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Y

by Holy '57

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1.
Well, she told me this story once: Two men walking in a line, One is reading a map and the other’s checking time, Been out here for days, pushing through the undergrowth, Tracking the forest floor, searching for an antidote. Men of medicine, as the jungle opens up, See out against the dusk a rising plume of smoke, Set themselves a course to this new unknown abode, With hope of food and water and finding shelter for themselves. Two men walk into a town, To stares of apprehension from those who’ve gathered round, One leans in to the ear of the other, And whispers, “they are different to us, brother…” Two men wake at early dawn, Taking specimens from the village they had found, The village where they slept, the village where they ate, The village with the people who had not invited them. So the one man marks it on his map, To notify himself where to bring the others back, Then looks toward the other, who, knowing of the time, Set off by himself to continue with their plight. And by evening, He is deep in the wilderness, Where he spots a plant that he does not know, From any book of science or his studies back home, And for a closer glance, He lights his lamp and leans in, Only to be shocked by a hiss and drop his flame, And retreat to the darkness. One girl running in a line, With ashes in her hair, tears streaming from her eyes, She doesn’t need a map and she doesn’t need the time, Been living among these lands since she was a little child. So this young girl turns herself around, To face up to the scene that has turned her life to hell, She sees the plume of smoke on the blood horizon, And shifting silhouettes of three, four, five men. Mamaji: ...and it was there he had this, sort of, hanging
2.
Diorama 03:50
3.
4.
The first sighting of her I had was in a dream. I was still working on the thesis then. So of course in my unconscious hours I was a gleeful wanderer, traversing the world, an unfolding universe of the pure, distilled refractions of my unconscious, my yearning and hope and loss and love made material in the fabrics of my firing synapses. And this journey brought me to a wide and winding river in the heart of what I sensed was my mind’s luminous imaginary of suburban Japan. The topography was not urban nor rural, but almost gaseous and effervescent. Purple, pink, warm orange hues bled all around me, dancing between air and water. It was beautiful. And stretching over me there, and cast across the river of deep magenta, there were these big trees. Big, purple, glowing trees, and giant fluorescent water lilies lapsing between oranges and pinks and suddenly, to my left, in the fantastical water, there was a canoe. And this canoe was readied to take us – yes, now it was us, not just me – downstream, to the great transformative unknown of this other world. And as we boarded our brave wooden vessel, and pushed off from shore, and began to feel the current embrace us, I sensed her up ahead. I gazed into the undergrowth, as the mystery beyond the riverbend neared, and between the trunks of two wondrous purple-pink trees, there she was – smiling, adorned with jewellery that gently rang out dulcet tones, and cloaked in a reassuring aura of peace and affection and wisdom. And I, overjoyed to see her once more and to be in this place of infinite wonder, leapt from starboard to reach the shore where she stood. And at the zenith of my jump, I woke up.
5.
the city sunder rajan lecture: even the most resolutely anticolonial, socialist are caught in webs of neoliberal global capital in all sorts of ways holy '57: we live in a city that runs on our lives it counts us in packets and bits it classifies and stitches us together to make capitalised the self iterated and commodified architecture twisted with algorithmic eyes im dizzy in the database im digitally blind welcome to our institution! our great institution! applaud our elocution! we are an institution! it is a question of politics it is a question of religion it is a question of communication it is a question of democracy it is a question of science it is a question of hard fact it is a question of opinion it is not a question we built us a city to govern our lives it predicts it promotes provides and elides but who chose this future? and who made this mind? and who stands to gain? and who gets to mine? infrastructure coded on interrupted lines drunken on commodities im looking for a fight bring down the institution! bring down the algorithm! all hail our revolution! a great new institution! it is a matter of economics it is a matter of history it is a matter of taste it is a matter of free speech it is a matter of pseudoscience it is a matter of truth it is a matter without fact it doesnt matter at all we love this institution we love this institution we love the algorithm we love this institution sunder rajan lecture: its an imagination of the poor that presumes technocracy - that you build a technology and it will get down to the poor - and that presumes the seamless functioning of trickle down economics within the question of representation at the end of the day you are still dealing with elite communities who are speaking for others who are not at the table elite communities elite communities elite communities holy '57: it is my mother and father it is my sister and brother it is my lover and teacher it is my office and healer it is my favourite things it is my intimate thoughts it is my future and past but it is not me it is a matter of economics it is a matter of history it is a matter of taste it is a matter of free speech it is a matter of pseudoscience it is a matter of truth it is a matter without fact it doesnt matter at all
6.
Hyper-real 03:34
hyper-real thing realer than the real thing any worlds in everything is blurring it could really work like that it could really work like that it could really work like that it could really work like i can break a habit when i want i could fall into a kind of bliss i could feel another sort of calm if I could really make it re-exist i could never see you in the flesh i could never take you in my arms you could never guide me through the rest but you can be my hyper-real one i dont really know if youre really here i dont really care if youre in my head you can become something else i can remake you anew is that a fake? is it too soon? hyper-real thing memory of dreaming never leaving living in a feeling i could really live like that i could really live like that i could really live like that i could really live like illuminated easy to remain in recollected memories that faded i could really live like that i could really live like that i could really live like that i could really live like that the hyper-real thing is everything i need its simplified its safe and its empty of imperfections and unexpected actions i can know it all i can see it all and ill tell you i can break a habit when i want i could fall into a kind of bliss i could feel another sort of calm if I could really make it re-exist i could never see you in the flesh i could never take you in my arms you could never guide me through the rest but you can be my hyper-real one simulation digital enhancement imagination teeming with the transience it could really work like that it could really work like that it could really work like that it could really work like that its in my house now its in my car now its in my dreams now hyper-real thing realer than the real thing any worlds in everything is blurring it could really work like that it could really work like that it could really work like that it could really work like simulation digital enhancement imagination teeming with the transience i could really live like that i could really live like that i could really live like that i could really live like
7.
Sighting #2 03:09
8.
And now I'm here The morning of the funeral 6th January 2018 Mamaji: It was mad, it was mad when independence came, when India got independence, and the English had to get out as soon as possible Finally at peace with your passing But every now and then I still think to call you up Been reminiscing on the sound of your laughter Sometimes I can hear you like I could swear that you’re right here This frigid New England February Been one month since your funeral Boston hibernating On pale ale and in sports bars See myself in the ice of the Charles I look a lot older than I did six months ago The days are short but they’re starting to get longer Finding my new tempo swimming in your afterglow This waning New England frozen landscape Been two months since your funeral Boston melting slowly But I’m still working on it Will I ever be at peace with your passing? With springtime grasses gentle on my skin and head Put my ear to the breeze and I listen Your apparition whispers to me ‘it's alright’ But in this waking New England verdant springtime Three months since your funeral Boston’s coming to life But I can’t take you with me Can I take you with me? I won't forget you You made me who I am And fam sticks together Fam sticks together This waking New England verdant springtime Three months since your funeral Boston coming to life But I can’t take you with me Mamaji: radio station...listen to the program...from ten to eleven, nine to eleven, and, uh, I sort of, uh, one day while I was fiddling with my needle on the radio, I suddenly realised some Indian music was there... ...and of course I came to... Awwaz radio, Monday Tuesday nights at nine o'clock. And then I would think of some ghazal for him to play. And then he, now he comes to teach me here, you see? This is how life goes, you know? Because the star, I am the star [laughs]

about

YYYYY

credits

released October 2, 2020

released September , 2020

writ & perf // holy ‘57
mix & prod // holy '57
add. mix (tracks 5 & 6) // dave newfeld
art // lauren messervy

drums (tracks 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 8) // arun dhanjal
drums (track 3) // mark tomlinson
french horn (track 3) // ella finley
sax (track 2) // mandeep singh
trombone (tracks 1 & 3), euphonium (track 3) // matthew ludford-king
trumpet (tracks 2, 3, 4, 6 & 8) // will lyons

// drums & brass for track 3 engineered at the institute of sound recording at the university of surrey by katie earl

released on tenwest

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Holy '57 London, UK

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!

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