Jon Hassell’s 1977 debut Vernal Equinox was reissued earlier this year, garlanded with terms like “seminal” and sleeve notes from Brian Eno praising the US trumpeter’s “dreamy, strange, meditative music”. He is now 83, an age when retrospectives and appreciations dominate discussions of a musician’s career. This laudatory attention is double-edged: respect is laced by the implication that the work is over. But Hassell isn’t done yet.  In 2018, he ended a nine-year wait between albums of new material with Listening to Pictures (Pentimento Volume One). Its follow-up is Seeing Through Sound (Pentimento Volume Two). Both records are inspired by the visual arts term “pentimento”, which describes a change made to a painting while it is being created, hidden by the artist under new layers of paint. Over time, as the paint fades, these secret signs of alteration can show up on the canvas. 

Hassell’s version of this effect, made in collaboration with various musical accompanists, is based around a contrast between formlessness and shapes. Ambient hums and drones stretch into the distance, a gently undulating electronic landscape. Against this horizontal plane, patterns emerge. Some take the discursive shape of contemporary jazz, as in “Delicado”. Others have a world-music aspect, like the wind instrument melodies blowing through “Fearless” — a reminder of the 1980 album that he made with Eno, Fourth World, Vol 1: Possible Musics, which fused ancient and modern musical styles from around the world (or an invented globe).


  • jon hassel


Floris Vanhoof, lauréat du Young Belgian Art Prize en 2015 est connu pour ses performances ou installations qui mêlent son, image et lumière. Venez découvrir plusieurs installations en écho avec nos collections muséales dont un zootrope bricolé par l’artiste : “À une époque où les informations se succèdent à un rythme effréné, s’immobiliser devant l’archéologie des médias est une affaire pertinente. Je suis impatient d’ajouter aux vitrines de la collection permanente des éléments de ma propre collection de fossiles pour essayer ainsi d’approcher la préhistoire du cinéma dans la perspective de notre propre préhistoire…”

Entrée libre pendant les heures d’ouverture du musée.


  • floris vanhoof
  • zorro3

The last time I ever saw the Dead play was August 6, 1974 in Jersey City, NJ. My good friend, Kevin Riley, had suggested getting tickets right when they went on sale. At that time, the Dead had not really achieved the massive success they soon would, but they were already pretty damn popular. As was witnessed by the fact they were playing a stadium in Jersey, rather than a theater or somewhere in NYC. Although, in my memory, they kinda eschewed NYC for a while after the Fillmore East closed. But even before then, they had played better shows just outside the city, like the string of nights at the Capitol Theater in Port Chester, where I'd first seen them, back when I was in prep school.

Regardless, by '74 the Dead seemed to be a bit anachronistic. If you don't remember, '74 was really the year where glam started to make inroads, at least among the exurbs of NYC, which is where I lived. It's hard to explain how fast things changed after the first NY Dolls album came out in spring '73, but they did.

New York Dolls never really got much airplay or anything. So it didn't have the kind of general societal impact as records like TransformerZiggy Stardust and All the Young Dudes had in '72. But the Dolls were almost local, and a whole musical generation younger than ReedBowie and Hunter. Hip local Jersey bands had mostly been doing that Dead/Allmans/Band sorta boogie (a trend which hit its apex at Summer Jam, where just those three bands traded sets, in July '73). But as we got deeper into 1973, a bunch of these bands switched teams toot-fuckin'-sweet. 

I was enjoying some lax time between high school and college right then, traveling the world and working shit jobs. I remember a club in North Jersey we used to hit called the Log Cabin. It was out in the sticks and the bands tended towards the Beard Rock scheme of things. But one weekend, T. Roth & Another Pretty Face played (many miles north of their regular gig down around Packanack Lake) and they were totally duded-up Dolls-style. I'd seen Johansen & Co. at the 82 Club and Mothers, and this Jersey knock-off version was easily as good as Brat or Teenage Lustor any other of the other bands who were mining the same turf. And the bug bit. The very next week, one of the local bands who'd been all overalls just a week before had switched to painted nails and Velvets covers. Kevin and I didn't really care. We rated Reed as an excellent songwriter (Kevin's band had been doing cover of songs from Loaded since it came out), and we were both partial to the slob side of the dandy/slob binary, so style mattered not a whit. We could enjoy glam as music, but the lifestyle was another thing.



  • dead

“Thirty years? Fuck! Thirty years!” Jason Pierce, one half of the creative duo at the heart of Spacemen 3, is struggling to take in the fact that Playing With Fire is celebrating its Big Three-Oh. And, it seems, he’s also struggling to remember events from 1989.

“What were you doing 30 years ago?” he asks as he gathers his thoughts together.

Getting baked to Playing With Fire, your correspondent tells him. 


Pierce chuckles in response, but it’s an honest reply to his question, not least becausePlaying With Fire is that kind of an album: lay back, fire up and float on. But that’s to damn the record with faint and superficial praise for in truth, it’s so much more than that: Playing With Fire is an extraordinary album and its ramifications and reverberations are still being felt to this very day. Not only was it the moment that Spacemen 3 found themselves reaching a wider audience after years of indifference, but it was also one that saw them create a contemporary form of psychedelia that was ripe for the time and beyond. And in fairness to Pierce, three decades is a considerable period of time, so a re-acquaintance with Spacemen 3’s third album and the times in which it was made is called for. 

Looking back three decades is to be reminded of a time characterised by huge social, political and cultural upheavals. The year leading up to the album’s release had been marred by shocking levels of violence in and around Northern Ireland. Margaret Thatcher became the 20th century’s longest-serving Prime Minister at the turn of the year. The Local Government Act – featuring the notorious Section 28 preventing local authorities from “promoting homosexuality” – became law. And in a grotesque full stop to the year, Pan Am Flight 103 exploded over the Scottish town of Lockerbie when a terrorist bomb went off on board, killing a total of 270 people.

Cultural changes were afoot. The first rumblings from the Pacific Northwest were beginning to make themselves felt, hip hop had taken bold steps forward thanks to groundbreaking records by Public Enemy, Eric B & Rakim and EPMD among others, while the likes of Sonic Youth, Pixies and R.E.M. were reaching far and wide. 

Closer to home, the psychedelic experience was in the process of taking an unexpected turn when British youth once again seized upon underground black American music and this time began to refine it into rave culture. The addition of MDMA to the existing menu of mind-altering substances inextricably linked the drug with the scene. If you want to track the seed of the best of the 90s and what followed, this is when it was planted.

And it was against this backdrop that Spacemen 3 unshackled psychedelic rock from its origins in the 60s to give it an updated and modern vernacular.

Driven by the partnership of Pete ‘Sonic Boom’ Kember and Jason Pierce, Spacemen 3 had been ploughing their own unique and unfashionable furrow since their formation in 1982. From the fuzzed-up ramalama of their Stooges-indebted 1986 debut album, Sound Of Confusion, through to its follow-up a year later with the laid-back and medicated washes of The Perfect Prescription, Spacemen 3’s gradual reduction and minimalising of their sound would result in Playing With Fire. Opening a fresh chapter in the band’s evolution in the shape of new bassist Will Carruthers, the circumstances around the album’s creation helped precipitate the increasingly fractious relationship between Pete Kember and Jason Pierce.

Speaking to tQ from his Berlin home, Carruthers muses: “People always ask, ‘Why did the band split up?’ The more interesting question is, ‘Why did they stay together?’”



  • spaceman 3

There are no words to express all the bitterness from what happened in my beloved Beirut. A terrible explosion with a capacity of 3 kilotons, which was heard even in Cyprus. More than 100 people died, thousands were injured. Half of the city is in ruins, the port was destroyed, about 300 thousand people were left homeless. I can’t even believe that this terrible crime could have happened due to the fault of one russian coward buisnessman and a workers’ mistakes. I don’t even know how Lebanon will get out after this Chernobyl.
The blast wave severely destroyed one of the best contemporary art museums in the Middle East — Sursock. And I am very worried about the owner of my favorite music store in the center of Beirut — at the time of the explosion, old Roy probably cheerfully lit an evening cigarette behind the counter and turned on the cassette of the great Fairuz. His shop was located 2 kilometers from the epicenter of the explosion. Maybe someone knows how Roy is doing?
Many Beirut musicians are now left homeless, their studios, and most importantly — stages where they can perform — destroyed. Everything was destroyed — even LPs & CDs.
You can help them buying and listening to their music. Its all is about love! Here are links to some of the key labels and artists:
— Ruptured Records:
— Annihaya Records:
— Al Maslakh Records:
— VV-VA Records:
— Irtijal Festival: just follow it
— Beirut & Beyond International Music Festival: just follow it
— Charbel Haber:
— Fadi Tabbal:
— Sharif Sehnaoui:…/sharif-sehnaou…
— Tony Elieh:…/its-good-to-die-every-now-…
— Jawad Nawfal:…/first-seconds-last-forever-2
— Marc Codsi:
— Sary Moussa:
— Kid Fourteen:
— Kinematik:
— Stress Distress:
— Two or The Dragon - التنّين:
— Stephanie Merchak:
— Lumi:
— Zalfa:
— KŌZŌ 構造:
— Youmna Saba:
— Liliane Chlela:
— sandmoon:
— Rise 1969:
If you know more, please send names in comments! And don't forget to donate to Lebanese Red Cross:
Beirut, be strong! "

  • plazey

Think of radio plays, and you most likely think (or I most likely think) of the form's American "golden age" in the first half of the 20th century. That time and place in radio drama conjures up a certain more or less defined set of sensibilities: rocketships hurtling toward unknown worldshard-bitten detectives sticking to their cases, suburban couples bickering about the behavior of their jalopy-driving children. By the 1950s, the conventions of radio plays had ossified too much even for old-time radio audiences. Who best to call to tear up the form and start it over again? Why, Samuel Beckett, of course.

"In 1955 the BBC, intrigued by the international attention being given to the Paris production of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot (see a version here), invited the author to write a radio play," says the short history provided in the program of the Beckett festival of Radio Plays. Though hesitant, Beckett nevertheless wrote the following to a friend: "Never thought about radio play technique but in the dead of t’other night got a nice gruesome idea full of cartwheels and dragging of feet and puffing and panting which may or may not lead to something.'" That "gruesome idea" led, according to the program, not just to Beckett's 1956 radio-play debut All That Fall, but four more to follow over the next twenty years.


Christopher David is a musician from Florida who has performed in various punk and hardcore bands throughout the past fifteen years. On top of this, he’s recorded solo music under the names City Medicine, Chris Donaldson, and Christopher David. His works under the Christopher David moniker are all self-released, limited-run CD-Rs that feature the sort of quiet music that Joshua Minsoo Kim refers to as “non-music,” which was discussed in The Wire (Issue 431) and in the first issue of Tone Glow. Joshua Minsoo Kim and Christopher David talked on the phone on July 31st to discuss his works under this name, his record labels Hologram and Drugged Conscience, his work as a nanny, and more.

What was it like being a nanny for the same group of kids for an extended number of years?

It was pretty crazy because my wife had worked for them for four years before that and it was seven for me, so I’ve been with the little girl since she was eight months old.

Oh, your wife was a nanny as well?

Yeah, just for a handful of families before that. She’s the one who got me into nannying—she said I should try it—and I ended up working for this family while she wanted to become an RN. I said, “These guys are gonna die when you leave, why don’t I just take over since I’ve had some nannying experience.”

It’s really intimate because you feel obligated to care for these kids as if they were your own, but you’re also an employee so you’re stuck in this position where you want to keep your job so you do exactly what the parents say. There’s this nagging feeling of knowing what’s right for them because you’re around them a lot more than the parents. It’s a really fucked up dynamic. I’m hoping I don’t have to do that again when it’s all over (laughter). It’s really personal, there’s no clocking in. And those kids are on my mind every day, even now.

Is there a specific time you remember aside from all this stuff with COVID where you wanted to do something for these kids that the parents disagreed with?

Yeah, these parents were really into the whole helicopter parenting thing. The day was just shot, man. I’d get there at 6 in the morning, get them ready for school, pick them up at 2, shuffle them around the city from 2:30 to 7 at night between piano and karate lessons and tutoring and all this shit. The kids never got to just be kids and, at some point, not having a personality or being alone with yourself is gonna affect you more than the education you have.

These kids never know how to spend their free time—they’re used to having something put in front of their face 24/7. You couldn’t put them out in the yard and let them dig a hole and pretend that the princess was there or something (laughter), they didn’t have that creative spark that boredom forces you to have. To their detriment, we’ve learned a lot about what we want to do with our kid.