart so full and so broken at the same time? I left Siao Chun’s village today, Mutan, in the southern most point of Taiwan, learning her story, experiencing her land. Today as a gift she gave me the warrior dance 💥

She composed a warrior dance last year when one of her young students asked her “why do other Paiwan villages have a warrior dance but we don’t have one?” In search for the answer, she talked to her elders, who said they had never seen the warrior dance. She asked an elder to write some lyrics, and then took the words home, and even though she isn’t a man, she meditated on the dance, on the meaning of war, and the melody came from her. She is teaching the warrior dance to the youngsters and to the elders, a tradition that will last for generations to come. She researched old songs. Founder of the Kepanan Music Festival, which transitioned from western rock music to contemporary traditional music, is in it’s 11th year. Winner of indigenous language music awards. She challenges her elders on complex issues, and teaches the youngsters about all they need to know, not only in music but in politics, history and land rights • When she and her students presented the warrior dance to me I felt like crying. Siao Chun is a true warrior. She is like a mountain. She is many things I aspire to be. I haven’t known her for long but I feel like I have, you know? I’m so proud of her. It would be hard to say goodbye except... we meet again in four weeks... and then in seven weeks.
Family 💞

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….

Rentak Selangor 2019 aims to educating, promoting & sharing the "Dendang Hati ?, Lagu Jiwa?, Irama Kita ?" to the public

Beats of Selangor ? ~ Chinese
A great ?? efforts of Catholic High School (CHS) to preserve the Chinese heritage, art & cultures to ? generation ?????????? of all Malaysians ????? Sharing some of the details which all credited to her media friend, Ms Lily ??‍♀️;

Chinese Orchestra
It's based on the structure & principles of a Western symphony orchestra using Chinese instruments. The orchestra is divided into 4️⃣ sections ~ wind, plucked strings, bow strings & percussion. It's usually performs modernized traditional music. Some of the instruments used are;

1️⃣ Erhu 二胡
✅ It's 1 of the most important Chinese instruments, with a
history of over 4K years
✅ It's a 2️⃣-stringed bowed Chinese musical instrument,
AKA the Chinese violin / Chinese 2️⃣-stringed fiddle
✅ It can be used in both traditional & contemporary music
arrangements; pop, rock & jazz
✅ It's played vertically, resting on the musician's lap. It has ❌
fingerboard, hence the player's fingers must hold & vibrate the
strings by pressing only against the strings themselves

2️⃣ Pipa 琵琶
✅ It's a 4️⃣-stringed Chinese musical instrument, AKA Chinese lute
✅ It has been played for almost 2K years in China & existed
as early as the Han dynasty
✅ It was once reigned as the “king” of Chinese folk instruments
✅ The instrument has a pear-shaped wooden body & the string
was once made of silk, however today, it is made of nylon-wrapped
steel. Silk strings were played either with a plectrum / with bare
fingers, but steel strings are played with finger picks

3️⃣ Dulcimer 扬琴
✅ AKA yangqin (扬琴) is believed to have originated in Central
Asia & was brought to China by sea-faring European traders at the end of the Ming Dynasty (around AD 1600).
✅ Classified as a plucked string instrument, the Chinese yangqin is also a
hammered dulcimer that is played with rubber-tipped sticks.
✅ The modern dulcimer has been rationalized & has become an essential
instrument in the Chinese orchestra
✅ It's used both as a solo instrument & in ensembles

4️⃣ Bamboo flute 笛子
✅ It's a Chinese transverse flute / Chinese bamboo flute
✅ Traditionally & most of the dizi is made by using (a single piece of) bamboo
✅ It's played using circular breathing "advanced" techniques
✅ It's a key Chinese musical instrument & is used in Chinese folk
music, opera & modern Chinese orchestra

Wushu (武术)
It was developed in 1949 in an effort to standardize the practice of traditional Chinese martial arts. The modern concepts of wushu were fully developed by the Ming & Qing dynasties

Type of performances are Wushu Weapons, Doubles Weapons, Flag, Doubles Taiji Sword, Trio Taiji Broadsword & Trio Taijiquan

The basic wushu movements are;
✅ Ma bu : 马步 - Horse stance
✅ Gong Bu : 弓步 - Bow stance
✅ Pu bu : 仆步 - Flat Stance or Crouch stance
✅ Chong Quan : 冲拳- Fist Punching
✅ Teng Kong Fei Jiao : 腾空飞脚 - Jumping front kick
✅ Bai Lian : 摆莲 - Lotus kick
✅ Xuan Zi : 旋子 - Butterfly kick

Basic wushu sword & boardsword movements are;
✅ Chan tou : 缠头 - Twining around the head with broadsword
✅ Guo nao : 裹脑 - Wrapping around the head with broadsword
✅ Wan Hua : 腕花 - Rotate the wrist, move the sword in forward-downward vertical circles on both sides close to your body, force reaching tip of the sword
✅ Guajian : 挂剑 - Hold the sword straight & move it in upward-backward / downward-backward vertical circles close to your body, with force reaching the front part of the blade
✅ Liao jian : 撩剑 - Move the sword in a forward-upward vertical circle, force reaching the foible

Diabolo 扯铃/ 抖空竹
It's a juggling / circus prop consists of an axle & 2 cups AKA Chinese yo-yo. It's spun using a string attached to 2️⃣ hand sticks. Multiple cups can be spun on a same string too. A large variety of tricks are possible with the diabolo, including tosses & various types of interaction with the sticks, string & various parts of the user's body

24 Season Drum (Ershisi Jieling Gu : 节令鼓)
It's a Malaysian art that was invented in 1988 by a music teacher, Tan Hooi Song & a poet Tan Chai Puan, at Foon Yew High School in Johor. It consists of 24 large drum is called Shigu (獅鼓) that represents the agricultural seasons in the Chinese calendar. The original performance styles depict movements of farmers & activities on a farm. The name of each season is usually written in
Chinese calligraphy on the drum.
The drum is played using 2️⃣ wooden sticks, striking its surface, sides or hitting the 2️⃣ sticks together

Each colour on the drum has a special meaning;
❤️ red symbolizes auspiciousness & passion
? black represents perseverance
? yellow signifies the Chinese culture & tradition

More details soon via ? siennylovesdrawing.wordpress.com

#RS4 #RentakSelangor #DiscoverSelangor #VM2020 #VisitMalaysia2020 #TakeMeAnywhere #GayaTravel #Malaysia

Ryoji Orihara
Fretless bass player in Japan.
Rarity players specializing in fretless bass.

https://orioriori.exblog.jp

Started installation work called "BGA (BackGround Ambient) “Toumei na Kagu" from 2010.

“Toumei na Kagu", meaning “Impalpable Furniture".

is an expression with the concept of

- Not background music　
- Not a concert　
- Not heat up.

In recent years, this activity has also increased.

Ryoji Orihara is looking for a performance request for BGA (Back Ground Ambient) "Toumei na Kagu".
There are various places where you can perform.
Shops (coffee shop, hotel, massage shop, spa, body preparation etc),
Event,
We are looking for various ideas.

ryoji orihara@gmail.com


織原良次／Ryoji Orihara
Fretless bass
三田村亮／Ryo Mitamura
Shooting
織原鉄工／Orihara Tekkou
Location
Saitama Japan

『BGA(Back Ground Ambient)透明な家具』は、無形のインテリアである。

https://orioriori.exblog.jp/28187617/

『BGA(Back Ground Ambient)透明な家具』は

〇ＢＧＭではない
楽曲を演奏することはありません。
長時間の受動的なパフォーマンスにより各シチュエーション特有の表情が生まれます。

〇ライブではない
メイン・アクトとしては成立しません。
漠然とある、透明なインテリアのようなものです。

〇盛り上がらない
盛り上がりません。


無形のインテリアとしての『透明な家具』をお楽しみください。


織原良次はBGA(Back Ground Ambient)透明な家具のパフォーマンスする場所、
お店(喫茶店、ホテル、マッサージ店、スパ、整体など)、
イベント、
各種アイデアを募集しています。
お気軽にオファー、ご提案などお待ちしております。

ryoji orihara@gmail.com

©2010-2019 BGA(Back Ground Ambient)透明な家具

http://senzahk.com

SENZA A Cappella

SENZA A Cappella is an a cappella group from Hong Kong Baptist University established in September 2009. The name 'senza' is an Italian word meaning 'without', which coincides with its unique a cappella singing style where songs are performed without musical instruments.

The ensemble comprises students from various disciplines in school. Active both on and off campus, it aims to promote a cappella culture to the Hong Kong society, through performing a rich repertoire from classical pieces to songs from Broadway, jazz and Canton-pop.

SENZA A Cappella made its debut appearance in November 2009 in the 3rd anniversary concert staged by The Contemporary A Cappella society of Hong Kong. It continues to perform in other public events, including the 5 evening Season Of Love concerts in 1881 Heritage, Tsim Sha Shui, and as the guest performers in The Chinese University of Hong Kong -- Tung Wah Group of Hospitals Community College's singing contest, as well as in ICAC I-Generation Farewell Party.

In March 2010, SENZA A Cappella attended the masterclass coached by Angelina Choo, the founder of Singapore's A Cappella Society, in the University of Macau. The next day it costarred with other a cappella groups in a joint-places concert in the University of Macau, starring FindaVox from Shanghai, Oops from Taiwan and UM Singers from Macau.

Senza has just won their Championship in Hong Kong Baptist University Joint-Society Singing Contest in April, 2011. In the same period, they represent Hong Kong Baptist University to compete in the "Inter College Singing Competition 2011" and Senza has won their first group championship in this Joint University Competition. At the same time, they also won the "Best Choreograph Award" in this competition.

In 2012, Senza was invited to perform with Kay Tse in "Kay Tse Concert 2012", first time singing on the stage of dream - Hong Kong Coliseum. In the same year, Senza was invited to perform in the Hong Kong 2012 International A Cappella Festival - Alfresco A Cappella.

無伴奏合唱組合 - SENZA A Cappella

SENZA A Cappella　是香港浸會大學於二○○九年成立的無伴奏合唱組合。「Senza」一字本為意大利文，解作「沒有」，跟組合「沒有伴奏」的風格相符。

以浸會大學為基地的 SENZA A Cappella 於2009年11月首次亮相，所有成員都是來自浸會大學的不同學系。組合在學園內外皆十分活躍，短短2年間已有多次演出經驗，並獲得好評。他們旨在以不同類型的樂曲（包括來自古典樂，音樂劇，流行曲，爵士樂等）向社會推廣無伴奏合唱。

組合曾獲邀分別參加了由新加坡無伴奏合唱組織創辦人Angelina Choo指導和著名組合Key Elements成員Vaughan Tan先生所指導的大師班，被喻為"a group of talented young singers!"。SENZA更獲邀於澳門舉行的跨地域音樂會中演出。

組合於同年5月份，獲邀前往海南島演出，同台藝人有謝安琪、張雨綺和張靜初等。SENZA更有幸能與謝安琪合唱《囍帖街》的無伴奏合唱版本。同年，SENZA獲邀於"抱抱低碳生活音樂會"中再度與謝安琪合唱。

組合更於2010年9月12日舉行了他們的首場周年音樂會，並於2011年在浸會大學的聯系歌唱比賽中得到冠軍。同年，SENZA代表浸會大學以自己改編的《約定》參加《大專聯校歌唱比賽2011》，獲得合唱組別的冠軍以及最具台風獎，廣獲一致好評。

組合獲邀於2011年11月舉行的亞洲無伴奏音樂節2011中擔任演出嘉賓，更與C All Star同台合唱。SENZA更在2012年1月首度踏上紅磡體育館舞台，於《謝安琪你們的幸福演唱會2012》中演出。SENZA更將會於人2012國際無伴奏音樂節中的無伴奏音樂會中演出。

SENZA將不斷提升其演出水平，希望在來年和以後的日子為大家帶來更多好聽的音樂。