Sound Interpretations — Dedication To Franz Kafka
Catalogue number: [HAZE160] | Artist: VA | Date: 04.10.2012
- Aortha — Dream About Loneliness [16:47]
- RoomDark — Ein Landarzt [02:40]
- Kafkaesque Orchestra — Letters to Milena [03:04]
- Koxdeer — Josef K [11:45]
- Mario Sarramian — Haze In Berlin [03:34]
- Mario Sarramian — Zehlendorf [08:05]
- Generation Skweee — Fragment [05:05]
- I Me Mine — Akfak [08:26]
- Arcane Waves — Das Unerreichbare Schloss [06:34]
- Hari Hardman — Der Process [03:23]
- Science Teheran & London-DC — Kafkaesque Illusions [06:06]
- Ike Stirner — Kafkaesque Times [11:08]
- Raw N^D — 4etapafasetochnojkristallizacii [02:47]
- Buben — Kafka [03:33]
- Out_Level — Samsa [05:25]
- Duran Vazquez — Kettensäge Strafkolonie [04:48]
- Punktieren feat. Pavel Medvedev — Forschungen eines Hundes [04:20]
- cis minor — Going For A Walk With Kafka On A Rainy Day [03:47]
- Mystified — Dream Journey [05:05]
- M.Nomized — Metamorphosis 1916-2012 [07:12]
- T.R.I.v.M. — Die Verwandlung [03:46]
- Wehwalt — Anacoluthe K. [14:32]
- Kritсhev vs. Ban — Live From My Solution [06:54]
The HAZE Netlabel presents the project Sound Interpretations. In this project we propose to rethink literary heritage of the 20th century. Over the 2012-2013 years, each month we will release the compilation dedicated to the 12 most outstanding writers of the 20th century.
Musicians create tracks-dedications, rethink the writer’s works, translate text to the language of sounds and vibrations.
This compilation is dedicate to Franz Kafka.
One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked.
«What’s happened to me?» he thought. It wasn’t a dream. His room, a proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between its four familiar walls. A collection of textile samples lay spread out on the table — Samsa was a travelling salesman — and above it there hung a picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.
Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka.
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