The moon lits up the whole terrace. There’s something magical about waking up at night, stepping out into the winter cold, listening to the city silence, growing a tobacco cigarette and thinking of that same old same old piece of writing wrapped up in your wollen jacket pocket. You look at the ink on the paper, and the sharp-edged words it shows. By the moonshine you glow in the dark. It’s amazing how much light the moon gives off. Seven simple words light up by it and pierce deep into your brain. Suddenly you’re reminded of distant memories, the kind that never really fade. It’s frosting. Your hands tremble around the wrapper. Your fingers clench it strongly, try to hold on tight. Kinda like your brain holds onto this one memory, thought not quite. Whereas the rugged paper tries to flee from your dry touch, encouraged by the night wind, the memory voluntarily gravitates towards your brain, like it doesn’t want to leave. However much you try to get rid of it, to not think of it, it simply refuses to dim. Come dance with me. That’s what that memory says; begging you to recall it, to relive it, to dance with it in your brain. You look at the words again. You read them. Reread them in your head. You hear your own voice silently talking, uttering those words, inside. Words that were once yours. At the time out loud. Now a memory of something you once said, when you thought you were too wise for anyone to, really, understand.
It’s strange how people just fade out of your life. And not just any kind of people. Important people. The kind you think of in the nightlife sky, there on that wooden armchair with only one arm left, there in that grayish kind of light that only the moonshine can bring you.
This short story was inspired by one of my favourite live performances: “Moonshine” by Oscar and the Wolf Live @Pias Nites (Belgium) in 2012.
Director of the video: A Jerry’s Joint
In love, we all want to possess that one loving perfectionistic mask, the ultimate partner for life, the soulmate of my own mask, behind which lies the ultimate mess. The things one can do with artistic vulnerability and a 300€-camera.
They say it’s naive (how we’re passing by) trying to look the entire world right in the eye. It’s funny how one can be vulnerable without showing oneself. It takes practice; it’s a real skill. Which is to be perfected, time after time. How else to survive my own beautiful imperfect mess?
Love’s a stranger, until I see you again. Cause really anyone can be the love of your life if you let them in. That’s why they call Love a decision. A decision you make, day in, day out. But finding yourself in another person’s mask, willingly knowing it is the mask you want to possess, not really the mess it covers up, now that is quite the challenge. To know that, indeed, you wish to possess a mask. But life is full of challenges, isn’t it? Be provocative and thou shalt be rewarded!
We want to know how far that it can bend. … This love of ours. Let’s bend it forwards and backwards, upwards and downwards. Let’s try polyamory. Let’s twist each other’s minds with words, gestures and provocative lies. Let’s, yes, see how far our love can bend, and whether or not it is strong enough and whether this beautiful mess of ours can even be possessed.
Director of this Music Video: Wouter Bovijn
When he talks, love sounds come out (or so it would seem). But here’s the thing: a simple statement contains a ton of information apart from the words themselves. Even when words of love are soft-spoken and seemingly full of love, there are all these other layers. Layers that psychics, or lunatics, call “reading between the lines”. Cause we all know that even the most lovely words of all – “I love you” – can often mean nothing.
When your soft-spoken words sound like machines in my ear.
When he speaks, love sounds come out. And he may think they mean anything, but not necessarily so. Some love stories down the road, you’ve come to learn that words are merely words. Unless there is courage involved. But often there is none. Maybe because of the situation, or because of him, or maybe because of you. But whatever the reason may be, in the end all these love sounds still just feel like … machinery. Stuff you’re supposed to say, or you’re supposed to feel.
When your soft-spoken words sound like machines in my ear.
But the truth is that one can never feel complete, unless you dare to listen to the most painful words of all. And that, dare I say, is where true love comes into play.
Director of this Music Video: Derrick Belcham
I’m at a wedding, once again. A woman I’ve never seen before approaches me. She’s wearing a fashionable dress, with red painted toe nails in high Armani heels. ‘No boyfriend?’, she curiously asks. As if it matters. Yet another soul who doesn’t understand independency. But I know why she has one. I can understand. ‘I’m on vacation‘, I say, proudly. Her left eyebrow slightly twitches. Her face asks for the benefits of this not so ordinary vacation. Well, if you must know… I’m doing whatever I want. No noise, no whining, no messages from hell. No one’s asking for dinner, no one’s getting upset. Funny how, when they’re about, you feel alone; and when you’re alone, you feel alive. I’m reminded again of who I was when we met. Yup, vacations from love. You should try it some time, I kindly reply. It’s a lot better than hitchhiking in the middle of nowhere, I’ll tell you that. No seriously, you should try it. You can even work out a ‘6-months ON, 6-months OFF’-plan. When loneliness sets in, do it all again. Trust me, it’s the best vacation you’ll ever have. And you don’t even have to leave the country. I’m telling you, it’s gonna broaden your horizon in ways you never held possible. Those thoughts that just don’t come when you’re next to someone. ‘So when are you coming back?’, she asks. I shrug my shoulders, turn my gaze towards the buffet. Dunno. I’m on vacation.
Director of MV: Michelle Gurevich
How fucking easy it is to make a music video that shows fucking everything that’s fucked up with society, a.k.a. the fucking “adult world”, in under ninety seconds, without actually relating all that much to the original fucking song. Fuck. Ah yes. Bitch. It’s the hidden heathen’s activities and all its unrevealed hypocrisy about it. Nigga. Cuz really the things we actually do on planet Earth for most of our short-lived lives are really quite confusing. Shit. I mean, seriously, think about it, what are our actual activities in “the day-to-day trenches of adult life”? (quoting David here) Hoes. That’s right. Motherfuckin’. Sex. Beauty. Booze. Money. Pills. Anything to numb down the meaninglessness of all this wandering around and basically just wasting our time by physically or psychologically harass one another from time to time. Pussy. Kill ’em. Shit. Kill ’em all. Motherfuckers. Ah, the truth in swear words. Fuck. It’s like “modern consumerism society”, to quote David once again, “with a whole lot of rhetorical niceties stripped away”. Sluts. Or, in other words: Swear words. Tits. And let’s not forget 00:20. Bitches. Because, let’s face it – Niggas. That’s why some people need humour in their lives – Ass. And some others, yes, hysterical laughter. Like – Hoes.
Director of MV: Double Ninja
Fetishes. What is it, what are they for? They’re actually pretty useful, you know, the way dreams are. Take this woman. She’s smart, cute, playful. Or so she was before … well, before she entered patriarchy. Cause there was of course the time she felt abandoned, rejected, humiliated. Sound familiar? Here’s what you do: Pull out your heart – to make the being alone easy. And you simply turn your attention elsewhere. To drawing, for example. Or to the little things in life. Or to fetishes. It doesn’t really matter what it is you turn your attention to. As long as it makes the being alone easy. As long as you leave patriarchy at the door. Cause you wanna stay in control of your body. Of, you know, this body that is Yours. Break the bridle – to make losing control easy. But of course, if you’re really into fetishes, you might wanna start thinking out of tha box. Don’t let them control you. Don’t let them tell you what to do. Just DIY. There’s a term for this kind of mindset. It’s called Self-love. It’s something you’re gonna need. Trust me. Or, wait … perhaps it was Self-destruction? I can’t recall the right term right now. Anyhoo … it doesn’t matter all that much. The important thing to remember is that, if you do as I say, you’ll find you won’t ever have to remember again. Burn all your things – to make the fight to forget easy. Yes, I know! Isn’t it great?! It’s a marvelous little device, this fetish thing. It’s like lucid dreaming. Break the bridle, take the leash, learn to let go. And the good news is, you won’t feel a thing. Ever.
Director of MV: David Terry Fine
Sweet sour. Johnny had the moves, Kelly had the groove. Marc and Marcus bled it out. Nothing to see, nothing to do, so, then, what do you do? E-xactly, you harass the nearest adult, make a little fuss, randomly smash stuff, do a little dance. In short, you turn sweet sour. Y’all the Gang in town and they know it. If only this boring lil’ stuck-up place had the cash to teach you humanity. But no. – Pick up your stitches. – Yes, for real dude. Get your shit together. Pick up a stereo. Play some breakbeats. Make Liam Gallagher look like a nobody. I know what you’ve been through, we don’t really need to talk about it. Talk? No, God no. Talking only makes stuff worse. Way worse. No, we had better shake it off on the sound of music. Do a little dance, shake a little tush. Terrorise the neighbourhood with tha Band of Skulls-Gang. Yup. Sweet sour. That’s us.
Director of MV: Ian Davenport
Props needed for a low-budget music video: boot, acoustic guitar, gorilla suit, three Eastern men, rope, piano, one palm tree, wood chucked fire flames and an axe. I just want to be a lady on Tuesday afternoons; oh, how many woods would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? Yeah, cause those two sentences together make perfect sense … Let me introduce you to something perhaps new to you: lyric puzzles (or puzzles to solve in music lyrics). This one’s apparently about the relation between chopping wood and the female ape. Or in other words: it’s about those few women out there who have to show us men, that they, too, know how to chop wood. But, you know, I, as a modern man, am very open-minded about this. My girl, for example, is just as strong as me, just as clever, just as funny, and I do have to admit that she can chuck wood. Haven’t seen this all too often in women. It takes a PhD to know what apes all understand. But now that you’ve shown me that you can kill, that you can debate and that you can DIY, it’s time to settle down, don’t you think? I mean, yes, women, too, can chop wood. I get it, okay? No, really honey, I get your point. The “we are all equal”-point. Now we’ve seen you chop the wood, leave that shit to someone else. Men, for example. But you’re very clever, sweetie. You’re very clever. Now get over here and tell me how the laundry machine works. This thing is driving me mad.
Director of MV: Michelle Gurevich
Well, I remember my first encounter with the devil. I remember wine. And cigarettes. And way too much free time. I’d had a jazz-night that night. A lone one, that is. Ah yes, my first encounter with the devil. He came before me in a moment of utter boredom. No video game, travel or gossip activity could guide me through this one. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was boredom that would last forever. Existential boredom, that’s what so-called smart people call it. It’s some kind of imposed apathetic boredom infused with a touch of mental helplessness and a raw cherry on top (and it ain’t no chemical cherry either). Anyhoo… It’s a virus that’s been going around. Ah yes, the devil’s charming ways to manipulate you and your thoughts. He appears in front of you first as a fluffy slightly “off” feeling, then as a giant nicotine cloud, and finally as a woman clothed in a black silk dress so sexy you’ve lost all control over your breathing skills. Foolishly, I try to follow, but I fumble and fall behind. The first reflection of the devil inside you is when you drop your dreams, and you welcome him into your heart. Cause the devil works in mysterious ways. Sexy, but mysterious. He’s like the full moon really. Raw. Pure. Real. A living dead thing. But hey, there’s some good news for us bored people … Yolo!
Director of MV: Jay Brown
A long intro, huh? – Yes. It’s gonna be that kind of video. Though these kinds of videos do not usually predict much good, let’s watch it anyway. Cause the song’s cool. And cause Woodkid’s music videos (MVs) are like mysterious theme-chained chapters of a bigger picture. Example, the main character of his previous MV “Run Boy Run” was this little boy who likes to run. So let’s pick up where we left off. Let’s look at the boy now that it’s no longer running. I am softly watching you, but, boy, your eyes betray what burns inside you. Ah yes, the viewer watching, but without real understanding. On the one hand a church, an organ, and a country-hat kind of guy. On the other, a deserted landscape with one very lost guy out there (same guy). Two sides to a coin? What’s the missing link here? Is there anything I could do to get some attention from you? – Probably not. That’s the way love goes. One loving the other much more than vice versa. If only I had them keys to you. The sound of love is out of tune. Same old, same old. But feelings aren’t black and white. Or are they? Inner worlds. You never seem to get a hold of them. They suck you up, spit you out, then come back to haunt you. Or how to wonderfully represent this fact by sucking you up (at sea), spitting you out (in church) and letting your hands betray what’s really going on here. Falling through the whales there, are you? – Yes. Cause that’s what unattainable love is like.
Director of MV: Woodkid (a.k.a. Yoann Lemoine)