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[Hermetico]

 

[Hermetico]

 

[Ratamahatta]

 

[roksi]

 

[maheem]

 

[Jimmy Kowalski]

 

[Common]

 

[Ratamahatta]

 

[Hermetico]

 

[beyoncé]

[Lena]

 

[beyoncé]

 

o kolekcionarima leptira i sećanjima

 

Spoiler

You’ve probably noticed by now: The Clientele are obsessed with the aesthetic processing of time and memory. Alasdair MacLean does a lot of remembering in his lyrics, and a lot of reflecting on the act of remembering itself. It’s a cycle of synthesis — not analysis — since he’s combining fragments of his life instead of merely taking them apart. 

 

You might also recall that The Clientele were once called The Butterfly Collectors. Though I doubt this name (or joke) was actually a reference to my favorite lepidopterist, Vladimir Nabokov, I’m going to pretend like it was for the sake of argument here. Nabokov’s memoir, “Speak Memory,” is as fragmentary as The Clientele is, jumping from moment to moment in no particular order, with some details standing out more than others simply because the human mind works that way.

 

In the book, Nabokov illustrates the process of memory as a flat circle or spiral — not a terribly uncommon analogy. (For the less literary, the show “True Detective” even considers time in the same way.) For Nabokov, though, the circle of life mentality is a direct reference to German philosopher G.W.F. Hegel’s triadic series, writing that it expresses “the essential spirality of all things in relation to time." 

 

Nabokov viewed his own life as “a colored spiral in a small ball of glass,” with each curve of the spiral representing a different aspect of Hegel’s triad — thesis (a verbless concept), antithesis (the opposite of that verbless concept) and synthesis (a compromise between the previous two concepts). According to Nabokov, as “twirl follows twirl, and every synthesis is the thesis of the next series,“ the spiral signifies in a person’s life "growth, improvement, elaboration, change.”

Likewise, within many songs by The Clientele, there are two contrasting ideas that reach some kind of balance in the end. I’ve already noted how this process — more complex than a simple compare and contrast — is a lot like haiku, but on Strange Geometry the references to memory immediately recall Nabokov’s Hegelian spiral.

 

The most obvious example is “Losing Haringey,” a spoken word piece set to some of The Clientele’s prettiest instrumentation. It comes near the end of Strange Geometry, underscoring the album’s central theme: the “synthesis” of loss and acceptance.

 

In the story, the narrator finds himself reflecting on one restless summer with the usual marks of serious malaise: a dead-end job, a crummy love life, and “a kind of fever” that, in his case, would ”[push] him out the front door” and into the “exhaust-fumed” streets. On one stand-out evening, he can’t even afford a drink at the pub, so after listening to his neighbors through the walls of his room he decides to appease his anxiety and go on a walk. 

 

He walks and walks because there is nothing else to do, ending up somewhere new just as the light begins to fade. He finds a cluster of benches on the street, and “feeling like shit,” sits down and buries his head in his hands. Suddenly, a cool breeze allows him to escape his thoughts for a moment, and he looks up to realize he’s sitting inside a slightly underexposed photograph taken by his mother in 1982.

 

Looking back on the moment, he finds “there’s nothing to grasp, no starting point.” It’s just another twirl in the spiral of his life, curled up underneath the hot summer night. At the same time, he’s floored by the “feeling of 1982-ness” — the tug of his childhood innocence — but also the inconsolable sadness that it’s “all gone, gone forever.” 

 

Ultimately, this surreal nostalgic experience puts his current life into perspective. He realizes everything we do and love and think and feel will come and go, but he doesn’t just dwell on the loss: He’s happy to sit in the photo for as long as he can. Though it will inevitably end, as all things do, he will learn and grow and forge ahead.

 

Life goes on, the spiral keeps moving; “I did want a drink after all,“ he says, and so the song ends.

 

[Lancia]

11 minutes ago, beyoncé said:

 

o kolekcionarima leptira i sećanjima

 

  Reveal hidden contents

You’ve probably noticed by now: The Clientele are obsessed with the aesthetic processing of time and memory. Alasdair MacLean does a lot of remembering in his lyrics, and a lot of reflecting on the act of remembering itself. It’s a cycle of synthesis — not analysis — since he’s combining fragments of his life instead of merely taking them apart. 

 

You might also recall that The Clientele were once called The Butterfly Collectors. Though I doubt this name (or joke) was actually a reference to my favorite lepidopterist, Vladimir Nabokov, I’m going to pretend like it was for the sake of argument here. Nabokov’s memoir, “Speak Memory,” is as fragmentary as The Clientele is, jumping from moment to moment in no particular order, with some details standing out more than others simply because the human mind works that way.

 

In the book, Nabokov illustrates the process of memory as a flat circle or spiral — not a terribly uncommon analogy. (For the less literary, the show “True Detective” even considers time in the same way.) For Nabokov, though, the circle of life mentality is a direct reference to German philosopher G.W.F. Hegel’s triadic series, writing that it expresses “the essential spirality of all things in relation to time." 

 

Nabokov viewed his own life as “a colored spiral in a small ball of glass,” with each curve of the spiral representing a different aspect of Hegel’s triad — thesis (a verbless concept), antithesis (the opposite of that verbless concept) and synthesis (a compromise between the previous two concepts). According to Nabokov, as “twirl follows twirl, and every synthesis is the thesis of the next series,“ the spiral signifies in a person’s life "growth, improvement, elaboration, change.”

Likewise, within many songs by The Clientele, there are two contrasting ideas that reach some kind of balance in the end. I’ve already noted how this process — more complex than a simple compare and contrast — is a lot like haiku, but on Strange Geometry the references to memory immediately recall Nabokov’s Hegelian spiral.

 

The most obvious example is “Losing Haringey,” a spoken word piece set to some of The Clientele’s prettiest instrumentation. It comes near the end of Strange Geometry, underscoring the album’s central theme: the “synthesis” of loss and acceptance.

 

In the story, the narrator finds himself reflecting on one restless summer with the usual marks of serious malaise: a dead-end job, a crummy love life, and “a kind of fever” that, in his case, would ”[push] him out the front door” and into the “exhaust-fumed” streets. On one stand-out evening, he can’t even afford a drink at the pub, so after listening to his neighbors through the walls of his room he decides to appease his anxiety and go on a walk. 

 

He walks and walks because there is nothing else to do, ending up somewhere new just as the light begins to fade. He finds a cluster of benches on the street, and “feeling like shit,” sits down and buries his head in his hands. Suddenly, a cool breeze allows him to escape his thoughts for a moment, and he looks up to realize he’s sitting inside a slightly underexposed photograph taken by his mother in 1982.

 

Looking back on the moment, he finds “there’s nothing to grasp, no starting point.” It’s just another twirl in the spiral of his life, curled up underneath the hot summer night. At the same time, he’s floored by the “feeling of 1982-ness” — the tug of his childhood innocence — but also the inconsolable sadness that it’s “all gone, gone forever.” 

 

Ultimately, this surreal nostalgic experience puts his current life into perspective. He realizes everything we do and love and think and feel will come and go, but he doesn’t just dwell on the loss: He’s happy to sit in the photo for as long as he can. Though it will inevitably end, as all things do, he will learn and grow and forge ahead.

 

Life goes on, the spiral keeps moving; “I did want a drink after all,“ he says, and so the song ends.

 

Swatka je ova u kapici 

[beyoncé]

i ja sam to prvo pomislila! 

[Ratamahatta]