The dynamic eccentricities of classical music are foreign to me. I don’t know near enough about the genre to speak with even a Kindergartener’s education (not knocking Kindergarteners… they are people too), but I know what I like, and I like The Planets.
Seven tracks representing all the known planets circa: 1916 (omitting Earth, for obvious reasons, and poor, poor Pluto), The Planets, by Gustav Holst, has been respected the universe over, for the past 98 years, while monumentally demanding a home in every serious collector’s nook.
Listening to Isao Tomita’s interpretation of said album while formulating this entry may have been less than a logical endeavor, but experimentation has its place.
Too many factors play into this half-assed, quick-release, interception of a post focusing on Isro Tomita’s 1976 adaptation of Gustav Holst’s The Planets. So, I recently acquired a handy, compact, portable turntable (with external, bombastic speakers) from the loving wings of my thoughtful and supportive parents. The details and photo-proof of this most recent player (and my 6th, functional turntable… I live in a two bedroom apt, people!) will soon be chasing the setting sun (meaning, there is a post yet to follow), so my abbreviated attempts at “getting in and getting out” of yet another responsible-laden post will here again commence post-haste! So, I’m spinning this record on my portable player, see…
… and Tomita’s The Planets barely near scared the living sh!t out of me! I’m forever a lover of ambient, wall-of-soundscape, ethereal electro, and when the focus is something as deep-rooted as Holst’s The Planets, one assumes safety will eclipse the ever-impending danger… or so I would stupidly think. Mid-2nd-side, sh!t got real (and I paused my friendly, online game of Madden 2012 for the PS3), and stared at my newly acquired portable player in sheer, revolting, mannequin-induscing pain. My educated guess would point my accusing finger toward Saturn, track V… but no one can really say for absolute certainty why my otherwise controllable paranoia began to spike a red-lined fever, forcibly, and emotionally, removing me from my daily routine (if ever there was a track that conjured up the remorseful, uneasy, “put me out of my mystery” feeling of core-stirring horror, paralleling that of Gaspar Noé’s Irréversible, Tomita’s Saturn is without question, that track). One thing was for absolute, and unquestionable certain… Tomita is a salacious wizard, whose talents live far below the clouds of obscurity, and whose albums I’ll (very) soon be acquiring.