Headway - Friday 2nd October - SILICONE SOUL

[Andy Barton]

Headway

Friday 2nd October 2009

featuring

SILICONE SOUL

Graeme Reedie

plus support from

Bruce Anderson

Graeme Binnie

Neil Clark

Andy Barton

The Reading Rooms

Blackscroft

Dundee

Doors 1030pm-Late

ENTRY £8 B4 11PM £10 AFTER

Check out this video from our 3rd birthday!

www.club-headway.co.uk

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www.myspace.com/thereadingrooms

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www.myspace.com/4siliconesoul

Silicone Soul are the internationally renowned and much-loved DJ & production duo Craig Morrison and Graeme Reedie. Pioneering quality underground house and techno for the past decade they have proven to be one of the most popular acts on their home label, Soma Records. They are synonymous with dancefloor destruction and guest constantly around the globe. They have held residencies at La Terrrazza (Barcelona), Circo Loco (DC10, Ibiza), The Arches and The Sub Club (Glasgow) and now the famous Café d’Anvers (Antwerp).

Equally so, the duo are renowned for their production skills, with an idiosyncratic take on the house/techno sound that continues to evolve …deep, emotive electronic music.

Their worldwide chart-busting single, Right On, Right On! is now regarded a house classic. It gained them full international recognition in 2001 and catapulted them in to dance music’s A-list and into the conscious of the mainstream. Craig and Graeme however held true to their underground roots, refused to compromise their ideology and stuck a firm two fingers up to the commercial house music scene, even refusing to appear on ‘Top Of The Pops’ (BBC1).

It is this attitude, along with an insatiable appetite for new sounds and ideas that keeps them firmly at the cutting edge of underground electronic music. They have produced three critically acclaimed albums of sublime deep house, techno and electronica all on Soma Records… A Soul Thing (2000), Staring Into Space (2005) and Save Our Souls (2006).

Since the release of Save Our Souls, in late 2006 and in-between constant touring, they have focused attentions on their Darkroom Dubs label. Regarded now by many as one of the UK’s most forward thinking electronic labels, it has become a formidable source of house and techno music. With recent artists including Sei A, Gary Beck,

Jet Project, Afrilounge and Mirror Music.

The guys are now back in the studio working on their fourth album. This is a landmark year for Silicone Soul as it marks their tenth anniversary, so expect some fresh surprises in 2009…

[Andy Barton]

This Friday!

[Andy Barton]

Awesome night!

Next event is Friday 6th November with WILL SAUL (Aus Music, Simple Records - London) as part of the worldwide Balance Compilation Tour.

Expect techy, trippy, melancholic and euphoric house/techno/dubstep.

This is a Scottish Exclusive so do not miss this!

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=159326065975

[forx123]

It is cold, so bitter cold, on this dark, winter day in 1942. But it is no different from any other day in this Nazi concentration camp. I stand shivering in my thin rags, still in disbelief that this nightmare is happening. I am just a young boy. I should be playing with friends; I should be going to school; I should be looking forward to a future, to growing up and marrying, and having a family of my own. But those dreams are for the living, and I am no longer one of them. Instead, I am almost dead, surviving from day to day, from hour to hour, ever since I was taken from my home and brought here with tens of thousands other Jews. Will I still be alive tomorrow? Will I be taken to the gas chamber tonight?

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Back and forth I walk next to the barbed wire fence, trying to keep my emaciated body warm. I am hungry, but I have been hungry for longer than I want to remember. I am always hungry. Edible food seems like a dream. Each day as more of us disappear, the happy past seems like a mere dream, and I sink deeper and deeper into despair. Suddenly, I notice a young girl walking past on the other side of the barbed wire. She stops and looks at me with sad eyes, eyes that seem to say that she understands, that she, too, cannot fathom why I am here. I want to look away, oddly ashamed for this stranger to see me like this, but I cannot tear my eyes from hers.

Wow gold,

Then she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a red apple. A beautiful, shiny red apple. Oh, how long has it been since I have seen one! She looks cautiously to the left and to the right, and then with a smile of triumph, quickly throws the apple over the fence. I run to pick it up, holding it in my trembling, frozen fingers. In my world of death, this apple is an expression of life, of love. I glance up in time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.

The next day, I cannot help myself-I am drawn at the same time to that spot near the fence. Am I crazy for hoping she will come again? Of course. But in here, I cling to any tiny scrap of hope. She has given me hope and I must hold tightly to it.

And again, she comes. And again, she brings me an apple, flinging it over the fence with that same sweet smile.

This time I catch it, and hold it up for her to see. Her eyes twinkle. Does she pity me? Perhaps. I do not care, though. I am just so happy to gaze at her. And for the first time in so long, I feel my heart move with emotion.

For seven months, we meet like this. Sometimes we exchange a few words. Sometimes, just an apple. But she is feeding more than my belly, this angel from heaven. She is feeding my soul. And somehow, I know I am feeding hers as well.

Sro Gold,

One day, I hear frightening news: we are being shipped to another camp. This could mean the end for me. And it definitely means the end for me and my friend. The next day when I greet her, my heart is breaking, and I can barely speak as I say what must be said: "Do not bring me an apple tomorrow," I tell her. "I am being sent to another camp. We will never see each other again." Turning before I lose all control, I run away from the fence. I cannot bear to look back. If I did, I know she would see me standing there, with tears streaming down my face.

Months pass and the nightmare continues. But the memory of this girl sustains me through the terror, the pain, the hopelessness. Over and over in my mind, I see her face, her kind eyes, I hear her gentle words, I taste those apples.

And then one day, just like that, the nightmare is over. The war has ended. Those of us who are still alive are freed. I have lost everything that was precious to me, including my family. But I still have the memory of this girl, a memory I carry in my heart and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to start a new life. Years pass. It is 1957. I am living in New York City. A friend convinces me to go on a blind date with a lady friend of his. Reluctantly, I agree. But she is nice, this woman named Roma. And like me, she is an immigrant, so we have at least that in common.

Sro Gold,

"Where were you during the war?" Roma asks me gently, in that delicate way immigrants ask one another questions about those years.

"I was in a concentration camp in Germany," I reply.

Roma gets a far away look in her eyes, as if she is remembering something painful yet sweet.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I am just thinking about something from my past, Herman," Roma explains in a voice suddenly very soft. "You see, when I was a young girl, I lived near a concentration camp. There was a boy there, a prisoner, and for a long while, I used to visit him every day. I remember I used to bring him apples. I would throw the apple over the fence, and he would be so happy."

Roma sighs heavily and continues. "It is hard to describe how we felt about each other-after all, we were young, and we only exchanged a few words when we could-but I can tell you, there was much love there. I assume he was killed like so many others. But I cannot bear to think that, and so I try to remember him as he was for those months we were given together."

Aion kina,

With my heart pounding so loudly I think it wil1 explode, I look directly at Roma and ask, "And did that boy say to you one day, 'Do not bring me an apple tomorrow. I am being sent to another camp'?"

"Why, yes," Roma responds, her voice trembling.

"But, Herman, how on earth could you possibly know that?"

I take her hands in mine and answer, "Because I was that young boy, Roma."

For many moments, there is only silence. We cannot take our eyes from each other, and as the veils of time lift, we recognize the soul behind the eyes, the dear friend we once loved so much, whom we have never stopped loving, whom we have never stopped remembering.

Finally, I speak: "Look, Roma, I was separated from you once, and I don't ever want to be separated from you again. Now, I am free, and I want to be together with you forever. Dear, will you marry me?"

I see that same twinkle in her eye that I used to see as Roma says, "Yes, I will marry you," and we embrace, the embrace we longed to share for so many months, but barbed wire came between us. Now, nothing ever will again.

Almost forty years have passed since that day when I found my Roma again. Destiny brought us together the first time during the war to show me a promise of hope and now it had reunited us to fulfill that promise.

Valentine's Day, 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah Winfrey Show to honor her on national television. I want to tell her in front of millions of people what I feel in my heart every day:

"Darling, you fed me in the concentration camp when I was hungry. And I am still hungry, for something I will never get enough of: I am only hungry for your love."

[lookme875]

On Christmas Day, all the joys of a close family relationship radiated throughout our parents' home. The smells of roasted

turkey, Southern?baked ham and homemade bread hung in the air. Tables and chairs were set up everywhere to accommodate

toddlers, teenagers, parents and grandparents. Every room was lavishly decorated. No family member had ever missed Christmas

Day with our mother and father.

Only this year, things were different. Our father had passed away November 26, and this was our first Christmas without him.

Mother was doing her best to be the gracious hostess, but I could tell this was especially hard for her. I felt a catch in

my throat, and again I wondered if I should give her my planned Christmas gift, or if it had become inappropriate in my

father's absence.

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A few months earlier I had been putting the finishing touches on portraits I had painted of each of my parents. I'd planned

to give them as Christmas gifts. This would be a surprise for everyone, as I had not studied art or tried serious painting.

There had been an undeniable urge within that pushed me relentlessly to do this. The portraits did look like them, but I was

still unsure of my painting techniques.

While painting one day, I was surprised by a doorbell ring. Quickly putting all my painting materials out of sight, I opened

the door. To my astonishment, my father ambled in alone, never before having visited me without my mother. Grinning, he

said, "I've missed our early morning talks. You know, the ones we had before you decided to leave me for another man!" I

hadn't been married long. Also, I was the only girl and the baby of the family.

Immediately I wanted to show him the paintings, but I was reluctant to ruin his Christmas surprise. Yet something urged me

to share this moment with him. After swearing him to secrecy, I insisted he keep his eyes closed until I had the portraits

set on easels. "Okay, Daddy. Now you can look!"

Wow gold,

He appeared dazed but said nothing. Getting up, he walked closer to inspect them. Then he withdrew to eye them at a

distance. I tried to control my stomach flip flops. Finally, with a tear esca

Thrilled with his response, I happily volunteered to drop them off the next day at the frame shop. Several weeks passed.

Then one night in November the phone rang, and a cold chill numbed my body. I picked up the receiver to hear my husband, a

doctor, say, "I'm in the emergency room. Your father has had a stroke. It's bad, but he is still alive."

Daddy lingered in a coma for several days. I went to see him in the hospital the day before he died. I slipped my hand in

his and asked, "Do you know who I am, Daddy?"

Sro Gold,

He surprised everyone when he whispered, "You're my darling daughter." He died the next day, and it seemed all joy was

drained from the lives of my mother and me.

I finally remembered to call about the portrait framing and thanked God my father had gotten a chance to see the pictures

before he died. I was surprised when the shopkeeper told me my father had visited the shop, paid for the framing and had

them gift?wrapped. In all our grief, I had no longer planned to give the portraits to my mother.

Aion kina,

Even though we had lost the patriarch of our family, everyone was assembled on Christmas Day-making an effort to be

cheerful. As I looked into my mother's sad eyes and unsmiling face, I decided to give her Daddy's and my gift. As she

stripped the paper from the box, I saw her heart wasn't in it. There was a small card inside attached to the pictures.

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After looking at the portraits and reading the card, her entire demeanor changed. She bounced out of her chair, handed the

card to me and commissioned my brothers to hang the paintings facing each other over the fireplace. She stepped back and

looked for a long while. With sparkling, tear-filled eyes and a wide smile, she quickly turned and said, "I knew Daddy would

be with us on Christmas Day!"

I glanced at the gift card scrawled in my father's handwriting. "Mother-Our daughter reminded me why I am so blessed. I'll

be looking at you always-Daddy."