What | Disappearers

DIS 006

Hello 2012.
We are working on new material and probably waying goodbye to a lot of the old one.
You’ve gotta leave what you love, right?

DIS 04 10 11

Hi,

To add your name(s) to the reduced £4 guestlist for the next D I S A P P E A R E R S gig,
please email:

giglist@disappearers.com

It’s at WHITE HEAT
(8-10 Brewer Street, London W1F 0SE)

Tuesday the 4th of October

Stage times:

20:30 D I S A P P E A R E R S

21:15 Dimbleby & Capper

22:00 La Shark

L.O.V.E. (more of it to come)

“There are professions more harmful than industrial design, but only a very few of them. And possibly only one profession is phonier. Advertising design, in persuading people to buy things they donʼt need, with money they donʼt have, in order to impress others who donʼt care, is probably the phoniest ﬁeld in existence today. Industrial design, by concocting the tawdry idiocies hawked by advertisers, comes a close second.”

Victor Papanek

DIS 005

Hello everyone,

we have been working on an album, writing and recording a bunch of new songs.

This is one of them.

Since getting picked up by the NME as one of the 50 best new bands of 2011, a lot of you have joined us online and we’d like to thank you for it.

Our next London gig will be on the 4th of October, at White Heat with the brilliant La Shark and Dimbleby & Capper. You can buy advance tickets for the event here.

We will also be announcing some gigs around the country very soon along with the odd secret show so make sure you are following us on twitter or facebook.

Until then,

L.O.V.E.

I Renounce Everything For It

I do not know whether there is Truth or not. But I instinctively feel that I cannot be without It. And I know that if It is, then It is everything for me: reason, and good, and strength, and life, and happiness. Perhaps It is not; but I love It – love is more than everything that exists. I already count It as existing, and I love It – though perhaps non-existent – with all my soul and all my thinking and dreaming. I renounce everything for It – even my questions and my doubts.

Pavel Florensky (1882-1943)

Disappearart

clickety click

Leave What You Love

E.S.L. (pt.2)

/δ\

Something’s Burning (pt.3)

over there

E.S.L.

Circles and Lines

In 1858, August Mobius dreamt up a shape with a single surface and only one edge. Make one by taking a strip of paper, putting a twist in it then attaching the two ends together.

DIS 004

Hello everyone.
We’ve been hiding away in the studio again, working on new songs and experimenting with our sound. You’ll be able to hear some of the changes at the following gigs:

31 / 03 / 2011 – Main support for Underground Railroad’s single launch @ The Victory, London

19 / 04 / 2011 – Main support for Singing Adams @ The Lexington, London

05 / 05 / 2011 – Headlining Young & Lost acoustic night & The Lock tavern, London

14 / 05 / 2011 – Dimbelby & Capper main support @ Old Blue Last, London

In other news, Florian Lunaire who sings in Disappearers is back to his old lyrical piano based music roots. He has started a new project of seasonly released E.P.s.The first one, Spring 2011 is out on the 11th of April on Records Records Records. If you are interested in hearing more about the project, make sure you check out his website or his Facebook page.

He sounds a little bit like this:

Florian Lunaire – Amsterdam by rcdsrcdsrcds

L.O.V.E.

1958

What awaits us is not oblivion but rather a future which, from our present vantage point, is best described as ‘postbiological’ or even ‘supernatural’. It is a world swept away by the tide of cultural change, usurped by its own artificial progeny

Hans Moravec, Robotics Institute , Carnegie Mellon University

Dissolve (pt.2)

Dissolve

Traces

(…) in fact, it was established that I would go through here without leaving any traces; and instead, every minute I spend here I am leaving more traces. I leave traces if I do not speak with anyone, since I stick out as a man who won’t open his mouth; I leave traces if I speak with someone because every word spoken is a word that remains and can crop up again later, with quotation marks or without. Perhaps this is why the author piles supposition on supposition in long paragraphs without dialogue, a thick, opaque layer of lead where I may pass unnoticed, disappear.

Italo Calvino, If On a Winter’s Night A Traveler

Steppenwolf (pt.4)

Music Of The Spheres

Take it for a spin.

Steppenwolf (pt.3)

The architecture of the Minotaur’s heart is ancient. Rough and many chambered, his heart is a plodding laborious thing, built for churning through millennia. But the blood it pumps-the blood it has pumped for five thousand years, the blood it will pump for the rest of his life-is nearly human blood. It carries with it, through his monster’s veins, the weighty, necessary, terrible stuff of human existence: fear, wonder, hope, wickedness, love. But in the Minotaur’s world it is far easier to kill and devour seven virgins year after year, their rattling bones rising at his feet like a sea of crackled ice, than to accept tenderness and return it.

At home in bed the Minotaur doesn’t remember what he said to Kelly, if anything. She put her hand on top of his. He tosses and turns throughout the night, maybe sleeps, maybe not.

Steven Sherill, The Minotaur Takes A Cigarette Break

▲ ▲▲ ▲▲▲▲ ▲▲ ▲ ▲

Decaparecidos

For the purposes of this Convention, forced disappearance is considered to be the act of depriving a person or persons of his or their freedom, in whatever way, perpetrated by agents of the state or by persons or groups of persons acting with the authorization, support, or acquiescence of the state, followed by an absence of information or a refusal to acknowledge that deprivation of freedom (…)

Article II, Inter American Convention on Forced Disappearance of Persons

Distortions Of The Self

John Stezaker, Mask IV, Mask LXV & Mask XCI

The Lifting Of The Veil (pt.2)

‎”You’re obliged to pretend respect for people and institutions you think absurd. You live attached in a cowardly fashion to moral and social conventions you despise, condemn and know lack all foundation. It is that permanent contradiction between your ideas and desires and all the dead formalities and vain pretences of your civilization, which makes you sad, troubled and unbalanced.”

Octave Mirbeau

The Lifting Of The Veil

Peter Eremian, Little House Goes Boom
Introduced by our dear friends at Shoppinghour

Something’s Burning (pt.2)

“You know what I think?” she says. “That people’s memories are maybe the fuel they burn to stay alive. Whether those memories have any actual importance or not, it doesn’t matter as far as the maintenance of life is concerned. They’re all just fuel. Advertising fillers in the newspaper, philosophy books, dirty pictures in a magazine, a bundle of ten-thousand-yen bills: when you feed’em to the fire, they’re all just paper. The fire isn’t thinking, ‘Oh, this is Kant,’ or ‘Oh, this is the Yomiuri evening edition,’ or ‘Nice tits,’ while it burns. To the fire, they’re nothing but scraps of paper. It’s the exact same thing. Important memories, not-so-important memories, totally useless memories: there’s no distinction-they’re all just fuel.”

Haruki Murakami, After Dark

Boom

One Can

confess all the sins

Steppenwolf (pt.2)

‘The earth seemed unearthly. We are accustomed to look upon the the shackled form of a conquered monster, but there – there you could look at a thing monstrous and free. It was unearthly, and the men were – No, they were not inhuman. Well, you know, that was the worst of it – this suspicion of their not being inhuman…’

Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

It’s Been Way Too Long

No More Men

Chancelade was no longer the center. He was only a particle going round in the maelstrom, swept along, jostled, drained of all resistance. His name disappeared. His consciousness disappeared. And soon he vanished into the void, lost somewhere in the midst of the rout, become a piece of wood, a used match, a crumpled old ball of paper rolling faster and faster towards the mouth of the gutter. And nothing else remained certain but this infinite series of boxes one inside the other: the bed in the room, the room in the hotel, the hotel in the town, the town in the country, the country in the world, the world in the solar system, the solar system in the galaxy, the galaxy in the total of galaxies, the total of galaxies in space, space in space, space in space, space in space. There were no more men, no more women, no more anything anywhere. Just perfect and magnificent extension, empty extension, without a word, without a thought, without a gesture that might make it possible to measure, or understand, or even guess.

Le Clezio, Terra Amata

(thank you Nadine Khouri)

Kipple

‘…this building, except for my apartment, is completely kipple-ized.’

‘Kipple-ized?’ She did not comprehend.

‘Kipple is useless objects, like junk mail or match folders after you use the last match or gum wrappers or yesterday’s hompeopape. When nobody’s around, kipple reproduces itself. For instance, if you go to bed leaving any kipple around your apartment, when you wake up the next morning there’s twice as much of it. It always gets more and more.’

‘I see.’ The girl regarded him with uncertainty, not knowing whether to believe him. Not sure if he meant it seriously.

‘There’s the First Law of Kipple,’ he said. ‘”Kipple drives out nonkipple.” Like Gresham’s law about bad money and in these apartments there’s been nobody there to fight the kipple.’

‘So it has taken over completely,’ the girl finished. She nodded. ‘Now I understand.’(…)

‘We can’t win … No one can win against kipple’, he said, ‘except temporarily and maybe in one spot, like in my apartment I’ve sort of created a stasis between the pressure of kipple and nonkipple, for the time being. But eventually I’ll die or go away, and then the kipple will again take over. It’s a universal principle operating throughout the universe; the entire universe is moving toward a final state of total absolute kipple-ization.’

Philip K.Dick Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

My Almost Unseen Friend

‘Pardon me,’ a voice whispered out of the shadows, ‘has this guy really won a hundred and forty thousand bucks?’

‘Yes, sir, I have won them,’ Dr Hasselbacher said firmly before Wormold could reply, ‘I have won them as certainly as you exist, my almost unseen friend. You would not exist if I didn’t believe you existed, nor would those dollars. I believe, therefore you are.’

‘What do you mean I wouldn’t exist?’

‘You exist only in my thoughts , my friend. If I left this room…’

‘You’re nuts.’

‘Prove you exist then.’

‘What do you mean, prove? Of course I exist. I’ve got a first-class business in real estate: a wife and a couple of kids in Miami: I flew this morning by Delta: I’m drinking this Scotch, aren’t I?’ The voice contained a hint of tears.

‘Poor fellow,’ Dr Hasslebacher said, ‘you deserve a more imaginative creator than I have been. Why didn’t I do better for you than Miami and real estate. Something of imagination. A name to be remembered.’

‘What’s wrong with my name?’

Graham Greene, Our Man In Havana

ABCs

Steppenwolf

“I suppose this represents Man’s innate urge to destroy,” she said, kicking a ball of crumpled paper across the floor. “And next time he tries to bite you, it’ll be Man’s basic insecurity.”

“You don’t know what a bore you are when you try to be caustic. If you want me to get rid of him, I will. It’s easy enough.”

She bent to touch the animal, but it backed uneasily under the bunk. She stood up. “I don’t mind him. What I mind is you. He can’t help being a little horror, but he keeps reminding me that you could if you wanted.”

Her husband’s face assumed the impassivity that was characteristic of him when he was determined not to lose his temper. She knew he would wait to be angry until she was unprepared for his attack . He said nothing, tapping an insisting rhythm on the lid of a suitcase with his fingernails.

“Naturally I don’t mean you’re a horror,” she continued.

“Why not mean it?” he said, smiling pleasantly. “What’s wrong with criticism? Probably I am, to you. I like monkeys because I see them as little model men. You think men are something else, something spiritual or God knows what. Whatever it is, I notice you’re the one who’s being disillusioned and going around wondering how mankind can be so bestial. I think mankind’s fine.”

“Please don’t go on,” she said. “I know your theories. You’ll never convince yourself of them.”

Paul Bowles, Call at Corazón

سورة التكوير

‘Coursers’ is given for jawar, the plural of jariya, meaning something that is in motion. The planets appear to move through the sky. ‘Disappearers’ is given for kunnas, the plural of kanis, meaning something that conceals itself in its place, like a gazelle conceals itself in its home. So it reads: ‘I swear not by the planets in motion that return to their heavenly station and run their orbit and then conceal themselves in their places.’ For in the beginning of the night one sees the planets have returned from their concealment, then he sees their movement and thereafter their disappearance.

Muhammad Shirazi, Translating Surah At Takwir

Only Love, It’s Only Love

Taken at First Love Studios, Nottingham.

Million Wishes

‘Heaven is democratic these days’, she said. Then added, ‘Or at least if you want it to be.’

‘What do you mean, democratic?’

‘We don’t impose Heaven on people any more,’ she said. ‘We listen to their needs. If they want it, they can have it; if not, not. And then of course they get the sort of Heaven they want.’

‘And what do they want on the whole?’ (…)

‘It varies. But if I were being honest, I’d say that it doesn’t vary all that much. (…) Everyone has the option to die off if they want to.’

‘And who asks for death the soonest?’ (…)

‘Well, I’m afraid – to answer your question – that the people who ask for death the earliest are a bit like you. People who want an eternity of sex, beer, drugs, fast cars – that sort of thing. They can’t believe their luck at first, and then, a few hundred years later, they can’t believe their bad luck. That’s the sort of people they are, they realize. They’re stuck with being themselves. Millennia after millennia of being themselves. They tend to die off soonest.’

Julian Barnes, A History Of The World in 10½ Chapters

Laplace’s Demon

The Game of Life

You might wake up in the middle of it.

Not too Cool

“At times like this curiously, you begin to think of the things you regret… Or the things you might miss… I would like in general to treat people with much more care, and respect. I would like to climb a tall hill – not too tall – sit in the cool grass – but not too cool – and feel the sun on my face… I wish I could have cracked the Lindbergh kidnapping case. I would very much like to make love to a beautiful woman who I had genuine affection for… And of course it goes without saying that I would like to visit Tibet… I wish they could get their country back and the Dalai Lama could return… Oh I would like that very much.”

Octavia

Now I will tell how Octavia, the spider web city, is made. There is a precipice between two steep mountains: the city is over the void, bound to the two crests with ropes and chains and catwalks. You walk on the little wooden ties, careful not to set your foot in the open spaces, or you cling to the hempen strands. Below there is nothing for hundreds and hundreds of feet: a few clouds glide past; farther down you can glimpse the chasm’s bed.

This is the foundation of the city: a net which serves as a passage and as a support. All the rest, instead of rising up, is hung below: rope ladders, hammocks, houses made like sacks, clothes hangers, terraces like gondolas, skins of water, gas jets, spits, baskets on strings, dumbwaiters, showers, trapezes and rings for children’s games, cable cars, chandeliers, pots with trailing plants.

Suspended over the abyss, the life of Octavia’s inhabitants is less uncertain than in other cities. They know the net will last only so long…

Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

1 / 3

A Thousand Relationships

Govinda no longer saw the face of his friend Siddhartha. Instead he saw other faces, many faces, a long series, a continuous stream of faces -hundreds, thousands, which all came and disappeared and yet all seemed to be there at the same time (…).He saw the face of a fish, of a carp, with tremendous painfully opened mouth, a dying fish with dimmed eyes. He saw the face of a newly born child, red and full of wrinkles, ready to cry. He saw the face of a murderer, saw him plunge a knife into the body of a man; at the same moment he saw this criminal kneeling down, bound, and his head cut off by an executioner. He saw the naked bodies of men and women in the postures and transports of passionate love. (…) He saw all these forms and faces in a thousand relationships to each other, all helping each other, loving, hating and destroying each other(…)

Herman Hesse, Siddhartha

Time Runs in a Circle

6000000000000

“It’s very difficult, in fact nearly impossible, to escape the human world entirely and live in another. A very few people can do a Thoreau or a Ted Kaczynski – but even they still live in a fairly human world, only a few miles from town, able to walk or bike to the grocery store and to have their laundry done. There are a few hunters and trappers, prospectors and miners; a few lighthouse keepers, fire watchers, anchorites, disappearers. But even they usually rely on human artifacts, and in any case they don’t always last long. Chris McCandless set off to try it in Alaska and starved to death in a matter of weeks, a few miles from a highway. And the vast majority of us can’t even do that much, or anything like it – not with six billion people on the planet…”

Ophelia Benson

Float On

PennyWebb, 6 Word Story

I Will Disappear

More than anything else, what Quinn liked to do was walk. New York was a labyrinth of endless steps and no matter how far he walked, it always left him with the feeling of being lost. Each time he took a walk, he felt he was leaving himself behind. By giving himself up to the streets, by reducing himself to a seeing eye, he was able to escape thinking. All places became equal and on his best walks, he was able to feel that he was nowhere. This was all he ever asked of things: to be nowhere. New York was the nowhere he had built around himself and he had no intention of ever leaving it again.

Paul Auster, The New York Trilogy