Podcasts about sacre

Dente torna con l’album “Santa tenerezza”. Con Giacomo Maiolini celebriamo i 40 anni della Time Records, etichetta da lui fondata. Non solo “Adolescence”. Alcune delle nuove serie più imperdibili con Paolo Di Lorenzo, giornalista di Tv Sorrisi e Canzoni. In libreria per Il Castello Editore “Sacre sinfonie. Battiato: tutta la storia” di Fabio Zuffanti.

Diana Filippova venant présenter le livre « Mon vrai nom est Elisabeth » d'Adèle Yon. Un livre, Un lecteur. Emission présentée par Florence Berthout Elle reçoit Diana Filippova qui viendra présenter le livre « Mon vrai nom est Elisabeth » d'Adèle Yon. À propos du livre : « Mon vrai nom est Elisabeth » paru aux éditions Du Sous-Sol Une chercheuse craignant de devenir folle mène une enquête pour tenter de rompre le silence qui entoure la maladie de son arrière-grand-mère Elisabeth, dite Betsy, diagnostiquée schizophrène dans les années 1950. La narratrice ne dispose, sur cette femme morte avant sa naissance, que de quelques légendes familiales dont les récits fluctuent. Une vieille dame coquette qui aimait nager, bonnet de bain en caoutchouc et saut façon grenouille, dans la piscine de la propriété de vacances. Une grand-mère avec une cavité de chaque côté du front qui accusait son petit-fils de la regarder nue à travers les murs. Une maison qui prend feu. Des grossesses non désirées. C'est à peu près tout. Les enfants d'Elisabeth ne parlent jamais de leur mère entre eux et ils n'en parlent pas à leurs enfants qui n'en parlent pas à leurs petits-enfants. "C'était un nom qu'on ne prononçait pas. Maman, c'était un non-sujet. Tu peux enregistrer ça. Maman, c'était un non-sujet.' Mon vrai nom est Elisabeth est un premier livre poignant à la lisière de différents genres : l'enquête familiale, le récit de soi, le road-trip, l'essai. À travers la voix de la narratrice, les archives et les entretiens, se déploient différentes histoires, celles du poids de l'hérédité, des violences faites aux femmes, de la psychiatrie du XXe siècle, d'une famille nombreuse et bourgeoise renfermant son lot de secrets. Née en 1994 à Paris, Adèle Yon enquête, écrit et cuisine. Normalienne, chercheuse en études cinématographiques, c'est à l'occasion de sa thèse au sein du laboratoire de recherche-création SACRe qu'elle se lance dans l'écriture. Parallèlement, elle travaille à Paris et dans la Sarthe comme cheffe de cuisine.

Nous sommes au soir du 22 novembre 1928. Le tout Paris, la crème de la crème de la « bonne société », le gratin du monde politico-culturel, se presse à l'Opéra Garnier. On est venu pour assister à la création du « Boléro », le nouveau ballet de Maurice Ravel. Dans la fosse, le chef Walther Straram dirige son orchestre. Le journal « Le Figaro » décrit le ballet comme une «évocation de l'Espagne dansante en une taverne de faubourg sous la lampe de cuivre accrochée aux solives; muletiers et contrebandiers acclament la danseuse qui bondit sur la table, aux sons d'une musique magicienne, sa danse s'exalte de plus en plus». La danseuse se nomme Ida Rubinstein, elle a plus de quarante ans. La chorégraphie est signée Bronislava Nijinska, maîtresse de ballet russe. Les costumes d'Alexandre Benois et les décors d'Oreste Allegri. Dans la salle, on peut apercevoir Igor Stravinsky qui, 15 ans plus tôt, a fait scandale avec son « Sacre du printemps » et que Ravel a soutenu. Serge de Diaghilev, organisateur de spectacles, impresario influent, n'est pas très enthousiaste. Il décrit une représentation qui « suait l'ennui provincial... tout y était long, y compris Ravel qui ne dure pourtant que 14 minutes. Le pire, ajoute-t-il, était Ida. Voûtée, une tignasse rousse, sans chapeau, avec des chaussons de danse pour paraître plus petite. Elle est incapable de danser quoi que ce soit. Dans le Boléro, elle est restée un quart d'heure à tourner maladroitement sur une grosse table. » Le public, lui, est plutôt conquis et réserve un bel accueil à cette création si déconcertante. La presse salue « la somptuosité », « les dons singuliers », « le triomphe de la maîtrise technique », « le délice d'élégance » et « le tour de force éblouissant » du compositeur. On raconte aussi n'importe quoi, qu'une spectatrice aurait crié « Au fou ! » et que Ravel aurait déclaré : « Celle-là, elle a compris ». La légende se met en marche. De Paris à Bruxelles, de Monte-Carlo à New York en passant par Milan et Londres, le Boléro devient un phénomène et rentre dans l'Histoire de la musique. Un succès, d'ailleurs, qui ne va pas complètement ravir son auteur et même l'irriter. Ravel craint le malentendu. Solitaire et pudique, ouvert et généreux, obstiné, peu enclin aux honneurs, qui était Maurice Ravel ? Pourquoi tant de frilosité devant sa propre réussite ? Aurait-il eu le génie humble ? Notre invité est Xavier Falques, professeur d'Histoire de l'art à l'UCL et au Conservatoire de Mons et producteur et animateur de Café Viennois et Baroque café sur Musiq3. Sujets traités: Maurice Ravel, orchestre, piano, musique, boléro, concerto Merci pour votre écoute Un Jour dans l'Histoire, c'est également en direct tous les jours de la semaine de 13h15 à 14h30 sur www.rtbf.be/lapremiere Retrouvez tous les épisodes d'Un Jour dans l'Histoire sur notre plateforme Auvio.be :https://auvio.rtbf.be/emission/5936 Intéressés par l'histoire ? Vous pourriez également aimer nos autres podcasts : L'Histoire Continue: https://audmns.com/kSbpELwL'heure H : https://audmns.com/YagLLiKEt sa version à écouter en famille : La Mini Heure H https://audmns.com/YagLLiKAinsi que nos séries historiques :Chili, le Pays de mes Histoires : https://audmns.com/XHbnevhD-Day : https://audmns.com/JWRdPYIJoséphine Baker : https://audmns.com/wCfhoEwLa folle histoire de l'aviation : https://audmns.com/xAWjyWCLes Jeux Olympiques, l'étonnant miroir de notre Histoire : https://audmns.com/ZEIihzZMarguerite, la Voix d'une Résistante : https://audmns.com/zFDehnENapoléon, le crépuscule de l'Aigle : https://audmns.com/DcdnIUnUn Jour dans le Sport : https://audmns.com/xXlkHMHSous le sable des Pyramides : https://audmns.com/rXfVppvN'oubliez pas de vous y abonner pour ne rien manquer.Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement. Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

BALADO du LUNDI SM a fait ÇA dans les toilettes publiques?!? SM a fait ÇA chez MO!!! On a appris que SM sacre beaucoup! MO s’ennuie de Brad Marchand!

L'émission 28 minutes du 06/03/2025 Internée, lobotomisée : l'histoire vraie et bouleversante de son arrière-grand-mèreDans son premier livre “Mon vrai nom est Elisabeth”, Adèle Yon, chercheuse au sein du laboratoire de recherche-création SACRe de l'ENS, enquête sur le silence familial qui entoure l'existence de son arrière-grand-mère, diagnostiquée schizophrène dans les années 1950. Betsy naît en 1916 dans une famille de la haute bourgeoisie catholique. À l'âge adulte, elle rencontre André, issu du même milieu. Mais alors qu'ils entament une relation amoureuse, la guerre arrive et les sépare. Dans une relation à distance compliquée, Betsy revendique le droit à la liberté en tant que femme, tandis qu'André lui explique que sa future épouse devra être disciplinée. Cette mésentente ne va pas empêcher un mariage et la naissance de six enfants, dont cinq contre son gré. Diagnostiquée schizophrène, la jeune femme est lobotomisée avant d'être internée en hôpital psychiatrique. Elle n'en sortira que 17 ans plus tard, considérablement diminuée, et sera alors réduite à une “non-personne” par sa famille qui prendra soin d'enfouir le souvenir de cette aïeule dérangeante.L'épidémie d'obésité, défi majeur pour la santé mondiale au 21e siècle ?Selon les prévisions d'une étude publiée par la revue britannique “The Lancet”, 60 % des adultes et 1 enfant sur 3 dans le monde sera en situation de surpoids ou d'obésité d'ici 2050. La France n'échappe pas à cette tendance : en presque 30 ans, le taux d'obésité de sa population a doublé. Si cette épidémie n'épargne pas les pays les plus riches, c'est surtout dans certains États d'Océanie, du Moyen-Orient et d'Afrique du Nord que la prévalence est la plus importante. Une situation catastrophique qui fait de l'obésité un enjeu majeur pour la santé mondiale, d'autant qu'elle devrait ajouter une charge supplémentaire à nos systèmes de santé déjà sous pression. Les personnes touchées par l'obésité sont davantage exposées aux maladies cardio-vasculaires, aux cancers ou au diabète. Cinquième cause de décès dans le monde, l'obésité peut s'expliquer par l'urbanisation, la sédentarisation des populations ou les changements de régime alimentaire avec une consommation riche en sucres, huiles et en produits d'origine animale.Enfin, Xavier Mauduit revient sur l'histoire de la nudité en Allemagne, après la décision de la ville de Rostock d'interdire les maillots de bain sur certaines plages nudistes. Marjorie Adelson nous explique comment l'entreprise Colossal s'est fixé comme mission de faire revivre les mammouths.28 minutes est le magazine d'actualité d'ARTE, présenté par Élisabeth Quin du lundi au jeudi à 20h05. Renaud Dély est aux commandes de l'émission le vendredi et le samedi. Ce podcast est coproduit par KM et ARTE Radio. Enregistrement 06 mars 2025 Présentation Élisabeth Quin Production KM, ARTE Radio

Le Fespaco 2025 a rendu son verdict : le Burkinabè Dani Kouyaté s'empare de l'Étalon d'or de Yennenga avec "Katanga, la danse des scorpions", un film qui interroge les jeux de pouvoir en Afrique. Un troisième sacre pour le Burkina Faso, 34 ans après "Tilaï" d'Idrissa Ouedraogo, et 28 ans après "Buud Yam" de Gaston Kaboré.

L'émission 28 minutes du 13/02/2025 Jin Xing, l'artiste chinoise transgenre qui redoute de rentrer au paysAprès vingt ans d'absence en France, la danseuse et chorégraphe chinoise Jin Xing revient à Paris avec sa fondation, la Jin Xing Dance Theatre, à l'occasion de quatre représentations au Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. Deux programmes y seront présentés : le premier intitulé "Trinity" (27 et 28 février) rassemble “Sacre” d'Emanuel Gat, “Echo” de la Sud-Africaine Moya Michael et “Cage Birds” du Néerlandais Arthur Kuggeleyn, qui a également créé la pièce “Wild Flowers”, au cœur du second programme. Jin Xing a commencé la danse à neuf ans dans les rangs de l'armée chinoise, avant d'obtenir une bourse à 19 ans pour étudier la danse moderne à New York. Femme transgenre, l'étoile de la danse est devenue, malgré elle, une icône pour la communauté LGBT+. “Je ne veux pas devenir la porte-parole d'un mouvement. Mais mon parcours de vie en dit bien plus long que n'importe quels mots sur la nécessité d'accorder des droits égaux aux transgenres”, revendiquait-elle en 2018. Guerre en Ukraine : Zelensky et l'Europe mis hors-jeu par Trump ? Le président américain Donald Trump s'est longtemps entretenu, mercredi 12 décembre, avec son homologue russe Vladimir Poutine au sujet des négociations de paix en Ukraine. Une première depuis l'invasion russe en février 2022, alors que l'Europe, poussée au retrait dans les discussions, s'employait depuis cette date à isoler la Russie. Sur son réseau Truth Social, le président américain s'est félicité de la qualité de l'échange, remerciant “le président Poutine pour son temps et ses efforts”. Ces négociations ont été entamées sans la participation de Kiev, alors que Volodymyr Zelensky déclarait, mardi 11 février, être prêt à “un échange” de territoires avec la Russie, ce qu'elle a refusé. Les conditions de cette paix semblent, pour l'heure, être en grande défaveur de l'Ukraine. Parmi elles, l'impossibilité de son adhésion à l'Otan — à laquelle Vladimir Poutine est frontalement opposé — ou encore l'exploitation des terres rares ukrainiennes par les États-Unis, en échange d'un soutien militaire et financier américain au pays.Enfin, Marjorie Adelson nous raconte comment la République tchèque a économisé un million d'euros grâce à des castors et Marie Bonnisseau évoque les métiers éligibles à l'obtention d'un visa au Royaume-Uni, qui posent question.28 minutes est le magazine d'actualité d'ARTE, présenté par Élisabeth Quin du lundi au jeudi à 20h05. Renaud Dély est aux commandes de l'émission le vendredi et le samedi. Ce podcast est coproduit par KM et ARTE Radio. Enregistrement 13 février 2025 Présentation Élisabeth Quin Production KM, ARTE Radio

En France, à l'aube de la Seconde Guerre mondiale, les services de renseignements recrutent des collaborateurs insoupçonnés. Parmi eux, une artiste américaine devenue la vedette des scènes parisiennes. Elle est talentueuse, charismatique, ses prouesses en danse et en chant font vibrer les soldats. Son nom ? Joséphine Baker. Mais sous ses atours de reine de la nuit se trouve l'esprit d'une femme engagée et déterminée, prête à risquer sa vie pour défendre les valeurs de son pays d'adoption. Voici l'histoire de cette petite fille née dans les quartiers pauvres de Saint-Louis, dans le Missouri et dont les exploits en tant qu'espionne ont contribué à changer le cours de la guerre.L'ascension de Joséphine Baker est étroitement liée à Rolf de Maré, le directeur du théâtre des Champs-Elysées. En 1925, il vient tout juste de reprendre les rênes de cet établissement en difficulté financière. Ces dix dernières années, le théâtre n'a rencontré que des échecs commerciaux et quelques scandales, dont le plus notable concerne le Sacre du Printemps d'Igor Stravinsky. C'était en 1913, le public n'était pas encore prêt à découvrir une oeuvre si éloignée des canons du ballet de l'époque. Mais à peine dix ans plus tard, en 1925, Paris veut ce qu'on appelait alors de “l'exotisme”. Pour son nouveau spectacle, Rolf de Maré sait qu'il a besoin d'aller chercher des artistes loin de l'Europe. Il confie ses désirs de nouveauté à Caroline Dudley Regan, attachée culturelle de l'ambassade américaine à Paris...

Dans cet épisode, Patrick prend un apéro avec Marine Baousson. Chroniqueuse sur Inter, humoriste et très connue pour ses podcasts Vulgaire et Petit Vulgaire qui nous aident à comprendre ce que l'on ne comprend pas.Alors plus naturelle, drôle, spontanée, difficile de faire mieux, Patrick et Marine parlent de son rapport à la nuit, très particulier .... On passe aussi de son enfance en Bretagne, où le cornetto est une institution sacrée ( vous comprendrez !) , aux soirées, à l'écriture, en passant par le Airfryer ou les sextoys. On danse, on chante et surtout on passe un super moment. Honnêtement, on pourrait prendre des verres tous les jours avec Marine.On vous laisse découvrir ce super humain. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Ce premier épisode s'intéresse à Ubu Roi d'Alfred Jarry, une pièce révolutionnaire qui a enflammé le public dès sa première en 1886. L'écrivain et compositeur Hélios Azoulay partage son analyse des moments où l'art défie les conventions. L'émission nous transporte également en 1916, à Zurich, au cœur du mouvement Dada et du Cabaret Voltaire, où Tristan Tzara et ses contemporains bousculent les normes. Enfin, le scandale du Sacre du printemps d'Igor Stravinsky en 1913 est évoqué comme un tournant majeur de l'art moderne. Une plongée fascinante dans ces événements où le choc et la provocation redéfinissent la création artistique. Réalisation Axelle Thiry. Merci pour votre écoute Un Jour dans l'Histoire, c'est également en direct tous les jours de la semaine de 13h15 à 14h30 sur www.rtbf.be/lapremiere Retrouvez tous les épisodes d'Un Jour dans l'Histoire sur notre plateforme Auvio.be :https://auvio.rtbf.be/emission/5936 Intéressés par l'histoire ? Vous pourriez également aimer nos autres podcasts : L'Histoire Continue: https://audmns.com/kSbpELwL'heure H : https://audmns.com/YagLLiKEt sa version à écouter en famille : La Mini Heure H https://audmns.com/YagLLiKAinsi que nos séries historiques :Chili, le Pays de mes Histoires : https://audmns.com/XHbnevhD-Day : https://audmns.com/JWRdPYIJoséphine Baker : https://audmns.com/wCfhoEwLa folle histoire de l'aviation : https://audmns.com/xAWjyWCLes Jeux Olympiques, l'étonnant miroir de notre Histoire : https://audmns.com/ZEIihzZMarguerite, la Voix d'une Résistante : https://audmns.com/zFDehnENapoléon, le crépuscule de l'Aigle : https://audmns.com/DcdnIUnUn Jour dans le Sport : https://audmns.com/xXlkHMHSous le sable des Pyramides : https://audmns.com/rXfVppvN'oubliez pas de vous y abonner pour ne rien manquer.Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement.

Nous sommes le 31 mars 1913 à Vienne. C'est dans la grande salle de la « Musikverein » (l'Association de musique) où, depuis 1870, toute la bonne société de l'Empire austro-hongrois vient applaudir la crème de la crème, qu'est organisé ce que l'histoire va retenir sous le nom de « Skandalkonzert ». On y joue les œuvres de Schönberg, Berg et Webern, trois compositeurs dont la musique atonale va malmener les oreilles du public. A tel point que quelques paires de gifles vont se perdre au sein de l'honorable assemblée qui ne va pas se priver de faire voler les chaises. C'est une véritable émeute qui force la police à intervenir ! Deux mois plus tard, la scène se répète : nous sommes à Paris, au théâtre des Champs-Elysées. Dès le début de la représentation du « Sacre du printemps », l'œuvre de Stravinsky, créée ce soir-là, c'est une éruption qui jaillit de la salle. Deux camps se forment : celles et ceux qui soutiennent la musique dissonante, rugueuse, révolutionnaire et les autres qui pensent qu'on se paie leur tête. Ici aussi, le public huppé oublie ses bonnes manières : on s'injurie, on se frappe … les musiciens ne s'entendent plus jouer. Alors que racontent ces deux mémorables soirées ? Ni plus ni moins que l'invention de la musique moderne. Une musique qui cherche à se désengluer des siècles passés. C'est le cas, à la même époque, pour la peinture, la littérature, la philosophie… Dans l'Europe entière, on propose de nouvelles formes, de nouveaux concepts, mais l'abstraction étonne, détonne. Le public n'est pas mûr. Toutefois, la modernité finira par s'imposer … pour le ravissement des unes et des uns et la rage des autres. « Il faut être absolument moderne » avait écrit Arthur Rimbaud, une quarantaine d'années plus tôt dans « Une saison en enfer » : a-t-il été entendu ? Entrons dans ce monde d'énigmes, de contradictions, d'inventions, ce moment de révolution... Avec nous : Cyril Azouvi. « L'invention de la musique moderne – Vienne, Paris, 1913 » ; Perrin. Sujets traités: Musique, moderne, Paris, Vienne, Schönberg, Berg, Webern, compositeur, Stravinsky, Sacre du printemps, Arthur Rimbaud, Jean Cocteau , révolution Merci pour votre écoute Un Jour dans l'Histoire, c'est également en direct tous les jours de la semaine de 13h15 à 14h30 sur www.rtbf.be/lapremiere Retrouvez tous les épisodes d'Un Jour dans l'Histoire sur notre plateforme Auvio.be :https://auvio.rtbf.be/emission/5936 Intéressés par l'histoire ? Vous pourriez également aimer nos autres podcasts : L'Histoire Continue: https://audmns.com/kSbpELwL'heure H : https://audmns.com/YagLLiKEt sa version à écouter en famille : La Mini Heure H https://audmns.com/YagLLiKAinsi que nos séries historiques :Chili, le Pays de mes Histoires : https://audmns.com/XHbnevhD-Day : https://audmns.com/JWRdPYIJoséphine Baker : https://audmns.com/wCfhoEwLa folle histoire de l'aviation : https://audmns.com/xAWjyWCLes Jeux Olympiques, l'étonnant miroir de notre Histoire : https://audmns.com/ZEIihzZMarguerite, la Voix d'une Résistante : https://audmns.com/zFDehnENapoléon, le crépuscule de l'Aigle : https://audmns.com/DcdnIUnUn Jour dans le Sport : https://audmns.com/xXlkHMHSous le sable des Pyramides : https://audmns.com/rXfVppvN'oubliez pas de vous y abonner pour ne rien manquer.Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement.

durée : 00:09:44 - La Transition de la semaine - par : Nicolas Herbeaux - Le 27 juillet 2024, grâce à leur tableau de la cérémonie d'ouverture des JO devant la conciergerie, beaucoup ont découvert le groupe de metal Gojira. Depuis, le groupe français et le metal se sont offert une belle visibilité et a gagné un Grammy Award pour cette performance. - réalisation : Jean-Christophe Francis

"The absolute key thing which God needs from the Church is a commitment to the Word of God."—Rev Phill Sacre We are joined once again by Rev Phill Sacre—an ordained minister (Church of England), housechurch leader, and blogger on Substack—for a conversation on "Plausibility Structures and the Church." Our conversation grows out of a podcast series that Phill produced late last year called "How the church was sabotaged", in which he reflected upon a 1980s book by the famous Christian thinker and writer Os Guinness. Though published over 40 years ago, Guinness's "The Gravedigger File: Papers on the Subversion of the Modern Church" caught Phill's attention because of its apparent prescience on a number of important cultural issues facing the church today. So, please join us as I "get in on the conversation", and we discuss what's happened to so many modern churches, and think about ways in which we might "push back" in the culture to reveal the Gospel's "plausibility structure" to church and world alike. (Phill is a Christian minister. Ordained in the Church of England, he formerly served in a parish on the Essex coast, but now leads an independent housechurch. He also runs the online ministries "Understand the Bible" and "Sacred Musings : Thinking Christianly about the World" on Substack.) [For show notes please visit https://themindrenewed.com]

"The absolute key thing which God needs from the Church is a commitment to the Word of God."—Rev Phill Sacre We are joined once again by Rev Phill Sacre—an ordained minister (Church of England), housechurch leader, and blogger on Substack—for a conversation on "Plausibility Structures and the Church." Our conversation grows out of a podcast series that Phill produced late last year called "How the church was sabotaged", in which he reflected upon a 1980s book by the famous Christian thinker and writer Os Guinness. Though published over 40 years ago, Guinness's "The Gravedigger File: Papers on the Subversion of the Modern Church" caught Phill's attention because of its apparent prescience on a number of important cultural issues facing the church today. So, please join us as I "get in on the conversation", and we discuss what's happened to so many modern churches, and think about ways in which we might "push back" in the culture to reveal the Gospel's "plausibility structure" to church and world alike. (Phill is a Christian minister. Ordained in the Church of England, he formerly served in a parish on the Essex coast, but now leads an independent housechurch. He also runs the online ministries "Understand the Bible" and "Sacred Musings : Thinking Christianly about the World" on Substack.) [For show notes please visit https://themindrenewed.com]

Le pilote français a remporté dimanche son dixième rallye de Monte-Carlo. Il exprime sa fierté au micro de RTL et remercie le public pour le soutien.

durée : 00:05:39 - La création scandaleuse de « Déserts » d'Edgard Varèse - par : Max Dozolme - Dans son livre "L'Invention de la Musique Moderne", Cyril Azouvi se penche sur la création du novateur "Sacre du Printemps" de Stravinsky au Théâtre des Champs-Elysées en 1913. Un ballet qui a fait scandale... tout comme la pièce "Déserts" d'Edgard Varèse, créée dans la même salle du TCE en 1954 !

Episode Notes This episode is all about Gambit. Why? I mean, that's quite the important question. Friedrich Nietzsche said "He who has a why to live can bear almost any how." Of course, Nietzsche also said "The Superman is the meaning of the earth." and I remember just enough about that time he had blue electricity powers to use that as evidence to disagree with Nietzsche. So we must again ask why? And it all comes down to the truth that Adam and Zack will sell an hour of their lives for $5. As Nietzsche also said "The value of a thing sometimes lies not in what one attains with it, but in what one pays for it - what it costs us.” So the value of making us read bad turn of the century Gambit comics isn't really $5, it's an hour of enjoying the suffering of two dudes. And hey, Nietzsche also said "to live is to suffer" so ipso facto, this episode is all about Gambit so that we suffer. Thanks. Ranked This Episode: Gambit v3 #22-24 (New Son) Gambit & Bishop (Sons of the Atom) Gambit: From the Marvel Vault Check out the Battle of the Atom Master Ranking List! New content every week on ComicsXF.com Follow Adam on Twitter @arthurstacy & never try to find Zack! Our theme music is Junk Factory from the X-Men Arcade Game by Seiichi Fukami, Yuji Takenouchi, Junya Nakano, and Ayako Hashimoto. Cover art is by Adam Reck after Dave Cockrum with logo design by Mikey Zee If you want to support the show make sure you rate and review the show or check out our Patreon!

…If you haven't seen him at his worst… WHERE'S MY SHIT?! …yo…you are so evil… [*breaks everything*] …Then you don't deserve him at his best. I'm your host, Jimmy Fallon And this— Is TRUTH OR DARE?! ‘ This dude is easily the best villain ever. Easily. {Enter The Multiverse} Blue eyes, it is. I wish, I wish, Be careful what you wish for, Or cook in a Petri dish The world is a stage, The people a plague The magic was gone, The days were the same. [The Festival Project ™] Blonde hair, blue eyes; Live once, lose twice— Brown skin, brown eyes Die inside. (Or just die.) {Rewind} Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — Who's this beautiful sister. My head writer; don't even think about it. I dont think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand Should I get tested? —and funny. Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her Why would you even date that asshole Because—Pat. He's a comedian. I'm a comedian! So? So, he's funny. And? And he said things to me— What kind of things Charming, funny things— Okay? Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm —you're a woman. —and your head writer. So naturally. Esh, you're a genius, So is he. We have—some new material to work through. Ahq! Your monologue tonight. Oh yes. Oh yes. You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy. The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunder struck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of karma sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. ITS ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamazake walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blsphomoous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of conciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. {Enter a the Multiverse} Wake up in a wet bed, sweat pouring engine strikes Disaster, roaring Ranting, raving,, Lunatics, icons Ione, eye color No warning: I want you Adonis New Adonis I got something for you; It's got four doors, I know you can't afford it, Come on, Only one offer Come on, You know I want you What I want a car in New York for? Even the scorecard, Cork off the bottle, huh? Go figure. I got sharp numbers, No harm no foul ball; Still stick in the Capstone, There's a sandstorm On the first montage. Pitch up, With the fever pitch With the fever pitch downstroke UP Pitch down With the force With the force Or What have you Play ball, No– playfair Payboy model Wayfair value Strict non-orders Foreigner syndrome Alcohol bottle Palinstrome, Astronomy No, Farquad Noah's Ark and all Going door to door, the doctor Doing more and more The Talk show host Losing more the Mortimer, Call it Losing more, The Watchamacalit, Chocolate bar, So far, Hard to forget No, Hard Ball, Soft pitch Watch this. THE COSMIC AVENGER (V.O) I cannot resist a chocolate cake! Huh. Seriously, I'm telling you. *sniffs* hm. {Enter The Multiverse} Yo, i'm telling you: she's spot on. Like, scary accurate. Precise. Always right. Even on Tuesdays. Why would it matter if it's Tuesday or not? Most Psychics are wrong on Tuesdays. Really. You didn't know about this? Never heard that. Most of them. Last I saw Kurt he seemed to be okay—doing well for a place so cold, and still, almost enjoying his time, somewhere cold enough that the chill on his breath grasped at mine, as I was prone to waking in these moments. Anymore ghosts? Who'd you want!? More players. And as it turns out, Strike force five was nothing but a simple game, Played by a group of— MOM Boys?! Supper! INT. BASEMENT- THE SUBURBS, ANYEAR In a distant parallel, it is a nondescript year of a indeterminable past time— in non linear time, we could be anywhere, but for period's sake, it appears to be anywhere between the 1930's and the early 1960's, the home itself adorned with qualities of any of these given eras; the clothing classic, dreamlike— pre or post war? Was there a war at all in this parallel; and it seems a partially imagined place altogether — it is, in fact, a dreary and almost comic book other world— a cross- parallel. The boys vary in ages from 8 to about 12, and between the five of them, brash little Irish lads, besides one English chap, whom anyone would probably bet at least at some point in his lineage was probably also Irish (or Irish enough) have summoned up, though amidst a flurry of baseballs cards and other boyish relics, seem to have assembled from old newspaper cuttings and superhero memoriabilia—some sort of game on the basement floor, though, they bicker and argue so much about how the game should be played that it is unclear whether they're playing any game at all, or just rapid-firing ‘jokes' at one another with absolute disconcert for anyone's feelings. They call themselves — Nevermind, it can wait. {Enter The Multiverse} What is this nonsense You fucking dork. I'm a key player. Speaking of keys— Wasn't me. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

…If you haven't seen him at his worst… WHERE'S MY SHIT?! …yo…you are so evil… [*breaks everything*] …Then you don't deserve him at his best. I'm your host, Jimmy Fallon And this— Is TRUTH OR DARE?! ‘ This dude is easily the best villain ever. Easily. {Enter The Multiverse} Blue eyes, it is. I wish, I wish, Be careful what you wish for, Or cook in a Petri dish The world is a stage, The people a plague The magic was gone, The days were the same. [The Festival Project ™] Blonde hair, blue eyes; Live once, lose twice— Brown skin, brown eyes Die inside. (Or just die.) {Rewind} Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — Who's this beautiful sister. My head writer; don't even think about it. I dont think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand Should I get tested? —and funny. Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her Why would you even date that asshole Because—Pat. He's a comedian. I'm a comedian! So? So, he's funny. And? And he said things to me— What kind of things Charming, funny things— Okay? Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm —you're a woman. —and your head writer. So naturally. Esh, you're a genius, So is he. We have—some new material to work through. Ahq! Your monologue tonight. Oh yes. Oh yes. You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy. The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunder struck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of karma sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. ITS ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamazake walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blsphomoous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of conciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. {Enter a the Multiverse} Wake up in a wet bed, sweat pouring engine strikes Disaster, roaring Ranting, raving,, Lunatics, icons Ione, eye color No warning: I want you Adonis New Adonis I got something for you; It's got four doors, I know you can't afford it, Come on, Only one offer Come on, You know I want you What I want a car in New York for? Even the scorecard, Cork off the bottle, huh? Go figure. I got sharp numbers, No harm no foul ball; Still stick in the Capstone, There's a sandstorm On the first montage. Pitch up, With the fever pitch With the fever pitch downstroke UP Pitch down With the force With the force Or What have you Play ball, No– playfair Payboy model Wayfair value Strict non-orders Foreigner syndrome Alcohol bottle Palinstrome, Astronomy No, Farquad Noah's Ark and all Going door to door, the doctor Doing more and more The Talk show host Losing more the Mortimer, Call it Losing more, The Watchamacalit, Chocolate bar, So far, Hard to forget No, Hard Ball, Soft pitch Watch this. THE COSMIC AVENGER (V.O) I cannot resist a chocolate cake! Huh. Seriously, I'm telling you. *sniffs* hm. {Enter The Multiverse} Yo, i'm telling you: she's spot on. Like, scary accurate. Precise. Always right. Even on Tuesdays. Why would it matter if it's Tuesday or not? Most Psychics are wrong on Tuesdays. Really. You didn't know about this? Never heard that. Most of them. Last I saw Kurt he seemed to be okay—doing well for a place so cold, and still, almost enjoying his time, somewhere cold enough that the chill on his breath grasped at mine, as I was prone to waking in these moments. Anymore ghosts? Who'd you want!? More players. And as it turns out, Strike force five was nothing but a simple game, Played by a group of— MOM Boys?! Supper! INT. BASEMENT- THE SUBURBS, ANYEAR In a distant parallel, it is a nondescript year of a indeterminable past time— in non linear time, we could be anywhere, but for period's sake, it appears to be anywhere between the 1930's and the early 1960's, the home itself adorned with qualities of any of these given eras; the clothing classic, dreamlike— pre or post war? Was there a war at all in this parallel; and it seems a partially imagined place altogether — it is, in fact, a dreary and almost comic book other world— a cross- parallel. The boys vary in ages from 8 to about 12, and between the five of them, brash little Irish lads, besides one English chap, whom anyone would probably bet at least at some point in his lineage was probably also Irish (or Irish enough) have summoned up, though amidst a flurry of baseballs cards and other boyish relics, seem to have assembled from old newspaper cuttings and superhero memoriabilia—some sort of game on the basement floor, though, they bicker and argue so much about how the game should be played that it is unclear whether they're playing any game at all, or just rapid-firing ‘jokes' at one another with absolute disconcert for anyone's feelings. They call themselves — Nevermind, it can wait. {Enter The Multiverse} What is this nonsense You fucking dork. I'm a key player. Speaking of keys— Wasn't me. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

…If you haven't seen him at his worst… WHERE'S MY SHIT?! …yo…you are so evil… [*breaks everything*] …Then you don't deserve him at his best. I'm your host, Jimmy Fallon And this— Is TRUTH OR DARE?! ‘ This dude is easily the best villain ever. Easily. {Enter The Multiverse} Blue eyes, it is. I wish, I wish, Be careful what you wish for, Or cook in a Petri dish The world is a stage, The people a plague The magic was gone, The days were the same. [The Festival Project ™] Blonde hair, blue eyes; Live once, lose twice— Brown skin, brown eyes Die inside. (Or just die.) {Rewind} Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — Who's this beautiful sister. My head writer; don't even think about it. I dont think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bo s and kisses Esha's hand Should I get tested? —and funny. Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with daemon dash, furious Patrick means to interrogate her Why would you even date that asshole Because—Pat. He's a comedian. I'm a comedian! So? So, he's funny. And? And he said things to me— What kind of things Charming, funny things— Okay? Things he wouldnt say to you over dinner— because, I'm —you're a woman. —and your head writer. So naturally. Esh, you're a genius, So is he. We have—some new material to work through. Ahq! Your monologue tonight. Oh yes. Oh yes. You can thank me later. Broken bottles. :9'd one stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy. The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunder struck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of karma sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. ITS ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamazake walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blsphomoous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of conciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. {Enter a the Multiverse} Wake up in a wet bed, sweat pouring engine strikes Disaster, roaring Ranting, raving,, Lunatics, icons Ione, eye color No warning: I want you Adonis New Adonis I got something for you; It's got four doors, I know you can't afford it, Come on, Only one offer Come on, You know I want you What I want a car in New York for? Even the scorecard, Cork off the bottle, huh? Go figure. I got sharp numbers, No harm no foul ball; Still stick in the Capstone, There's a sandstorm On the first montage. Pitch up, With the fever pitch With the fever pitch downstroke UP Pitch down With the force With the force Or What have you Play ball, No– playfair Payboy model Wayfair value Strict non-orders Foreigner syndrome Alcohol bottle Palinstrome, Astronomy No, Farquad Noah's Ark and all Going door to door, the doctor Doing more and more The Talk show host Losing more the Mortimer, Call it Losing more, The Watchamacalit, Chocolate bar, So far, Hard to forget No, Hard Ball, Soft pitch Watch this. THE COSMIC AVENGER (V.O) I cannot resist a chocolate cake! Huh. Seriously, I'm telling you. *sniffs* hm. {Enter The Multiverse} Yo, i'm telling you: she's spot on. Like, scary accurate. Precise. Always right. Even on Tuesdays. Why would it matter if it's Tuesday or not? Most Psychics are wrong on Tuesdays. Really. You didn't know about this? Never heard that. Most of them. Last I saw Kurt he seemed to be okay—doing well for a place so cold, and still, almost enjoying his time, somewhere cold enough that the chill on his breath grasped at mine, as I was prone to waking in these moments. Anymore ghosts? Who'd you want!? More players. And as it turns out, Strike force five was nothing but a simple game, Played by a group of— MOM Boys?! Supper! INT. BASEMENT- THE SUBURBS, ANYEAR In a distant parallel, it is a nondescript year of a indeterminable past time— in non linear time, we could be anywhere, but for period's sake, it appears to be anywhere between the 1930's and the early 1960's, the home itself adorned with qualities of any of these given eras; the clothing classic, dreamlike— pre or post war? Was there a war at all in this parallel; and it seems a partially imagined place altogether — it is, in fact, a dreary and almost comic book other world— a cross- parallel. The boys vary in ages from 8 to about 12, and between the five of them, brash little Irish lads, besides one English chap, whom anyone would probably bet at least at some point in his lineage was probably also Irish (or Irish enough) have summoned up, though amidst a flurry of baseballs cards and other boyish relics, seem to have assembled from old newspaper cuttings and superhero memoriabilia—some sort of game on the basement floor, though, they bicker and argue so much about how the game should be played that it is unclear whether they're playing any game at all, or just rapid-firing ‘jokes' at one another with absolute disconcert for anyone's feelings. They call themselves — Nevermind, it can wait. {Enter The Multiverse} What is this nonsense You fucking dork. I'm a key player. Speaking of keys— Wasn't me. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2024 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. The Complex Collective ©

durée : 00:18:38 - Disques de légende du jeudi 26 décembre 2024 - Zubin Mehta a été sans doute l'un des plus grands dons de la baguette au XXème siècle. Un chef né, avec de l'aura, un bras impeccable, une technique infaillible ; il ne lui aura manqué, parfois, qu'un peu de perfectionnisme... Mais avec ce Stravinsky, il nous réserve le meilleur de lui-même.

durée : 00:18:38 - Disques de légende du jeudi 26 décembre 2024 - Zubin Mehta a été sans doute l'un des plus grands dons de la baguette au XXème siècle. Un chef né, avec de l'aura, un bras impeccable, une technique infaillible ; il ne lui aura manqué, parfois, qu'un peu de perfectionnisme... Mais avec ce Stravinsky, il nous réserve le meilleur de lui-même.

durée : 00:58:56 - Fred Pallem & Le Sacre du Tympan "Cartoons, le retour !" - par : Nicolas Pommaret - Après un premier album consacré au même répertoire, Fred Pallem et son orchestre Le Sacre du Tympan reviennent avec un nouvel album. Le disque est paru le 6 décembre (Train fantôme / L'Autre Distribution)

L'Effet Rétro' c'est la nouvelle rubrique de Court N°1 ! Toute l'équipe reviendra chaque semaine sur un match de légende, entre souvenirs et anecdotes. Elle est la dernière française à avoir inscrit son nom au tableau de Roland Garros. En 2000, Mary Pierce était en mission pour remporter son deuxième et dernier Grand Chelem. Retour sur le tournoi de la Française, et ce fameux "Tweener" qui aura marqué les esprits. 

Stéphane Bern nous entraîne 220 ans en arrière, jour pour jour, pour revivre le sacre du plus grand empereur français : Napoléon 1er qui, proclamé Empereur par le Sénat en 1804, a voulu renforcer son pouvoir en se faisant sacrer par le pape Pie VII en la cathédrale de Notre Dame de Paris… Quelle était la popularité de Napoléon Bonaparte à l'aube du XIXe siècle ? Comment les contemporains ont-ils accueilli son sacre ? Se voyait-il en héritier des empereurs romains ? Pour en parler, Stéphane Bern reçoit David Chanteranne, historien, administrateur de l'Institut Napoléon, rédacteur en chef du magazine Napoléon 1er et de la Revue du Souvenir Napoléonien et auteur de "Le Sacre de Napoléon" (Tallandier) et "Napoléon, sa vie, ses batailles, son empire" coécrit avec Emmanuelle Papot (Editions de l'Imprévu)

Stéphane Bern nous entraîne 220 ans en arrière, jour pour jour, pour revivre le sacre du plus grand empereur français : Napoléon 1er qui, proclamé Empereur par le Sénat en 1804, a voulu renforcer son pouvoir en se faisant sacrer par le pape Pie VII en la cathédrale de Notre Dame de Paris… Quelle était la popularité de Napoléon Bonaparte à l'aube du XIXe siècle ? Comment les contemporains ont-ils accueilli son sacre ? Se voyait-il en héritier des empereurs romains ? Pour en parler, Stéphane Bern reçoit David Chanteranne, historien, administrateur de l'Institut Napoléon, rédacteur en chef du magazine Napoléon 1er et de la Revue du Souvenir Napoléonien et auteur de "Le Sacre de Napoléon" (Tallandier) et "Napoléon, sa vie, ses batailles, son empire" coécrit avec Emmanuelle Papot (Editions de l'Imprévu)

Aujourd'hui, je reçois Marie-Agnès Gillot, danseuse étoile légendaire et soliste de « For Gods Only » au Théâtre du  Rond- Point du 28 novembre au 7 décembre. Marie-Agnès raconte ici sa vie de danse, son rôle intime de « l'élue » dans une version du Sacre revisitée par Olivier Dubois.  On l'écoute avec joie,

Au programme :Worlds 2024: l'inoubliable championnat de League of LegendsRésultats Nintendo et infos Switch 2La PS5 Pro est-elle une « concept console », belle mais inutile ?Nos jeux du momentDragon Age the VeilguardMetal Slug TacticsCoD Black Ops 6Le reste de l'actualitéLiens :

Nous sommes 13 août 1809. Napoléon adresse un message au prince Borghèse. Il s'agit de choisir la résidence du pape Pie VII qu'il vient de faire enlever à Rome, quelques jours plus tôt. On peut lire : « Quant au pape, le ministre l'envoie à Savone par Aix et Nice. Si je l'ai fait envoyer de préférence à Savone, c'est à cause que la citadelle assure qu'il sera là à l'abri de tout événement. Vous le placerez dans la maison de l'évêque où il sera bien. Vous formerez une garde d'une cinquantaine de chevaux, commandée par un bon officier que vous tiendrez à Savone. Vous aurez soin que le fort soit bien approvisionné et qu'il y ait une bonne garnison d'un petit bataillon de 400 hommes. (…) On laissera le pape faire ce qu'il veut, en ayant soin toutefois d'empêcher toute communication extraordinaire soit avec Gênes, soit avec d'autres pays (…) Pourquoi l'Empereur retient-il captif le souverain pontife avant de l'envoyer pour un long exil à Fontainebleau ? Qui était Pie VII, immortalisé par Jacques-Louis David dans son tableau, exposé au musée du Louvre, intitulé « Sacre de l'empereur Napoléon Ier et couronnement de l'impératrice Joséphine dans la cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris, le 2 décembre 1804 » ? Un long règne de vingt-trois ans fera de ce moine bénédictin, ouvert aux idées des Lumières, l'artisan de l'extension du rôle diplomatique du Saint-Siège et le meilleur ennemi, peut-être, de Napoléon. Avec nous : Jean-Marc Ticchi auteur de « Pie VII – Le pape vainqueur de Napoléon ? » ; éd. Perrin. Merci pour votre écoute Un Jour dans l'Histoire, c'est également en direct tous les jours de la semaine de 13h15 à 14h30 sur www.rtbf.be/lapremiere Retrouvez tous les épisodes d'Un Jour dans l'Histoire sur notre plateforme Auvio.be :https://auvio.rtbf.be/emission/5936 Intéressés par l'histoire ? Vous pourriez également aimer nos autres podcasts : L'Histoire Continue: https://audmns.com/kSbpELwL'heure H : https://audmns.com/YagLLiKEt sa version à écouter en famille : La Mini Heure H https://audmns.com/YagLLiKAinsi que nos séries historiques :Chili, le Pays de mes Histoires : https://audmns.com/XHbnevhD-Day : https://audmns.com/JWRdPYIJoséphine Baker : https://audmns.com/wCfhoEwLa folle histoire de l'aviation : https://audmns.com/xAWjyWCLes Jeux Olympiques, l'étonnant miroir de notre Histoire : https://audmns.com/ZEIihzZMarguerite, la Voix d'une Résistante : https://audmns.com/zFDehnENapoléon, le crépuscule de l'Aigle : https://audmns.com/DcdnIUnUn Jour dans le Sport : https://audmns.com/xXlkHMHSous le sable des Pyramides : https://audmns.com/rXfVppvN'oubliez pas de vous y abonner pour ne rien manquer.Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement.

On l'espérait depuis très longtemps. Et on s'en souviendra très longtemps. Ultra attendu, le choc entre Artur Beterbiev et Dmitry Bivol pour la couronne incontestée des mi-lourds a tenu toutes ses promesses ce week-end à Riyad. Un choc ultra compétitif, où chacun des deux hommes a connu ses bons moments, qui a couronné Beterbiev et son volume agressif à l'issue d'un combat qui pouvait basculer des deux côtés sans le moindre scandale. Le RMC Fighter Club débriefe ce rendez-vous pas comme les autres qui donne surtout envie d'une chose : les voir remettre ça très vite dans une revanche.

durée : 00:05:35 - Avec sciences - par : Alexandra Delbot - Les trois lauréats sont David Baker de l'Université de Washington, Demis Hassabis et John Jumper de Google DeepMind. Ce prix Nobel de chimie 2024 est scindé en deux. Il récompense à la fois des travaux sur la prédiction et sur la conception de la structure des protéines.

Hey, Oprah— Oprah. Oprah. Oprah. Oprah. Oprah Oprah Oprah Oprah OPRAH— WHAT?!? —I love you. (OPRAH WINFREY sighs and groans, sinking back into bed.) —and… ...AND? ...I made breakfast. (This wakes her up a bit, as she is curious to see what has been made; Supacree energetically bounces into the next room.) HEY, JANET JACKSON— “Legends: The Melanin” S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ has been taken to a top secret training facility to prepare her for her journey into celebritism. EARLIER: S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ is robbed and kidnapped at gunpoint by JANET JACKSON, BEYONCÉ, MARIAH CAREY, ALICIA KEYS & OPRAH. what a combo. I know, right? A NINJA stops S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ in her path, knocking the açaí bowl out of her left hand— WHAT THE FUCK! —luckily, she still has her smoothie—however, before she can take a sip, the ninja, who she seems unbothered by, knocks the smoothie out of her other hand. NO, MY SMOOTHIE!!!!!!!!!! The NINJA stands, motionless. S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ takes a fighting stance. THE NINJA takes a fighting stance. FUCK you dude, that shit's EXPENSIVE! YAAAAH. YAAAAHHH! They NINJA fight; S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ SUPACREE has the advantage, until. ANOTHER NINJA arrives as backup. I got this! Then, ANOTHER OTHER NINJA and A FOURTH NINJA surround SUPACREE; Oh, fuck that. They create a formation—each taking a fighting stance. She is majorly outnumbered. THE GRAND NINJA arrives HIIIIIIIIIYYYAAAAAAA. Nope, fuck this. The ninjas synchronize, ready to fight. Nope, I quit. S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ retreats, running. One of the ninjas has already advanced in her path. Not so fast! You're a LADY?! Now you're surprised?! S Ū P ∆ © я E E ™ attempts to flee. The ninja pistol whips Supacree. She's out cold. God dammit, Janet! What?! She's fast! She's also heavy. Just get her! It takes 3 ninjas (and a fourth for support) to lift SUPACREE into the sleek, blacked out Escalade. They close the back, and unanimously all 4 doors, in sync. The Escalade drives away, license plate reading: LEGENDS Leave it alone, Just let it be Could you just–practically be me for a second, I want to check something out. –I am–practically you– Hold on, Let me get a cat and a couple supermodels. I'll be right back. Great. Where am I supposed to get two cats and a supermodel on short notice? No, it was, a cat and two– Tell me your name one more time. I was certain i'd never forget. You will forget about this. I need more magic. I just gave you magic. Where is it? Uh. Up my nose. Wat is the dosage on those anyway? PORCUPINE. uh, don't touch that? DON't GeT TO0 Hold on a second, this might be the most accurate, if I ever– DId you ever NO. I'm stuck in this MUFFIN. MUFFIN! COME HERE MUFFIN. What happened? I lost a cat. [RACHEL DRATCH IS IN THE IMPENETRABLE TEN] this has never happened. Hold the fucking phone. Hold the fucking– OPRAH UHWUHT. PHONE. [OPRAH WINFREY DOES NOT HAVE TIME FOR YOUR BULLSHIT.] Why all caps CAUSE SHE'S MAD WHO THE [NOPE] DO YOU THINK YOU ARE CALLING ME AT THIS [UH OH] HOUR WHAT HOUR. WHAT TIME IS IT. WHERE'S WHOOPI. I got her. -Wait–you go her? Yup, she's safe. *squints* I'll be right there. Oh shit, is that Skrillex? No, that's The President. No, this is Patrick. Why did the Chicken cross the road? Pretty much out of sheer panic. Run it! Run it to exhaustion! RUN THIS BITCH INTO THE GROUNDHOLE! Good, it's Groundhog's day. SPRINGTI– NO. Put some clothes on. Let's play piano. I'm a martian. oh . that's dumb. What happend to your planet. Yer on it. No, you're on this: my planet. URANUS What happened. *SPPLAT* (Now I'm like, gas.) *blat* Ooh, wow, how'd that happen *shrugs* science /math ASSHOLES. Wat happened. Just wait here. I'll be right back. ARTY MCWIRED You know, just in case there's a LAWSUIT dammit . LAW SUIT huh LAW SUITS I don't get it. Why are you all dressed in What BRoTHeRhOoD is THIS. Oh good, a map. YOu know these things are useless to me. Of course, this would be the perfect day to go SHOPPING JELLYFISHING. DOLPHINS. Idget it. What. How did Dolphins survive a nuclear holocaust? Anything left here? Nothing I s– ooh , wats that. Woah, look, dolphins. LIke, 12 of them. Gnarly. My world changed when I got a couch. Everything changed, actually—when I got furniture. Actual furniture, more than just a mattress on a floor and a cheap Asian desk from Amazon I actually loathed. I almost never worked at the desk, anyway, as it didn't seem equipped for the totality of my studio—the keyboard and drum machine, and though the keyboard had been calling to me over the last few days particularly, I had spent the last couple days almost carelessly longing, in peace and near total silence, with not a care In the world or a thought besides my mantras, with the occasional conglomerate rapid overthinking caused by the terrorists outside, now thought more likely to be police officers or feds themselves, as the police never seemed to be able to stop them–and it seemed that perhaps It was a federal act of domestic terrorism itself. No actual police officers or forces seemed to care or could stop them–and if it wasn't the devil himself, it had to have been the military or something of the like, pushing some sort of political agenda. Either way, I wasn't going to be moved in such a way to keep reacting to such immature and primitive war tactics—and thought that it was just as likely that by November, come voting time, they would all be miraculously disappeared, if not before due to the inclement weather I was sure was coming by the end of summer. I was almost sort of on my own time, besides the voices in my mind which screamed to work harder and faster, be skinner and more perfect, and that my prime time had passed—that I would never be loved again and that I was a horrible mother, that besides all the more knowing it for myself, I hushed and numbed with my mantras, uncaring. At the very least, I was alone, and not interested in people— the humanity had left the humans by way of corporate slavery and electronic addictions, rigged elections and a totalitarian government which masqueraded as a democracy, but In all truth had been for quite some time, out of the hands of its people. All the better, as the people had become programmed and controllable, easily manipulated, and for the most part and maybe even for the best, unconscious creatures—the majority of them malnourished, dehydrated by choice and lifestyle, eating processed foods as voluntary poison–and especially in New York City– undereducated, and without rest; The youth at the hands of the system which controlled all aspects of their lives, comparing them not by wit or skill but privilege and genetic composition; by looks, wealth, and vanity. The algorithm was indeed sorting them by all it knew to— perfect, and imperfect, almost always attributed to environmental factors, such as financial stability and of course—access to certain luxuries and freedoms— a hard line dividing the classes now. I lounged somewhat gracefully in my favorite polyester blend skirt as my harems washed with the tablecloth and dishrags— I was nearly out of suitable casual clothes, and although I had been collecting some fashionable outerwear, I never planned on actually going out. Being penniless in New York was tiresome, and I had spent enough time fighting its monsterous crowds and the infestation of migrants long enough during my year within the homeless system—now, still trapped by the terrorists which surrounded the block and what, if it wasn't some kind of federal experiment altogether, also seemed like some kind of criminal enterprise, which situated itself in the warehouse just adjacent to my building, though having lost their illegal smoke shop, a group of shirtless hoodlum-looking types, still appearing to continue business outside of where the smokeshop once had been, now becoming an obvious and unwelcoming eyesore, as the owners of the “auto body shop” which plagued the neighborhood by parking ugly cars on the sidewalks around the entirety of the corner—combined with the discarded trash, old appliances and the occasional shopping cart filled with such , not to mention the trees which stood in beds of littered filth– as if to say “we run this block”—some shade of brown and careless as to what peace might be to some others, they held enough of something like money which masquaraded as power, and therefore enough of whatever they had to continue to make the block a less welcoming place to live, and besides the motorcyclists—which all seemed to be one, haphazard, operational network— stood as a good reason not to bring any child into this mess— the brown-black world of Brooklyn New York's Queen's facing war zone—the ugly truth of old racism and money in New York City; and after a year two year spectacle on how most of the black and brown culture within New York City had bred itself to be unrestful, misbehaved, and brutally drained of its class by the system itself; it was nearly understated that the culture had become toxic. The Redlining of New York City had become obvious–New York City's own racism a blistering outward truth. I I wanted so badly to be able to travel and return “home” or rather, to my apartment–or even rather–to my studio–as it never really did feel like home with the ability to see it all in a new light. I had been in New York so long that I felt myself becoming callous and bitter—I needed to leave, but had been at a standstill creatively, as if there was some kind of block on my music. It was true that I couldn't hear much of my own sounds or music over the traffic in the outside world, and I was sure I had been sent here as sabotage so that I might never make it out of the depths of this world. Either way, I wasn't going to take it much longer— if I was ever made to be homeless again, I would simply kill myself—and without a love that I could call my own— a real love, disconnected from the destruction of my son's father, completely away from the satanic, demonic and evil curses he had set upon me— a love that would set me free from him and his world— I would kill myself. I would do anything to escape the constant thoughts of him bombarding me, the flashbacks of his brutal beating— the evil words he had said and the evil, tumultuous series of homelessness which followed. I would do anything to rid myself of him entirely, and I had not yet at all been loved by someone who didn't seem possessed by something after some time—it was as if this energy would find its way into anyone near me and drive me to insanity just so that his version of the story would become true; the evil lie that I had simply “lost my mind”, and out of nowhere, just had “gone crazy.” His version was the lie— Everything that I had once become was a reflection of himself—weak, unstable, and unable to function, all the while he had used my energy to sustain and survive; a vampire narcissist who could not have without my doing lived or functioned on his own. The one man I had ever shared tied with had been always too tired to get up for work, and always without fail, unable to keep a steady job – and of course— situationally plagued with poor spending habits, bad judgement, and outright laziness. He simply wanted to play the game, drink his 4locos, and use my computer to make rap beats; of course–I was holding him back from his true potential. Becoming like him was what seemed to the outside world as ‘losing my mind', and upon choosing to leave him, to find myself again. His only strategy had been to to form an illusion—that his own mental illness was actually mine. That the traumatic physical violence I had endured and hidden in fear of him had never actually happened. He kept me at a distance to make it seem as though I had abandoned my son; used our son as bait to attract another mate, and then began to discard him, treating him as an extension of myself which he could feed on for light and energy–and eventually discard. He claimed that by ignoring my phone calls and attempts at keeping a bond with my son, that I had no interest in being a mother. He projected onto other that I had been sick or incapable—with the veracity of a cereal killer with just enough charm, the racistly indoctrinated outside world fell to default that always, though having been the survivor of serveral violent acts, that I was somehow in the wrong–that I had somehow deserved the things which were being done to me. The physical scars that I wore were of his making, and the label that it formed— a mentally ill and unstable homeless colored woman— projected to the right-swinging red-necked Alaskans that I was somehow the problem; However, with time, I was sure that his meaning to subdue and belittle me was returning to him in the way of Karmic justice, and that the light that I had left within my own child would be his redeeming quality, in a world where I had been outcast from and unable to return to. I wanted desperately to at least visit—but saw no end to the financial ruin which homelessness and debt had caused insight; the recovery from his physical violence almost seemingly impossible; even frequenting the gym often enough would result in a particular man entering the gym to practice his sparring; often though I tried to prevent the flashbacks from occuring, I would eventually, hearing this, over my music at high volume, imagine the punching bag as my face. I realized at some point that I might never actually see my son again. We were thousands of miles separated and years between us–and because I had been honest in my documentation of the violence that had happened between us–he was refusing to sign the divorce papers, leaving me dangling at the end of a long rope I was sure I'd hang from, and limiting my ability to be seen by the system as entirely independent of this disastrous type of person. Of course, ‘boys will be boys'--and these types of boys in particular had the habit of protecting one another whether they were in the wrong, or not. A brotherhood of course, in which I had been marked as beatable, discardable, and of course, some sort of sub-human. How could I even know that I was safe from his dark and evil reach in a world said to be and many believed ruled by demonic bodies which Satan himself had claimed? In heavy prayer and reflection I had been asking of the men on motorcycles, to which God's answer seemed to speak truth; that these men were not men at all, but Satan's playthings. They had no free though or will to act on their own, and were instead controlled—that the toxicity, the terrorism, the injustice was a spectacle of sorts for the dark lord, in thy he controlled so many of what used to be people—now more just puppets for his displays of affliction upon humanity. These men had no purpose at all but to be consumed and possessed by a creature which had no face at all—no true name at all— the force of evil itself, which by now had controlled nearly all man, and nearly all of humanity. The Complex Collective © Nicolas Fountainisi was a disgusting human being. Not altogether a human creature, he foraged ways of l believing in kindness and gratitude though never actually having felt, or with feeling at all— what human nature actually at all was. Premeditated murder. Desensitization, Sensitive information Curious niggers Did I say it again? Indifference. It's whatever. Psychological terror chamber. I love Oprah and motorcycles But I hate robots. Huh. Well, I'm at it. Let's go kick in the googleverse I could write a metaplex Languages, and something was stolen! Porch robber False fortune Decisions, decisions Evil ass bitches Temptations, Temptations— I seen your face when I mated here Oh, Lord It's the lyricism Let's make spousal abuse poetic. Let's make her stay in the system! Let's make it more severe weather! [Thunder and lightning.] Let's go hang in the googleverse I might write a metaplex I'm infinite, And you're infinite— But your producer Is inferior Where is he then? I left him in a wedding For aftermarket parts I'm making belated birthday cakes On the 4th Or the fifth Better believe it I ain't got enough to— Switch from the antiquity, did you? I told you, I ain't tell if they come at me! (Don't tell if he touch you) He got the power, The lawyers The women, The money, The mortals on battery pack— Waaaages! I'm not finna snatch shit Just so you can say I snatched it I asked you for passion and peace All I got was the passion And nails in my outstretched palms I tried to warn you! Sickness, is it? It is, Traffic on magnets Let's go hang in the googleverse, I might write metaplex Fear of the fortunate Don't mean to hurt us-/ We're just immortals They don't even know us no more Depart the children of earth For the worst days to come Not to the worthless, But the wealthy and fortunate Burn up Listen and learn, son Your mother was for us But I got my butter's worth (Don't make me work hard!) I thinkni just left myself Woke up in a primary school A perfect apartment But a dive bar To an old fuck Going out on those LTEs Is always bothersome, Don't you know? Torturer's complex —they know not. Don't worry mom, I got an assignment You're proud of me, aren't I? Are you adorable, For a robot stalker Stop in the road Just to intercept That I'm always Where you don't want (On top of you) Once you been hit in the face by a man And Separated from your young Then blamed for it Once you old your dead children and Feel their cold frozen bodies Once you get stalked And tracked by hostile robots Pulling out All the fine details of your life Is if your birth Your entire upbringing Is your fault You stop giving a fuck About little dudes Throwing weights around Guess who gets dangerous Once they find out They're being fucked with Over and over And nobody loves her This ugly fat bitch Guess who gets tired of poverty But gets blocked from getting a job Being broke I shouldn't even need this shit But apparently demons And shit he said Stands up in court —but he hit me. Turns out I lost my mind And the devil's a liar Turns out I like them blonde and blue eyed Huh Oh well I'll stay alone on false positives All day Getting fucked with Pennies on the dollar Followed and followed and followed All I want is a bullet hole In my aura Whatever man, this just got weird again. Reading the book, I realized how funny I was—because Tina Fey was funny and interesting—but I might even be actually funnier, and had al certainly lived a more seasoned life—her white girl hardships were endearing and I loved her all the more for having read through the surface level collection of stories from throughout her life and world—she was certainly luckier than I was, and more likable—-and maybe even probably funnier in person, but for now, she was just smarter, and that was enough to encourage me to list the words that so far I didn't know, starting in the middle, and somehow looking back to the beginning. I didn't want to miss anything—she was actually a considerable role model besides Oprah, though it was obvious we lived in different worlds entirely. Captain Captain! Oh, Good, come in, Cannon. You've—changed. …as you know, Monday we disembark. Yes, I'm aware. And as you know, the details of the mission have been classified, even to us. Yes. I find that alarming. And so, without anymore thought I've decided to masquerade as my old self. How old are you, anyway? You should never ask a woman her age, LT. Sargent. * or the other way around, I clearly don't know. Sorry. Your recent promotion keeps slipping my mind; I…haven't been myself lately… Obviously not, if you've decided to publicly dress like that. I'm still very much in the privacy of my office. You can consider me the spokesperson on behalf of the public. Never as a woman her age! You're not a woman; you're my captain. We'll see about that after tonight. Being a woman, or being my captain? Both, probably. Hm. By any chance would you be interested in joining me? As your subordinate, or as a man. Both, probably. Or neither… presumably. As my escort. I beg your pardon. I've been known to become rather out of sorts in this condition. —er, your condition, captain? Dead drunk and blind with fear out of my mind. [he ponders for a moment, knowing that the mission could very well be their last.] Consider it done. Great. Get dressed, and meet me with the car out front in half an hour. Half an hour? Sharp. Bonus points for showing up early. We're earning points? We are now. Very well then. What am I wearing? Something sharp. Sharper than the inside of a half hour. On your mark. I'll—see you soon. He exits the captain's office, letting out a sigh of relief otherwise previously congested, he looks around as if not to be caught, regains his composure with the shake of his head, somewhat in disbelief of what he's witnessed. He casually places his hands in his pockets, walking down the hall and passing one of his crew mates, who quickly stops to salute him. Sergeant. Almost forgetting to salute back, mindlessly drifting passed in ‘off' mode, he slowly and squarely, almost still casually, salutes back. Oh. I had glimpsed at a picture of the man once more that had forced me to wonder— “Jesus Christ, is he okay?” It would be odd to think of a man who has spent a better part of the last two decades and most of his careers on camera as unphotogenic, then again—I had been tricked by the media before into thinking a certain way, and therefore was cautious, and still—I began to wonder about the man and his misery, and his mistresses—not out of jealousy or obsession, but simply because I knew he had them. He was old Hollywood, or old New York—or maybe a bit of both, and there was something about it all, perhaps even my own darkness, that danced with the flicker of sinful lust that motioned me towards not a yearning, or the act of doing so—I was at least wise enough to know nothing good could come from doing harm to oneself or another— but with the intensity of burning desire to know the man behind the mask—the actor inside the actor, to whom all the world's a stage. Whatever, though. Doesn't matter. At least I was still somehow youthfully resilient to what might have otherwise been torture, TVP S2- after Esha's promotion to head writer. DAEMON DALLAS, aka “DASH” is a quick witted, fast-talking comic powerhouse— his legendary stand up and acting career has made him a legendary force in movies, film, and television; he has been booked on the show to sit down with his longtime friend Patrick about his new stand up comedy tour. — DAEMON Who's this beautiful sister? PATRICK My head writer; don't even think about it. DAEMON I don't think. I just do. Esha approaches— Dash politely bows and kisses Esha's hand. ESHA Should I get tested? DAEMON —and funny. [Against Patrick's wishes, Esha accepts a date with Daemon Dash; Furious, Patrick means to interrogate her at work the next day. ] PATRICK Why would you even date that asshole. ESHA Because—Pat. He's a comedian. PATRICK I'm a comedian! So? ESHA So, he's funny. PATRICK And? ESHA And he said things to me— PATRICK (defensively) –What kind of things?! ESHA Charming, funny things— PATRICK Okay? ESHA Things he wouldn't say to you over dinner— because, I'm– PATRICK —you're a woman. ESHA —and your head writer. So naturally…. PATRICK Esh, you're a genius, ESHA So is he. We have—some new material to work through. [ESHA produces a hefty pile of notes and serves them to PATRICK] PATRICK (squealing) Ahq! ESHA Your monologue tonight. [Patrick excitedly shuffles through the papers.] PATRICK Oh yes. Oh yes. ESHA You can thank me later. © The Festival Project ™ , Inc. All Rights Reserved. Broken bottles. Someone should stop her Walkin walking God knows I don't belong here And I don't want to Passover was April 21-30 Global War on Terrorism Aka WWIII Oh, indeed. Don't look left Take a deep breath My heart beats differently I think it might be the end I think it might be I think I might be the enemy The pushing mechanism When i breath him in I levitate And gravitate to what it meant The sake of the art, The hurt of the heart As sacred as it ever was The turning or the Torah talks of Gestures, since the fall of Rome The toga on the alter Solid hands unwrap us all From falling over Old and awkward No award for wisdom No rest for the wiser No love for the troll Since thunderstruck from under us, Delivered all but what we wanted So we talk of kama sutra, Surely we can't talk at all Of what we know As once was bonded Laughed it off To come from what The call to us, Fair serve governors fortress I work up in mentions Carved the scarlet letter out of Cannons, of course MA. WHAT. I'm BUSY. IT'S ON. The what? The show we watch! The one that— YES, Oh, my GOD. Yes. YESSSSSSSSS. Usnavi, get your popcorn This is some worth watching Up in arms for forwards Causing sore arms, Numb thumbs From crucifixes Are you wondering what God Would walk about the horned carving A kamikaze walk of tall corn— Follow me, dear mantra Your whole house is watching. Sacre. It's happening again isn't it. I do want ice cream. All I need is a divorce And an Amazon woman 10 foot tall To rub me off at the stroke of Nevermind what the clock says In God's house they're all wrong The blasphemous for Catholics Has begun, So strum your number into the teleprompter And just hope no one gets hurt By the hook on the next song —like the hook of my last surviving bra digs into my back does, Or the skin on my lack of tummy Has rubbed off under the suicide Of the cycle— It's getting tighter A loss of interest is equal to A loss of consciousness And I'm 21 days drunk On the alternate, though— I'm sober and feeling less Loved. The animal I've become is all cardio And karma sutra For karma comes To the weak of heart To use the world as swords To cause harm To the calm artists I thought I told you off once. (Already) You look awful. lol. You look terrible, broh. But my album sound fire. #producerholes [portal] It's coffee time!! It's not coffee time! It's not coffee time. Iiiiits coffee time. Damn. Where's the cat. Gestating. I fell asleep on a Saturday afternoon and woke up on a Saturday morning something like 19 hours later, after a series of dr same the types of like I was sure that my new dreamcatcher would shield me from—the turquoise beads were probably plastic, but who could know—without further inspection, I gladly hung it up near the window to catch the bad spirits who had been attacking me in the night, mostly in the form of satanic possessed motorcycle riders or heavily drinking passerby's. Wouldn't it be nice to have somewhere beautiful like this in downtown Los Angeles, or even Santa Monica? I had grown tired of the toxicity of inner city New Yorkers and the third world antics of the newest inhabitants— still/- it was the first apartment ever in my entire adulthood that was totally and completely mine, and I took good care of it. I knew that most folks weren't as clean and tidy as I was, and although I had left my apartment quite a mess in a lurch to get to the post office, returning the cheap and improperly advertised fake essential oils I had returned upon discovering that they were indeed not actually essential oils, but something that smelled more like floor cleaner, and was the consistency of water—they were fake, and the bath rug had been altered with photoshop to make it look gold, while it was actually yellow. I took it back, remembering the promise I had made 3 days ago—once I was finished reading Tina Fey's matching yellow book, I would find somewhere else to put the rug, but it clashed so classlesley with everything in my apartment, that I couldn't stand to look anymore; the rug had been removed from the bathroom before even filing for a return label; the fake essential oils joined it in the box three days later— a Saturday I was sure upon first waking was Sunday, but then glad it was some kind of time slip through the dimensions as I slept wearily for hours after refusing to go to the gym, only to be followed by what seemed like robots—the same 3 or 4 people showing up when I worked out no matter what time I decided to go—early or late. {Enter The Multiverse} [The Festival Project.™] COPYRIGHT © THE FESTIVAL PROJECT 2019-2024 | THE COMPLEX COLLECTIVE. © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. © -Ū. Oprah thinks you're a dipshit. Good...good! What?! At least she THINKs of me!

Ecoutez Les pépites RTL avec Jérôme Florin du 13 septembre 2024.

durée : 00:48:25 - Affaires sensibles - par : Fabrice Drouelle, Franck COGNARD - Aujourd'hui dans Affaires sensibles : le sacre de la France en coupe Davis. - invités : Henri LECONTE - Henri Leconte : Tennisman, Consultant TV - réalisé par : François AUDOIN

After nearly 700 years, one of the most important Western magical compendiums in history has been fully translated into English for the first time. The Summa Sacre Magice (SSM) is a 200,000 word Latin manuscript written in 1346 by Catalan magician Berengarii Gannellii, and is considered the most in-depth overview of Latin medieval magic ever. In a stunning achievement, scholar, author and Solomonic practitioner Dr. Stephen Skinner, along with co-author and researcher Daniel Clark, is presenting Volume One of their translation of all five books of the SSM into English. We are honored as Dr. Skinner returns on Glitch Bottle to go deep into this incredible work. ⇓ ⇓ ⇓► ✅(Amazon USA) Pre-order ‘Summa Sacre Magice' - https://www.amazon.com/dp/0738781231/ ► ✅(Amazon UK) - Pre-order ‘Summa Sacre Magice 'https://www.amazon.co.uk/Summa-Sacre-Magice-Compendium-Sourcewords/dp/191221248X/ ► ✅Golden Hoard Press - https://goldenhoard.net/index.htm✦

Daniel Popp présente l'intégrale en 13 CD de son père André Popp et le duo toulousain Tropic Hotel se rêve en pop love tropicale à Rio. André Popp (1924-2014) serait le chaînon manquant entre Olivier Messiaen et la variété, c'est ce que nous explique son fils Daniel Popp, à l'occasion de la sortie de l'intégrale instrumentale de son père, soit 293 titres, 13 CD, entre 1955 et 1976. Note d'intention Daniel Popp (son fils)Réunir pour la première fois dans une intégrale, tous les albums d'André Popp de 1955 à 1976, jamais ou si peu publiés en CD, permet de voir à quel point la musique instrumentale est un élément essentiel de son œuvre de compositeur, arrangeur, chef d'orchestre. Un volant peu connu tant les arrangements qu'il a écrits pour les plus grands, ses chansons à succès qui ont fait le tour du monde, couvrant plusieurs générations, jusqu'à aujourd'hui, ou la série des « Piccolo, Saxo et Cie » ont voilé quelque peu son travail en tant que chef d'orchestre. Car outre le côté avant-gardiste des explorations sonores d'« Elsa Popping et sa Musique Sidérante » qui lui auront collé une image d'« amuseur », ou les musiques qui ont alimenté nombre de génériques de séries d'animation (Colargol, Babar...), et d'une myriade d'émissions de radio ou de télévision (« Les Maîtres du Mystère », « La Tête et les Jambes » entre autres…) et de bandes originales (« Tintin »…), André Popp, album après album, n'aura cessé de creuser un sillon musical qui n'appartient qu'à lui. Souvent nourri d'œuvres composées pour la radio qui fut son conservatoire, dont le bonus inédit, exceptionnel, du CD 13, offre un concert radiophonique dirigé par Popp, lui-même, revisité dans un esprit jazz coloré de joyeuses dissonances. Cette publication en révèle enfin la mesure, l'incroyable variété : une véritable malle aux trésors prenant figure d'œuvre regorgeant d'audace, de malice, de folle créativité musicale, entrecoupée de périodes plus sages, mais toujours élégantes et inventives, dont il est passionnant de constater l'évolution sur une vingtaine d'années.  Biographie André PoppLa passion absolue de la musique résume la vie et la carrière d'André Popp. Parfait autodidacte ou presque, génial créateur, il est resté dans l'ombre malgré une œuvre très riche, jalonnée par des tubes internationaux sur fond d'explorations musicales en tous genres. Dès cinq ans, en 1929, il apprend le piano en Vendée, là où réside sa famille. Mais la musique se révèle vraiment à lui, pendant la guerre, quand il remplace l'abbé mobilisé qui tenait l'harmonium dans la chapelle de son pensionnat. Le jeune André joue de l'instrument à tous les offices avec un grand bonheur. Déjà, plutôt que les grands classiques, il préfère écouter Stravinsky ou Messiaen. À la même période, sa première rencontre importante fut Jean Broussolle, futur ‘Compagnon de la chanson' avec lequel il écrit ses premières chansons. C'est encore avec Broussolle, qu'il ose « monter » à Paris à la Libération en 1944, venant de sa Vendée natale. Là, il travaillera comme pianiste dans divers cabarets ou encore au célèbre Théâtre des Trois Baudets à partir de 1949. Sur tous les fronts en 1953, il devient le musicien/producteur de la grande émission du samedi soir sur Paris Inter : « La bride sur le cou ». Véritable laboratoire et conservatoire pour André Popp qui affirmait y avoir fait ses classes d'orchestration, de composition, de direction d'orchestre !  En 1956, Jacques Canetti engage André Popp chez Philips et sa filiale Fontana comme chef d'orchestre et arrangeur. Chez Fontana, sous la direction artistique de Boris Vian, André Popp enregistre en 1956 son premier album instrumental Musiques en tous genres, suivi un an plus tard de Elsa Popping, un album 30 cm réunissant des classiques connus : polkas, java et autres, avec des arrangements avant-gardistes et de nombreux trucages jamais réalisés en studio. Parmi les accompagnements d'artistes chez Philips/Fontana, on découvre ses arrangements ciselés sur mesure pour Jacques Brel avec ‘Quand on a que l'amour', son premier succès, Juliette Gréco et ‘Il n'y a plus d'après', Mouloudji, Zizi Jeanmaire et tellement d'autres, tant son originalité lui vaut de faire partie des arrangeurs « à la mode » ! Puis viendront une kyrielle de chansons dont il écrit les musiques gravées dans toutes les mémoires : les célébrissimes ‘Lavandières du Portugal' en 1955 avec Jacqueline François, ‘La complainte du téléphone' ou ‘De Pantin à Pékin' pour Juliette Gréco, ‘Tom Pillibi', chanté par Jacqueline Boyer, Grand prix de l'Eurovision en 1960, ‘Le chant de Mallory' avec Rachel, quatrième de cette même Eurovision en 1964, ‘Le lit de Lola', ‘Manchester et Liverpool' et ‘Mon amour, mon ami', pour Marie Laforêt. Son plus grand succès comme compositeur restera ‘Love Is Blue' (‘L'amour est bleu') dont le chef d'orchestre Paul Mauriat fera un succès mondial en 1968 et vendra trente millions de disques. ‘La solitude c'est après' pour Claude François, ‘L'amour c'est comme les bateaux' pour Sylvie Vartan ou un autre tube planétaire ‘Song for Anna' joué au départ par Herb Ohta, un guitariste Hawaïen, sont d'autres belles réalisations à l'actif d'André Popp qui a aussi offert des chansons à Petula Clark, Brigitte Bardot, France Gall, Régine, Françoise Hardy, Nana Mouskouri, Nicole Croisille ou encore à la toute jeune Céline Dion à ses débuts.  Mais le chef d'œuvre d'André Popp restera à tout jamais « Piccolo, saxo et compagnie », seule œuvre symphonique éducative destinée à la jeunesse, jouée de l'Australie à la Colombie en passant par l'Allemagne, la France… Peu présent dans le monde du cinéma, André Popp composera néanmoins quelques musiques de film, dont « Tintin et le mystère de la toison d'or ». Le théâtre lui ouvrira ses portes grâce à ses orchestrations célèbres d'Irma la douce jouée encore à Broadway le jour de sa mort, ou par ses musiques composées pour nombre de pièces d'André Barsac au Théâtre de l'Atelier. Depuis une décennie, André Popp était heureux d'avoir trouvé en Fred Pallem et son orchestre de jazz « Le Sacre du Tympan », le prolongateur de son œuvre. Fred Pallem qui ne se lasse pas de répéter qu'André Popp symbolise encore aujourd'hui le chaînon manquant entre Olivier Messiaen et la musique de variété.Extrait de « Les Arrangeurs de la Chanson Française : 200 Rencontres » Par Serge ELHAÏK (2017) Éditions Textuel.Titres d'André Popp joués dans l'émission :Les Papillons, Les Lavandières du Portugal, 20 que da ?, Le chant de Mallaury par Tabuley Rochereau (extrait), Manchester & Liverpool demo par David Bowie (extrait), Love is Blue par George Benson et La Polka du Roi.► Coffret 13 CD André Popp L'intégrale instrumentale (1955-1976) (Universal 2024).Facebook - Site - Deezer - YouTube.En 2025 ! Le 8 Mars 2025, concert exceptionnel de Fred Pallem et le Sacre du Tympan Big Band « 100 ans de Popp et de jazz » dans le cadre du centenaire du compositeur André Popp, Radio France, Studio 104. Puis nous recevons Tropic Hotel  pour la sortie de l'album Tum Tum Bossa. Un travail d'adaptation en français de poésies brésiliennes issues de la bossa nova des années 60 (Tom Jobim, Chico Buarque, Caetano Veloso, Vinicius de Moraes, Carlos Lyra, Adoniran Barbosa…) au plus proche du sens et de la sonorité d'origine : Tropic Hotel, c'est un homme (Frédéric Jean, ex-Hyperclean) et une femme (Sandra Campas) qui jouent et chantent face à face le discours amoureux. Partis de la forme brute de la bossa, le Tropic Hotel n'hésite pas à s'aventurer sur les sentiers électriques de la pop exotica et nous entrainent dans un véritable « road movie musical. » Ce sont des histoires d'amour. D'abord celle de Sandra et Frédéric.En 2014, alors élève au Conservatoire de Jazz de Montauban, Sandra rencontre Frédéric. Le week-end, ils se retrouvent dans une petite cabane perdue au fond des bois pour jouer de la bossa nova nus. S'inspirant des surréalistes, ils s'essaient à des adaptations à partir de jeux littéraires. Sandra chante en brésilien et Frédéric interprète ce qu'il entend en français. Ils appellent cela des « bossas sourdes ». Fin 2016, Sandra se lance dans des adaptations, au plus proche du sens et de la sonorité d'origine. Il apparaît évident que c'est ce qui restitue le mieux la poésie crue de ces textes brésiliens des années 60. Au printemps 2017, ils décident alors de les partager sur scène. Frédéric fait quelques propositions d'arrangements plus électriques et peu à peu se dessine le répertoire, nouvel havre pour ces poèmes d'amour. On laisse la cabane pour le Tropic Hotel.  Titres interprétés au grand studio- Je ne suis plus toi et moi (voce e eu) Live RFI- Viens, extrait de l'album voir le clip- Petite Valse Live RFI.Line Up : Sandra Campas, chant, Frédéric Jean, guitare.Son : Benoît Letirant.► Album Tum Tum Bossa (Velvetica Music 2024).- Site - Facebook - Instagram - Spotify.

Daniel Popp présente l'intégrale en 13 CD de son père André Popp et le duo toulousain Tropic Hotel se rêve en pop love tropicale à Rio. André Popp (1924-2014) serait le chaînon manquant entre Olivier Messiaen et la variété, c'est ce que nous explique son fils Daniel Popp, à l'occasion de la sortie de l'intégrale instrumentale de son père, soit 293 titres, 13 CD, entre 1955 et 1976. Note d'intention Daniel Popp (son fils)Réunir pour la première fois dans une intégrale, tous les albums d'André Popp de 1955 à 1976, jamais ou si peu publiés en CD, permet de voir à quel point la musique instrumentale est un élément essentiel de son œuvre de compositeur, arrangeur, chef d'orchestre. Un volant peu connu tant les arrangements qu'il a écrits pour les plus grands, ses chansons à succès qui ont fait le tour du monde, couvrant plusieurs générations, jusqu'à aujourd'hui, ou la série des « Piccolo, Saxo et Cie » ont voilé quelque peu son travail en tant que chef d'orchestre. Car outre le côté avant-gardiste des explorations sonores d'« Elsa Popping et sa Musique Sidérante » qui lui auront collé une image d'« amuseur », ou les musiques qui ont alimenté nombre de génériques de séries d'animation (Colargol, Babar...), et d'une myriade d'émissions de radio ou de télévision (« Les Maîtres du Mystère », « La Tête et les Jambes » entre autres…) et de bandes originales (« Tintin »…), André Popp, album après album, n'aura cessé de creuser un sillon musical qui n'appartient qu'à lui. Souvent nourri d'œuvres composées pour la radio qui fut son conservatoire, dont le bonus inédit, exceptionnel, du CD 13, offre un concert radiophonique dirigé par Popp, lui-même, revisité dans un esprit jazz coloré de joyeuses dissonances. Cette publication en révèle enfin la mesure, l'incroyable variété : une véritable malle aux trésors prenant figure d'œuvre regorgeant d'audace, de malice, de folle créativité musicale, entrecoupée de périodes plus sages, mais toujours élégantes et inventives, dont il est passionnant de constater l'évolution sur une vingtaine d'années.  Biographie André PoppLa passion absolue de la musique résume la vie et la carrière d'André Popp. Parfait autodidacte ou presque, génial créateur, il est resté dans l'ombre malgré une œuvre très riche, jalonnée par des tubes internationaux sur fond d'explorations musicales en tous genres. Dès cinq ans, en 1929, il apprend le piano en Vendée, là où réside sa famille. Mais la musique se révèle vraiment à lui, pendant la guerre, quand il remplace l'abbé mobilisé qui tenait l'harmonium dans la chapelle de son pensionnat. Le jeune André joue de l'instrument à tous les offices avec un grand bonheur. Déjà, plutôt que les grands classiques, il préfère écouter Stravinsky ou Messiaen. À la même période, sa première rencontre importante fut Jean Broussolle, futur ‘Compagnon de la chanson' avec lequel il écrit ses premières chansons. C'est encore avec Broussolle, qu'il ose « monter » à Paris à la Libération en 1944, venant de sa Vendée natale. Là, il travaillera comme pianiste dans divers cabarets ou encore au célèbre Théâtre des Trois Baudets à partir de 1949. Sur tous les fronts en 1953, il devient le musicien/producteur de la grande émission du samedi soir sur Paris Inter : « La bride sur le cou ». Véritable laboratoire et conservatoire pour André Popp qui affirmait y avoir fait ses classes d'orchestration, de composition, de direction d'orchestre !  En 1956, Jacques Canetti engage André Popp chez Philips et sa filiale Fontana comme chef d'orchestre et arrangeur. Chez Fontana, sous la direction artistique de Boris Vian, André Popp enregistre en 1956 son premier album instrumental Musiques en tous genres, suivi un an plus tard de Elsa Popping, un album 30 cm réunissant des classiques connus : polkas, java et autres, avec des arrangements avant-gardistes et de nombreux trucages jamais réalisés en studio. Parmi les accompagnements d'artistes chez Philips/Fontana, on découvre ses arrangements ciselés sur mesure pour Jacques Brel avec ‘Quand on a que l'amour', son premier succès, Juliette Gréco et ‘Il n'y a plus d'après', Mouloudji, Zizi Jeanmaire et tellement d'autres, tant son originalité lui vaut de faire partie des arrangeurs « à la mode » ! Puis viendront une kyrielle de chansons dont il écrit les musiques gravées dans toutes les mémoires : les célébrissimes ‘Lavandières du Portugal' en 1955 avec Jacqueline François, ‘La complainte du téléphone' ou ‘De Pantin à Pékin' pour Juliette Gréco, ‘Tom Pillibi', chanté par Jacqueline Boyer, Grand prix de l'Eurovision en 1960, ‘Le chant de Mallory' avec Rachel, quatrième de cette même Eurovision en 1964, ‘Le lit de Lola', ‘Manchester et Liverpool' et ‘Mon amour, mon ami', pour Marie Laforêt. Son plus grand succès comme compositeur restera ‘Love Is Blue' (‘L'amour est bleu') dont le chef d'orchestre Paul Mauriat fera un succès mondial en 1968 et vendra trente millions de disques. ‘La solitude c'est après' pour Claude François, ‘L'amour c'est comme les bateaux' pour Sylvie Vartan ou un autre tube planétaire ‘Song for Anna' joué au départ par Herb Ohta, un guitariste Hawaïen, sont d'autres belles réalisations à l'actif d'André Popp qui a aussi offert des chansons à Petula Clark, Brigitte Bardot, France Gall, Régine, Françoise Hardy, Nana Mouskouri, Nicole Croisille ou encore à la toute jeune Céline Dion à ses débuts.  Mais le chef d'œuvre d'André Popp restera à tout jamais « Piccolo, saxo et compagnie », seule œuvre symphonique éducative destinée à la jeunesse, jouée de l'Australie à la Colombie en passant par l'Allemagne, la France… Peu présent dans le monde du cinéma, André Popp composera néanmoins quelques musiques de film, dont « Tintin et le mystère de la toison d'or ». Le théâtre lui ouvrira ses portes grâce à ses orchestrations célèbres d'Irma la douce jouée encore à Broadway le jour de sa mort, ou par ses musiques composées pour nombre de pièces d'André Barsac au Théâtre de l'Atelier. Depuis une décennie, André Popp était heureux d'avoir trouvé en Fred Pallem et son orchestre de jazz « Le Sacre du Tympan », le prolongateur de son œuvre. Fred Pallem qui ne se lasse pas de répéter qu'André Popp symbolise encore aujourd'hui le chaînon manquant entre Olivier Messiaen et la musique de variété.Extrait de « Les Arrangeurs de la Chanson Française : 200 Rencontres » Par Serge ELHAÏK (2017) Éditions Textuel.Titres d'André Popp joués dans l'émission :Les Papillons, Les Lavandières du Portugal, 20 que da ?, Le chant de Mallaury par Tabuley Rochereau (extrait), Manchester & Liverpool demo par David Bowie (extrait), Love is Blue par George Benson et La Polka du Roi.► Coffret 13 CD André Popp L'intégrale instrumentale (1955-1976) (Universal 2024).Facebook - Site - Deezer - YouTube.En 2025 ! Le 8 Mars 2025, concert exceptionnel de Fred Pallem et le Sacre du Tympan Big Band « 100 ans de Popp et de jazz » dans le cadre du centenaire du compositeur André Popp, Radio France, Studio 104. Puis nous recevons Tropic Hotel  pour la sortie de l'album Tum Tum Bossa. Un travail d'adaptation en français de poésies brésiliennes issues de la bossa nova des années 60 (Tom Jobim, Chico Buarque, Caetano Veloso, Vinicius de Moraes, Carlos Lyra, Adoniran Barbosa…) au plus proche du sens et de la sonorité d'origine : Tropic Hotel, c'est un homme (Frédéric Jean, ex-Hyperclean) et une femme (Sandra Campas) qui jouent et chantent face à face le discours amoureux. Partis de la forme brute de la bossa, le Tropic Hotel n'hésite pas à s'aventurer sur les sentiers électriques de la pop exotica et nous entrainent dans un véritable « road movie musical. » Ce sont des histoires d'amour. D'abord celle de Sandra et Frédéric.En 2014, alors élève au Conservatoire de Jazz de Montauban, Sandra rencontre Frédéric. Le week-end, ils se retrouvent dans une petite cabane perdue au fond des bois pour jouer de la bossa nova nus. S'inspirant des surréalistes, ils s'essaient à des adaptations à partir de jeux littéraires. Sandra chante en brésilien et Frédéric interprète ce qu'il entend en français. Ils appellent cela des « bossas sourdes ». Fin 2016, Sandra se lance dans des adaptations, au plus proche du sens et de la sonorité d'origine. Il apparaît évident que c'est ce qui restitue le mieux la poésie crue de ces textes brésiliens des années 60. Au printemps 2017, ils décident alors de les partager sur scène. Frédéric fait quelques propositions d'arrangements plus électriques et peu à peu se dessine le répertoire, nouvel havre pour ces poèmes d'amour. On laisse la cabane pour le Tropic Hotel.  Titres interprétés au grand studio- Je ne suis plus toi et moi (voce e eu) Live RFI- Viens, extrait de l'album voir le clip- Petite Valse Live RFI.Line Up : Sandra Campas, chant, Frédéric Jean, guitare.Son : Benoît Letirant.► Album Tum Tum Bossa (Velvetica Music 2024).- Site - Facebook - Instagram - Spotify.

Alexei Popyrin a crée la surprise à Montréal ! L'Australien, 62e mondial, a remporté dans la nuit le premier Masters 1000 de sa carrière. Une victoire contre Andrey Rublev en deux sets. Est-ce la plus grande surprise de la saison ? Ce sacre sera-t-il fondateur pour Popyrin ? Sans Filet revient sur cette immense performance sans oublier le sacre de Jessica Pegula à Toronto. Dans la 2e partie de l'émission, l'équipe analyse les premiers tours du Masters 1000 de Cincinnati. Les favoris tiendront-ils leur rang ?

Upon returning from an extended vacation with family, I have watched precious few hours of this year's Summer Olympics from… The post The Sacre Bleu Paris Olympics appeared first on SwampSwamiSports.com.

Up - the financial Revolution that's got young Aussie's backs presents...  Day 3 and does it get any better? An Olympic showdown in waves of mortal CONEquence featuring a who's who of iconic vortex shamans and slab warriors going at it! We relive one of the greatest days in pro surfing history with all the appropriate fizz and froth.  Get on the Up Swellians!!! Download the ‘Up' app and sign up in minutes. Use code 'UTFS' for $10 on signup (do it all from the comfort of your phone, no need to go to the bank or any of that bullsh*t). T&C's @ up.com.auSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Comment traverser la nuit et retrouver un jour la joie ? Comment se sentir vivant(e) ? Quels liens tisser avec l'absence ? Quelle est la véritable puissance de la douceur ? Voilà des questions qui traversent l'œuvre naissante de l'artiste Clara Ysé : dans son premier album (Oceano Nox, Tôt ou tard), son premier roman (« Mise à feu », Grasset/Le Livre de Poche) ou son premier livre de poésie (« Vivante », Editions Seghers). Clara Ysé est notre invitée. Elle sera le 21 juillet 2024 aux Francofolies de Spa et le 12 mars 2025 au Cirque royal à Bruxelles. Dans notre Grand dictionnaire, le langage du sacré défini par le journaliste et prêtre Daniel Duigou, auteur de « Atlas des lieux sacrés » (Arthaud). Ce numéro vous avait déjà été proposé en mai 2024. Merci pour votre écoute Et Dieu dans tout ça ? c'est également en direct tous les dimanches de 13h à 14h sur www.rtbf.be/lapremiere Retrouvez tous les épisodes de Et Dieu dans tout ça ? sur notre plateforme Auvio.be : https://auvio.rtbf.be/emission/180 Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement.

En battant les Anglais 2 à 1, l'Espagne devient la seule sélection à remporter quatre fois un Euro. Qu'avez-vous pensé de cette finale ? Qu'a-t-il manqué aux Three Lions pour s'imposer ? Quelles équipes vous ont surpris ou déçu ? Qu'avez-vous pensé du parcours des Bleus ?  

David Waldman joined our sad lot who watched the first debate. Although with a little bit of space David decided that the debate wasn't the worst that could be imagined. Greg Dworkin filled his Raft O' Stories™ at ports around the world to reveal what we (hopefully) have in common. Sacre bleu! France blocked the takeover by their far right, even when it meant sacrificing their own to do it. Blimey! The British rejected its right wing as well, even if they couldn't accept a Prime Minister who looks like John Oliver portraying Thurston Howell III. Around the world, Gen X drives the right, but the rest of us are wising up to the ultraright takeover. How about the U.S. of A., land of the free, home of the brave? The more people learn about Project 2025 the less they like it. Which is why Donald Trump will let the states… or the federal government decide… or the Supreme Court, who cares? Whatever exonerates him the most. Donald will have people to take care of that, and you. But, what about Joe? And/or Kamala? Well, buck up buttercups, Biden's back, baby.

Santiago Salinas Sacre es un joven mexicano que se desarrolló en el mundo de la creación audiovisual. En el 2006 dirigió y produjo “Costa Sur”, documental que presentó el mundo del tráfico ilegal de huevos de tortugas. Esta producción recibió reconocimiento por parte del Congreso Internacional de Ambientalistas de la Ciudad de México, además de que fue proyectada en el festival Voces del Silencio.Poco a poco este joven cineasta fue acumulando experiencia en el mundo de la dirección de cine, comerciales de televisión, documentales y programas de TV. Ha trabajado para compañías como Iguana Récords, StereoSonique Films, Glow TV, entre otras.Hoy es el director y fundador de Melding, una productora especializada en cine, televisión y web que creó hace casi 18 años. Su lema es “creamos y producimos historias”.Y hablando de historias, Santiago recientemente dio a conocer su ópera prima, "Goy"(TRAILER) , la cual ha sido recibida diferentes festivales internacionales. Además, se encuentra inmerso en el desarrollo de su primera serie, donde continúa explorando su pasión por contar historias cautivadoras y potentes en contextos mexicanos.En este episodio, Santiago Salinas comparte su experiencia en la creación audiovisual y el impacto de su ópera prima "Goy". Santiago narra cómo su pasión por contar historias lo llevó a dirigir documentales y comerciales, hasta consolidarse en el cine y la televisión. También habla sobre los desafíos de producir su película durante la pandemia y su visión para futuros proyectos.Mensajes principales:* Evolución en la creación audiovisual: Santiago Salinas Sacre cuenta su trayectoria desde documentales hasta la dirección de su propia película.* Desafíos de la producción cinematográfica: Los obstáculos enfrentados al producir "Goy" durante la pandemia y la importancia de la perseverancia.* Impacto de las historias: La pasión de Santiago por reflejar la realidad y conectar con el público a través de sus obras.Para más información y contenidos exclusivos:* Blog / Newsletter: Cuentos Corporativos en Substack* Facebook: Cuentos Corporativos en Facebook* Instagram: Cuentos Corporativos en Instagram* X (Twitter): Cuentos Corporativos en X* Email: adolfo@cuentoscorporativos.com¡No te pierdas esta inspiradora historia de creatividad y superación en el cine!#CineMexicano #Goy #Documentales #Pandemia #Creatividad #CuentosCorporativos #Podcast #HistoriasDeVida This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cuentoscorporativos.substack.com

Today's talk: A call to Rob Sacre asking about the card game bourre and about Louisiana cooking. Plus a Dr. visit. KWAYI: Rain. Comments. My Website. Patreon

Au sommaire de Radio Foot aujourd'hui 16h10-21h10 T.U : - Le Real Madrid a remporté sa 15è Ligue des Champions samedi soir. ; - Dortmund, encore perdant à Wembley, mais une épopée qu'on gardera en mémoire ? ; - La nouvelle formule de la Ligue des Champions entrera en scène en 2024. Le Real Madrid a remporté sa 15è Ligue des Champions samedi soir (1er juin 2024). Au vu du scénario du match, est-ce un beau champion ?- Carlo Ancelotti, coach des Merengues, est-il le plus grand coach de tous les temps ?- Toni Kroos, un dernier match en blanc et une consécration. La plus belle sortie imaginable ? - La Casa Blanca vit-elle actuellement la plus belle période de son histoire ?- Vinicius ? Bellingham ? Kroos ? Qui pour le Ballon d'Or ? Cette équipe a-t-elle besoin de Kylian Mbappé ?- Dortmund, encore perdant à Wembley, mais une épopée qu'on gardera en mémoire ? Qu'a-t-il manqué à Edin Terzic, l'entraîneur du BVB ?- La nouvelle formule de la Ligue des Champions entrera en scène en 2024. Va-t-on regretter l'ère des Ronaldo et Messi ?Avec Hugo Moissonnier : David Lortholary, Nabil Djellit et Salim Baungally.-Technique/Réalisation : Alice Mesnard - Pierre Guérin / Saliou Diouf.

Au sommaire de Radio Foot aujourd'hui 16h10-21h10 T.U : - Le Real Madrid a remporté sa 15è Ligue des Champions samedi soir. ; - Dortmund, encore perdant à Wembley, mais une épopée qu'on gardera en mémoire ? ; - La nouvelle formule de la Ligue des Champions entrera en scène en 2024. Le Real Madrid a remporté sa 15è Ligue des Champions samedi soir (1er juin 2024). Au vu du scénario du match, est-ce un beau champion ?- Carlo Ancelotti, coach des Merengues, est-il le plus grand coach de tous les temps ?- Toni Kroos, un dernier match en blanc et une consécration. La plus belle sortie imaginable ? - La Casa Blanca vit-elle actuellement la plus belle période de son histoire ?- Vinicius ? Bellingham ? Kroos ? Qui pour le Ballon d'Or ? Cette équipe a-t-elle besoin de Kylian Mbappé ?- Dortmund, encore perdant à Wembley, mais une épopée qu'on gardera en mémoire ? Qu'a-t-il manqué à Edin Terzic, l'entraîneur du BVB ?- La nouvelle formule de la Ligue des Champions entrera en scène en 2024. Va-t-on regretter l'ère des Ronaldo et Messi ?Avec Hugo Moissonnier : David Lortholary, Nabil Djellit et Salim Baungally.-Technique/Réalisation : Alice Mesnard - Pierre Guérin / Saliou Diouf.

Le 2 décembre 1804, à Paris, la cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris se prépare à un événement grandiose : le sacre de Napoléon Bonaparte comme Empereur des Français. Toute la ville est en effervescence, vibrante d'anticipation et de curiosité et s'apprête à assister à une des plus grandes opérations marketing de l'Histoire… Sujets traités : Paris, Napoléon Bonaparte, sacre, Empereur, Notre-Dame , cathédrale, fête, 1804 Merci pour votre écoute Un Jour dans l'Histoire, c'est également en direct tous les jours de la semaine de 13h15 à 14h30 sur www.rtbf.be/lapremiere Retrouvez tous les épisodes d'Un Jour dans l'Histoire sur notre plateforme Auvio.be : https://auvio.rtbf.be/emission/5936 Et si vous avez apprécié ce podcast, n'hésitez pas à nous donner des étoiles ou des commentaires, cela nous aide à le faire connaître plus largement.

Jimmy Butler playing with an injured MCL for three quarters reminded Amin of an It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia episode, while Charlotte hopes her Celtics play the "Dark Lord" Erik Spoelstra without Jimmy Butler rather than the Sixers. Charlotte also thinks the Bulls are in the same category as a sneaky good team that could make a run in the playoffs. Later, we head to France to celebrate the great performances from international NBA players. Charlotte and Amin end the show with a new segment called One on One, where they discussed Boban Marjanović earning fans free chicken by missing free throws, Victor Wembanyama's new Nike shoes designed by AI, and the unearthed video made by the Knicks to recruit Lebron James featuring the final Sopranos reunion ever.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Jimmy Butler playing with an injured MCL for three quarters reminded Amin of an It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia episode, while Charlotte hopes her Celtics play the "Dark Lord" Erik Spoelstra without Jimmy Butler rather than the Sixers. Charlotte also thinks the Bulls are in the same category as a sneaky good team that could make a run in the playoffs. Later, we head to France to celebrate the great performances from international NBA players. Charlotte and Amin end the show with a new segment called One on One, where they discussed Boban Marjanović earning fans free chicken by missing free throws, Victor Wembanyama's new Nike shoes designed by AI, and the unearthed video made by the Knicks to recruit Lebron James featuring the final Sopranos reunion ever.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices