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Ghost Light: remixes from 'the light comes in the name of the voice'

by various artists

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For the memory of the moon, Shone too bright and gone too soon. Empty sky and earth below, Who can show us what we’re losing? Show us when we’ve done? Will we ever now be ready for the darker nights to come? Hold the center fast and steady, for the fight is never won, and never fair, and never pretty. Singin’ Die dat da da, dah History comes a cold parade, Bridges burned, plans we never made. Some days like a clock unwound, And the other days are burning, see- The turning of the wheel. While the spokes are fast and many, at the center is what’s real. At the center it is empty, and the emptiness is still, amongst the pain, and amongst the plenty, Singin’ Die dat da da, dah (So we) Pray to the god of the old town square, Pray to the gods of the people who were there. Pray to the god of the great undone, For the ones who came before us, And the one’s who’ve yet to come. They are waiting in the spaces far behind the empty sun. Their illuminated faces as they take our place and run! Singin’ Die dat da da da, die dat da da da, Die sat da da da da da…
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There is dying, for example, which I have never done, and presumably will only do once. I wonder if it will feel familiar, like falling asleep, like my dreams of falling off a high place, like fear or surprise. There’s being in a place and thinking, I will never come here again. There’s being in a place again unexpectedly and saying, remember when we were here last time? There’s my birthday, or your birthday, which we celebrate differently. A birthday feels particularly present tense, even in its here-we-are-again. A celebration of another nowness. I don’t feel I’ve accomplished anything on my birthday, but sometimes I look back at the procession of birthdays as though they are a parade, or a precious collection. Thirty-one opportunities to say, here I am. In my childhood home in San Francisco there was a green tinted skylight on the ceiling above the entryway, and a burn in the white linoleum kitchen floor from one time that I dropped the iron. I will probably never go back there, but I dream about it sometimes, making circles in my mind, returning home. There are smaller circles: every morning I make coffee. Every few days I water the plants in my house. I talk to my mom on the phone. I drink water, I write a check to my landlords, I walk the same way to the grocery store (down hirsch and up washtenaw, back way through the parking lot). On Sundays we make a special meal, except when we’re busy on Sunday, and then we do it on a different day. I check my email. (Is that a circle?) Is brushing my teeth a circle? When I was young my favorite thing about halloween was organizing my candy into like piles: three snickers bars, seven tootsie rolls, two packets of skittles. I stretch the circles out; like untangling my hair. I put their components into like piles; collections of varying size and preciousness. I make coffee twenty thousand times in a row, have thirty-one birthdays, kiss you seven thousand times.
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if the hole if the bridge if a crash if the land if fifty-seven years if the point if the point if they will if you can't if a bridge if a shelter if a shelter if a shelter if a shelter if a shelter if preparation involves if a shelter if the best if there is if the only if a necessity if they follow if they follow if they follow if you could if you stopped if while stopped if it's raining if you don't if you find a spot to let the rain in to let the rain in to let the rain in to let the rain in to let the rain in to let the rain in to let the rain in to let the rain in to let the rain in to let the rain in to let the rain in to let the rain in to let the rain

about

In September 2020, eleven artists were sent fragments of audio from 'the light comes in the name of the voice,' an opera and gallery installation. They were given the task of responding, recontextualizing, and remixing these materials into something new. The result is an album of new audiovisual work, an experiment in collaboration across pandemic, and a collective prayer. A team of remixers — composed of musicians, writers, farmers, performance artists, chefs, woodworkers, and more — carry the music in new directions and offer a collaborative look into the abyss.

Anthony Sims' full remix of 'The Ghost in Hamlet Dines' is available here: youtu.be/SfrjXBg7G2U

The full seven-hour documentation of 'the light comes in the name of the voice' is available here: youtu.be/6_3FmHJdLXY

All proceeds from this album will be donated to Brave Space Alliance www.bravespacealliance.org

credits

released October 28, 2020

Remixes by Eric Capper, Nadine Dyskant-Miller, Clay Gonzalez, Jordan Knecht, Lia Kohl, Perry Maddox, Paige Naylor, Ethan T. Parcell, Seth Sexton, and Anthony Sims. Also featuring Simon Anderson, Noah Fishman, and Emma C. Sloan. Special thanks to Ellie Mejía, Katie Giritlian, Matthew Goulish, Roberto Sifuentes, Mark Jeffery, Jamie Irene, Fran Rudolph, Letitia Marie Pratt, Lasondra L Kern, Shama Kipfer-Tessler, Jin Charlie Kang, Lindsey Barlag-Thornton, SITE Galleries at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

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about

Corey Smith Chicago, Illinois

composer, writer, performer, midwest enthusiast, aspiring ghost

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