Until Human Voices Wake Us And We Drown / Various Rune Grammofon

Hardormat (pour les pochettes)

T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). Prufrock and Other Observations. 1917.
1. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

LET us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question …

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo. The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was a soft October night, Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea. In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo. And indeed there will be time To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair

[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”] My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— [They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”] Do I dare

Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. For I have known them all already, known them all:— Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume? And I have known the eyes already, known them all

The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?

And how should I presume? And I have known the arms already, known them all— Arms that are braceleted and white and bare [But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!] It is perfume from a dress

That makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. And should I then presume? And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets

And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?… I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!

Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep … tired … or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,

And in short, I was afraid. And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while,

To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question, To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”

If one, settling a pillow by her head, Should say: “That is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all.” And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— And this, and so much more?— It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say: “That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— Almost, at times, the Fool. I grow old … I grow old …

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Celebrating 50 releases, this collection of 19 tracks from the catalog shows the variation of music we have put out since the first release in January 1998. From the timeless, austere melancholia of Fartein Valen and the pioneering electronic music of Arne Nordheim to the magic pop diamonds of Susanna and the Magical Orchestra and the restless youth improv that is MoHa!, taking in some traditional music, free rock, jazz, ambient, contemporary experiments and various shades of electronica along the way. Some are cornestones in the catalog, but this is not a best of collection, we want to show the different aspects of Rune Grammofon and have tried to give each of the records a common theme or base.

There are five 10” vinyl records, all in their own sleeve with an exclusive Kim Hiorthøy design, as well as a 16 page catalogue, also with special design from Kim and with an overview of the 50 first Rune Grammofon releases. All come in a very nice, solid cardboard box, also designed by Kim. Being limited to 1000 copies, this is bound to be a collectors item in no time, not only because of the limited aspect but also because of the fantastic design work at show, quite possibly some of the finest record design work Kim has ever done. Being a treasured format by vinyl collectors, the 10” is more expensive to manufacture than the ordinary 12”, meaning it isn´t made that often, especially not in a box set like this.

Fartein Valen - The Churchyard By The Sea
Arne Nordheim - Pace
Supersilent - 4.3
Scorch Trio - Taajus
MoHa! - B1
Alog - Severe Punishment And Lasting Bliss
Skyphone - In Our Time
Phonophani - Lavenderloops
Nils Økland - Månelyst
Arve Henriksen - Sanmon - Main Entrance
Food - Daddycation
Susanna And The Magical Orchestra - Beliver
In The Country - Only The Birds Can See Us
Svalastog - Feil Remix
Strønen / Storløkken - Sport'n Spice
Spunk - Marbles
Jazzkammer* - Silver Spider Morning
Maja S. K. Ratkje - Chipmunk Party
Deathprod - Twin Decks