Musical interlude: Nneka.

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted any music other than Billy Bragg – time to change that!

Internet friend and commenter extraordinaire dmf posted a song by Nigerian-German singer Nneka in Tuesday’s Open Thread, which reminded me of the Nneka song he posted nearly two years ago (can you believe it’s been two years, dmf? I can’t!), and she is just so wonderful, that I just have to post them both right here on the front page.

First, the song that I think is her best-known: “Heartbeat,” then the one dmf dropped off the other day: “Do you love me now?” She makes me think of Neneh and Eagle Eye Cherry, a little bit. Delightful.

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2 Comments

  1. dmf

     /  February 23, 2012

    you have quite a memory my friend, two years (and for me 3 states) is hard to get my head around, many thanks for your continuing efforts, generosity, and for being a sane voice in a world that is often sadly lacking such qualities. now pls get some sleep for G-d’s sake the twitterverse will still be there in the morning

  2. dmf

     /  February 24, 2012

    for fridays and all the people who make things possible

    Each night you come home with five continents on your hands:
    garlic, olive oil, saffron, anise, coriander, tea,
    your fingernails blackened with marjoram and thyme.
    Sometimes the zucchini’s flesh seems like a fish-steak,
    cut into neat filets, or the salt-rubbed eggplant
    yields not bitter water, but dark mystery.
    You cut everything into bits.
    No core, no kernel, no seed is sacred: you cut
    onions for hours and do not cry,
    cut them to thin transparencies, the red ones
    spreading before you like fallen flowers;
    you cut scallions from white to green, you cut
    radishes, apples, broccoli, you cut oranges, watercress,
    romaine, you cut your fingers, you cut and cut
    beyond the heart of things, where
    nothing remains, and you cut that too, scoring coup
    on the butcherblock, leaving your mark,
    when you go
    your feet are as pounded as brioche dough.

    “Cook” by Jane Hirshfield

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