http://sixdegrees.hu/last.fm/

What would you get if you analysed the connections between artists on Last.FM and drew them as a map?



This is the cloud view - click through for larger versions, annotated versions, and a zoomable / searchable map.

Each colour represents a different genre of music.

#4598 in the list of Reasons Why I Love The Internet.

It's always a strange thing when a sound from outside merges perfectly with the music you're playing; it's that feeling I get sometimes (do you too?) of being on a film set. It's called diegetic music if the characters in the film are causing or able to percieve the soundtrack; the sort of shot where someone switches on a CD player and the music swells out of scene and then changes in tone and tenor to be part of the soundtrack - apparently that's then extra-diegetic.

So many words, so little time. I sometimes feel like Delirium, when she asks her elder brother "what's the word for that?" except that instead of Morpheus, I have Google - I think the answers are suitably gnomic either way.

Police sirens seem to merge best; perhaps that says more about the sort of music I listen to? Currently it's a drum and bass remix of Tubular Bells by one of the Planet Angel DJs that's causing me to connect the world up in strange ways; that, a police siren and the sound of the rain on the window are, quite frankly, making pictures on the insides of my eyelids that I've rarely seen without walking in slow motion at a club at 4am.

Shame I'm supposed to be at work both physically and mentally.

Of course, the reverse also causes problems; there's a Black Eye Peas track that has, for some reason I can't fathom, a UK police car siren as part of the soundscape; it's caused me to slow down and look around when I've been driving and that's come onto the stereo.

Livejournal, perhaps unsurprisingly, doesn't have a Current Mood: Diegetic as a default choice.

Perhaps I should ask them to add it?

Amused by the news that not only will the X Factor's Alexa be at number 1 in the Christmas Top Ten with her cover of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah", but that there's a more than reasonable chance that Jeff Buckley will make it to number 2 with his cover of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah", I feel that there's only one possible response.

I've just bought a copy of Leonard Cohen's version of "Hallelujah" from iTunes. Partially because I don't think I have a copy, and partially because I think it would be tremendously amusing if the same song was in the first three positions in the chart.

just how marvellous this programme was:

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=eUkwOi48kuQ

That's part 1 (of 6) of the 'Faking It' episode, where Sian Evans, a 22 year old cellist, successfully faked it as a Hard House DJ. You can watch the following parts from the YouTube website.

It's just lovely.

Ray Charles, singing "It's not easy being green".

Awwwwww.

Last week I posted somewhat cryptically about seeing Neil Gaiman singing backup vocals and playing tambourine. It was for Amanda Palmer, who was playing at Koko.

Anyway, he's worked with her on her new album (Amanda Palmer Is Dead) and written a song that she performs as part of her live show.

It's called "I google you" and it's great. (The link is to a YouTube video - the video quality isn't great, but the sound is, and it's worth it for her explanatio before the song)



Enjoy.

Edit to add: And of course, with the miracle of YouTube, if you'd like to see Neil Gaiman looking incredibly uncomfortable, the video is here.

Whilst writing course materials, I had cause to visit the website of the College of Arms; that body within England, Wales and Northern Ireland responsible for registering and recording coats of arms and pedigrees. I was wryly amused to find George Martin's coat of arms; I think it requires a better knowledge of the British music industry than I have to get all the jokes and references he's managed to put in it.

But I believe I'm right in thinking that 'Amore Solum Opus Est' roughly translates as 'All you need is Love'?

The image is huge, so I won't link to it - you can see it by going to the above link.

It seems like a while since I've written about Planet Angel; the downside of working at the club, I guess. The trials and tribulations of putting on a good night tend to disappear as the party unfolds, and I tend not to want to dwell on any minor niggles anyway, because generally, I'm talking to people who've been there, and who've had a good time. And that, at the end of the day, is what matters.

But September's party was a blinder.

From a personal point of view, there were a load of people there that I have a great deal of time for, and while it wasn't everyone's cup of tea, it was really lovely to see them there. There were celebrations and re-unions, and lots and lots of smiles.

The music was what really did it for me, though. We've switched the rooms around, so the trance is now getting played in a lighter, more friendly room, and the breaks and beats are going on in the larger but darker, more introspective room. And it's worked marvels. It's really changed the vibe in both rooms in well received ways.  And the DJ lineup in the trance room was one DJ short of my ideal lineup. During my breaks through the night, I kept finding myself back in the trance room, dancing instead of resting and conserving my energy to carry on working through the night. But last Friday my inner shaman was close to the surface, and kept pushing down into my feet, and I'd find myself standing on the stairs watching the dancefloor and then starting to move a little, and then, 5 or 10 minutes later, remembering that I had work to do and moving on with a grin on my face and rhythym in my step.

It helped that I'd dressed up - my red velvet frock coat, a tricorn hat and big goth boots - a cyber pirate in honour of International Talk Like A Pirate Day. Infest reminded me that I like dressing up to go out; another downside of working at a club is that it's easy to dress practically and comfortably. Friday proved that I can dress up and still do my job well. And the frock coat makes me swagger,  as it's designed to, really.

Good friends, good music, good clothes. How could I not have a great time?

For those of you that were there; thank you for being part of what is being generally agreed is one of the best parties we've put on in a long while. For those I got to meet and talk to later in the weekend, I hope you had a great time; I certainly did.

The next PA I'm working, but I'm hoping to be partying at the November one. I hope I'll see some of you there.

Incidentally; photos are now up on the PA website - some familiar faces there ....

Apple announced the upgrade of several of their iPods yesterday. Unfortunately, they also withdrew the iPod I wanted. It's still available on Ebay, but I won't be able to get the back engraved like I could with Apple.
Still; you rolls the dice, you takes your chance.
What's interesting is the iTunes Genius feature announced, and now available through iTunes 8.0. Allow iTunes to send details of your iTunes library to Apple anonymously, and you can switch on the Genius function.

Once that's done, pick a song in your library, click on the Genius button, and iTunes will suggest a 25 song playlist based on that song, all from your library. (It will also open a side pane saying "here's lots of related songs available in the iTunes store that you don't have", but render unto Caesar etc.)

So far, it's pretty good. I can see why most of the songs are on the playlist I chose, starting with "Central Reservation" by Beth Orton:

Central Reservation (Original Version) Beth Orton
Hit --Sugarcubes
Number 1-- Goldfrapp
Fear --Sarah McLachlan
Take My Hand --Dido
Not A Pretty Girl --Ani Di Franco
Cuts You Up --Peter Murphy
A New England --Billy Bragg
Movin' On Up --Primal Scream
Talk About The Passion --R.E.M.
One --Cowboy Junkies
Home --Sheryl Crow
Stay (Faraway, So Close!) --U2
Sweetest Decline --Beth Orton
Long Legs --The Magic Numbers
Winter-- Tori Amos
Love And Anger-- Kate Bush
Caramel --Suzanne Vega
London Rain (Nothing Heals Me Like You Do) --Heather Nova
Missing --Everything But The Girl
You're Not The Only One I Know --The Sundays
Fly Me Away --Goldfrapp
Electrolite-- R.E.M.
Wise Up --Aimee Mann
Last Goodbye --Jeff Buckley

Now, that's a perfectly acceptable playlist for the afternoon. I hope that the same facility transfers to my old 30Gb iPod.

Does anyone fancy going to see Mozart's Requiem at St. Martin in the Fields on November 8th? It's their Rememberance Day performance.

Tickets from £25.

http://www.stmartin-in-the-fields.org/jserv/concerts/view.jsp?id=2417&command=concert

I'll probably be booking a ticket in the next week or so; I'd be happy if anyone wished to join me.

Since Pandora.com suffered an extraordinary rendition from these shores, I've been a little lost for music to listen to at work - 6Music plays the tunes I like, but I really can't stand Radio DJs. (Not that 6Music's DJs are bad; in fact, they're really the best of a bad bunch. More often than not, though, I want to listen to music - especially when I'm working - not people speaking. I find music far easier to tune out when I need to.)

So after some friends recommended it, I've started listening to Last.FM. It takes a different approach to Pandora - rather than being based on the underlying musical genome of a song, it produces tunes based on what you've listened to on your iPod, through iTunes, Windows Media Player, etc, as well as other people's recommendations.

At first listen, it's actually better than Pandora. Try as I might, I couldn't educate a Pandora station to my favourite musical genre; strong female vocalist, complex lyrics, interesting music. Tori Amos, Kate Bush, k d lang, Ani Di Franco. No matter how much I cajoled or caressed the listings, Pandora would play the occasional male vocalist and while I have nothing against men singers in general, that just wasn't what I was hoping to hear. And Last.FM seemed to realise that almost immediately. Listen to Ani and related artists, and I wouldn't hear a male voice for the next two hours.

So today, I branched out. Male, politically aware, vocal quality not necessary, lyrical beauty a must. That's right. I typed the nom de plume of the Bard of Barking into the search box and settled back to listen to some socialist singing.

And the first song up was Kylies new track "Wow".

Back to the drawing board?

I've got 200 miles of rain, asphalt and lines, before I sleep

I've posted before about the Cowboy Junkies - country and western how it should be; beautiful heart-rending lyrics, great music. Stories being told.

It's whiskey and harmonica music; sad sounds and dour drinks. Cathartic, I guess. C&W is survival music. Whatever happens, no matter what the subject of the song, the singer survives.

So what's brought this on?

I've just started listening to The Trinity Sessions Revisited by the afore mentioned Cowboy Junkies. Their first album, recorded in one day in a church in Canada 20 years ago. Recorded in a day for reasons of cost; studio time is expensive.

And now, re-recorded under the same conditions 20 years later. Cost less of an option now; certainly there's a film crew there to document and produce the accompanying DVD, and they've got other artists like Nathalie Merchant there, so I'm not sure they're cutting costs to the bone. Instead it's an opportunity to work under the same conditions, with songs that they've known for 20 plus years.

I saw the Cowboy Junkies at Union Chapel last year - Margo Timmins joked that ever since the Trinity Sessions, promoters always booked them into churches on their tours, "But I don't mind because churches make my voice sound fucking fantastic."

She's right too; the mix of her voice with the dark, dirty sleezy sounds her brothers make really work with a lot of stone and space to soar around in.

It's not the same album as the original Trinity Sessions; that's the point. It might never be as popular. But tonight, with a glass of whiskey beside me and sleep far away, it's a damn fine companion to have.

One of the things about having an mp3 player with multiple gigs of storage is that sometimes, you don't choose what to listen to. Put the 'pod on shuffle and accept what fate brings. It can be both a good thing and a bad thing; sometimes the music you listen to is so dissonant to how you feel that you mood changes immediately; other times it's so in tune with the place your head is in that you have to laugh or cry or dance. And you can't predict it.

When I used to carry a CD player to and from work, and before that a tape Walkman, there was a structure to my music. I packed a wallet with the CDs I was going to listen to, and each one had to be loaded into the player on its own. I could put the player on shuffle, but that was just choosing between 12 tracks, and more often than not I listened to an album in the order that the artist intended. And if there was an album or a track that I wanted to listen to but hadn't had the foresight to carry with me, I didn't get to hear it.

No longer.

Now, I've got 85% of our joint music collection hanging at my belt. I carry little classical music, and there are certain artists that feistyredhead likes that I don't, so they get excluded  in favour of others. 5000+ tracks, so when I put my 'pod on shuffle, there's a lot to choose from.

I was walking out of the tube station this morning, putting away the book on Anglo Saxon England that I bought yesterday and shifting from 'commuter' to 'trainer' when the following lyrics came in through my earphones and laid eggs in my brain.

"She lives with a broken man
A cracked polystyrene man
Who just crumbles and burns.
He used to do surgery
For girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins.
And it wears him out, it wears him out
It wears him out, it wears him out."

A cover version. Marillion covering Radiohead, singing live. Steve Hogarth Marillion at that.

It was like Whizzer and Chips or the Beano vs. the Dandy. Wolves vs. Liverpool. You could either be a Whizz-kid or a Chip-ite, not both. And you either liked Fish, or Steve Hogarth, but really if you tried to admit to liking both, you weren't really trying hard enough.

And for me, it was Fish all the way. I remember hearing Market Square Heroes at Bridget's house, and using my job at the local library to order in all of their previous albums on vinyl so that I could tape them to listen to; losing myself in the prog-rock stylings and fantastical stories, half growled, half sung in a Scottish falsetto. Grendel, for Gods sake! 17 minutes of guitar noodling and lyrics inspired by Anglo Saxon poetry released as a single! You either loved Fish, or you hated him, but you had to take a side.

Did I mention that I was 19 when Fish left Marillion? Just going to university with my walls covered with Mark Wilkinson's beautifully complex artwork - I still have photos from my room in Halls where 8 out of 10 of the posters you can see are Marillion album covers or tour posters.

So when Season's End came out, I didn't like it. No. Lets be honest. Before Season's End came out, I didn't like it. I didn't like Steve Hogarth's voice, and I didn't like the lyrics he wrote for the tunes that Fish had already written lyrics for. I'd planted my flag, and that wasn't going to change. And then antipathy turned to apathy, and the real reason I haven't bought any Marillion albums in the last 18 years is because there's always been other new music to listen to rather than any great principled stand.

But somehow, I have a Steve Hogarth track on my iPod. Admittedly, it's him covering Radiohead, but it's definitely him rather than Thom Yorke. And this morning, as I stepped into the sunlight after a weekend that was far more complex and stressful that I really needed it to be, Steve Hogarth started singing.

Her green plastic watering can
For her fake Chinese rubber plant
In fake plastic earth.
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plants
Just to get rid of itself.
And it wears her out, it wears her out
It wears her out, it wears her out.

I'm not a great fan of Radiohead - nothing against them particularly, but they've never really rang my bell before now. And I'm sure that I must have heard this cover version before, even though I have no idea at all how it got into my music collection. But this morning, it was like I'd heard this song for the first time ever. And not "heard this song for the first time when I'm in my late 30's and quite liked it", but "heard this song for the first time when I was a teenager and wanting to define the world, and hearing something that just makes it all make sense, whether for good or ill."

Partly, it's the lyrics. Those are beautifully painful words, describing, detailing and dismissing pain all at once. And, whatever I may have thought of him 18 years ago, Steve Hogarth can sing, and can inject vulnerability and humanity into his delivery.

Today the lyrics and the voice wrapped around me and reminded me in a vaguely schaudenfradic way that I'm alive, and so are the people I love. My friends are happy, and the things which were stressful about the weekend have a silver lining. The sun shines, and it's as easy to look up to the sky as it is to look down into the gutter.

This too shall pass; I know this.

But today, thanks to Thom Yorke and Steve Hogarth; today is a good day.

In that synchronous way that it sometimes does, my iPod started playing the Adagio in G Minor by Thomaso Albioni as I walked across to lunch, and the phrase ‘Death in Venice’ swam across my mind. It may have something to do with the fact I’m reading a Venitian murder mystery at present, but there was the strongest sense of place I’ve had from a piece of music for a long time. The music is not used in that film – it’s in Rollerball and Gallipoli. But Wikipedia tells me that Thomaso was born, lived and died Vèneto. I didn’t know.

Rollerball is, I think, one of the better films of the 70s. At the time it was released, I would have been 7. But I grew up in a rural district, and the nearest cinema was 8 miles away from home - 40 minutes on the circuitous route that the bus took. So instead, we had travelling cinemas - they would stick badly photocopied posters up in the bus shelters, turn up at community centres with an old projector and screen, lay the stacking chairs out in rows and charge 50p to watch a film. If you were lucky, they had a sweet stall. They sold orange juice in plastic cups with lids you struggled to punch the straw through. All cinemas did. And their films were never the ones on first release.

I remember seeing the posters for Rollerball - that stark image of Jonathan E. holding a steel globe in a spiked gauntlet, staring defiantly at the viewer. And I remember lying to my parents about what the film was so that I could go and see it - it had an AA certificate (which means I must have been no more than 12 or 13 when I went to see it - after that age, it would have had a 15).

What I remembered the first time through is the violence, of course. Motorbikes, spikes, roller skates, armour, and steel balls being fired out of cannon and the sickening crunch of what happens to someones head when it's left in the track of the ball. But also how exciting it was - how the violence was orchestrated to bring people to fever pitch. I didn't have nightmares about it, but I did question why I enjoyed such a violent film.

Now? Now the most sickening scene I can remember from the film isn't in the Rollerball arena - it's the scene where the aforementioned Adagio is playing. There has been a celebrity party to watch the television programme about Jonathan E, to mark his forced retirement from the game. No one man can be bigger than the game, after all. And a whole heap of liggers gather around to watch the show. When it's over, a group of them, obviously drunk or stoned or high or a combination of all three, go wandering off into the early morning mists with a flame gun - a little hand held pistol. And they start setting fire to trees, while this beautiful music plays, muffling the sound of the destruction.

Rollerball is about bread and circuses - it's about what do people do when they aren't being challenged, merely satiated.

To gloss over it as a violent film misses so much.

I know many people on here listen to the Pandora Music Genome Project - I have a number of radio stations on there.

Anyway - it's a sunny day, I'm doing a somewhat boring task on the computer. Putting some music on in the background wouldn't cause a problem.

Except the first station I log in to is my Electronica one, and the first song it plays is "What Time Is Love?" by the KLF.

I am bouncing in my seat and want to go dancing. Not quite the result I was hoping for, but it has reminded me that it's Planet Angel tonight!

I've just got the latest "The Streets" album, The Hardest Way To Make An Easy Living, and on it, when talking about a groupie, Mike Skinner refers to her as a sell-tale.

Beautiful.

There are few days that cannot be improved by playing William Orbit's remix of Adagio for Strings so loud that your office mates can hear it through your special noise-cancelling earphones.

Especially if you follow it up with Faithless's Salva Mea

I saw the birthday meme that everyone else was doing, so off I hied to Wikipedia to see what went on the date of my birth.

And one of the deaths stopped me in my tracks.

September '77
Port Elizabeth weather fine
It was business as usual
In police room 619

I shared a house with a guy called Chris in Manchester, who was a massive Peter Gabriel fan. So I saw video performances of the POV video more often than I care to remember. When Peter Gabriel was singing this song, the chanting and the feedback from the audience were breathtaking.

But I remember something else, even more. When it came to the song "Lay your hands on me" there would come a point when the crowd would be singing, and Peter Gabriel would turn his back on the crowd, spread his arms out wide, and fall back into them.

When I try to sleep at night
I can only dream in red
The outside world is black and white
With only one colour dead

It wasn't just crowd surfing, Chris told me. He'd been in the front row three or four times. Peter Gabriel was giving himself up to the crowd, trusting them to catch him. That's why he turned around. He couldn't catch someone's eye. He couldn't check that there were people there ready to catch him. All he could do was hope. Hope that people were listening. Hope that people understood. Hope that people were willing to catch him.

You can blow out a candle
But you can't blow out a fire
Once the flames begin to catch
The wind will blow it higher
Oh Biko, Biko, because Biko
Yihla Moja, Yihla Moja
-The man is dead

Once he fell, Peter Gabriel was in the arms of the crowd - as long as they were chanting, and as long as they were supporting him, he lay there. And when they were willing to return him to the stage, he went.

Why do this? It's overblown, it's corny, it's crass. It's all the things we can expect of a rock star playing to an audience. But Chris told me that every time Peter Gabriel started falling, he held his breath, because he was caught up in the moment of what was going on.

The above came to me in a rush of images, sounds and words, when I read the line in Wikipedia:

1977 - Steve Biko, South African anti-apartheid activist (b. 1946)

"It is better to die for an idea that will live, than to live for an idea that will die."

A post for lupercal, and for anyone else who might be interested:

Oi, lupercal,

were you aware of Beloved One (new album by Lou Rhodes, ex of Lamb) and Remixed by Lamb?

I've just been listening to Beloved One and it's very cool indeed - far more folky than Lamb, but still definitely Lou's voice, swooping like swallows.

And if the Post Office don't prove themselves to be the utter incompetents that they have been recently, I should have Remixed tomorrow.

I've just booked 2 tickets for Prom 54, more interestingly titled "A Symphony of Sorrowful Songs", also known as Gorecki's Third Symphony.

The best tickets are only £12.50, and there are still some left.

The only downside is that it's on Wednesday 24th August, starting at 10pm at the Albert Hall.

We're in block H if any of you feel like turning up.

http://tickets.royalalberthall.com/season/production.aspx?id=4651&src=t&monthyear= for more details.

The Streets: A Grand Don't Come for Free is a great album, but it's awful to write to - he's far too engaging a writer and poet to do anything else to. Once this track is finished (Blinded by the light - yup - been there. Definitely been there.) something more melodic is going on and the keyboard gets a workout.

Camden is hell on a Saturday, hot saturdays doubly so. Having said that, the genius on the Morrocan food stall saw me coming - I now have a big bag o' perverts food ((tm) the Aetheaneum Club) - olives, artichokes, feta cheese, wrapped vine leaves and the most amazing marinated wild garlic - it's like all the best bits of onions, garlic and spices. Just the smell of it made my mouth water and then the dealer vendor offered me a toothpick and said "The first taste is free ...."

Sarongs make great clothing. Sandals stop your feet burning on the stone. There's not a lot else necessary (and that may constitute TMI ...)

This flat is a little cold in winter but oh, my lord I reap the benefits in Summer. The basement is still pleasantly cold.

boglin and lupercal - you left a beer in the fridge. Thank you. :-)

and were at, or are interested in the Mozart we went to, the Guardian have given it 5 stars.

For those of you in London, Gorecki's Third Symphony, A Symphony of Sorrowful Songs is on at the Royal Albert Hall as part of the 2005 Proms.

The tickets are cheap, with the most expensive being £12.50.

The reason?

It's on a Wednesday, with the concert starting at 10pm.

I'm not organising a coach party, but I thought that some of you might be interested. (Though the thought of the Shadowbrook Arts Committee being a regular doyen of the London Classical Music Scene does tickle, I must admit.)

More information here if you're interested:

http://tickets.royalalberthall.com/season/production.aspx?id=4651&src=t&monthyear=8-2005

(With many thanks to westernind for the heads-up.)

Three evenings, three outings. Planet Angel on Friday, introducing good friends to one of my favourite places. Mutual bigging up (which yes, I started :-)) a little bit of dancing, a lot of conversation and warmth. Having my lovely girl realise that PA is based next to the yard featured as one of the encounters in The Getaway (after the 20th time we'd both walked past it).

Saturday started with a cafe breakfast (although I'm informed by our resident Ilfordian that it's pronounced caff) and then disappeared into a haze of DVDs and chatting as the afternoon wended its way slowly past outside. Bad Wolf was broached (though I'm not sure what was on screen counts as an explanation, and that's all I'm saying given that a lot of my friends still haven't seen the latest Dr. Who) and then All The Chinese Food In The World was eaten in honour of 4 birthdays; westernind, forbinproject, delvy and Roo WINOLJ. The table was split into near equal halves as the vegetarians congregated at one end and the omnivores at the other, for ease of sharing. It was quite suprising to me that so many of my friends are now vegetarian - I suppose I knew, but seeing the table split so equally really brought it home.

From Chinese meal to world music - 5 brave adventurers departed late into the evening to Hackney, and the 291 Gallery for Whirl-y-gig. Whirly and Planet Angel share many things in common, but one thing that struck me particularly over the weekend was the amount of people who refer to them as 'my club' - both seem to engender a sense of ownership in the people who attend; something that's deliberate on their parts. Planet Angel refers to itself as a party, and the visitors as party guests rather than clubbers. Whirly has much the same attitude. It makes them, to my mind, two of the friendliest clubs I've been to, and I guess that's why I keep going.

And then Sunday. Sunday was Mozart's Requiem. There were two orchestral Mozart pieces before the main event (though apparantly the woman playing the piano for the Piano Concherto was very famous - certainly she was very good, but she wasn't who I was there to see and listen to.)

I have a particular love for the human voice - I read somewhere many years ago that every musical instrument is doing its best to mimic the voice and frankly, in my opinion, none come close. The fact that this was the Levin rescoring of the Requiem, rather than the Sussmeyer version, which is the more familiar score, was exciting enough. My problem with Sussmeyer is the orchestra, and (weirdly) specifically the french horns; lumpy soft instruments that let the voices sink into them rather than bouncing them up to the sky.

And I was blown away.

The choir were magnificent; there wasn't one note that was less than exceptional. I tried to pick out a single thread of voice in the Great Amen and couldn't follow it because I kept getting distracted by the other threads wizzing past, weaving into a massive rope of sound that you could tether the Queen Mary with. During the Dies Irae the Altos spat one word out and then sucked the next one back in creating an echo and a hollow sound for the word to disappear into; angry, fearful - and the sort of effect that someone would find it hard to reproduce with a sequencer and a load of electronic equipment.

The Kyrie raised the hairs on the back of my neck. The Lacrimosa made me cry.

Lacrimosa dies illa
Sorrowful that day
qua resurget ex favilla,
when from the dust will arise
judicandus homo reus
guilty man to be judged
Huic ergo, parce, Deus
Spare him therefore, O God
Pie Jesu Domine, dona eis requiem, Amen.
Good Lord Jesus, grant them rest. Amen

Thank you to all that made it there; too many to list.

My weekend was spent in the company of my friends and those I love.

How does it get better than that?