This thing they call Malajube

I am locked away, far away. Desert sands and relative isolation have left me alone with my thoughts and translations of novels from foreign lands. Tolstoy has joined me as well as Nabokov himself. Yes quite honestly it is he, the embodied being in paperback form. And after a summer of being stowed away, speaking in tongues beneath secret chambers (curiously marked “sandbox”) I have moved my mind, body, and appendages to the most God forsaken spot of California (till winter comes and that whole metaphor is reversed).

And though I have discussed this with Tolstoy and have had Nabokov bounce it around his head (swallowed in English, digested in Russian, and regurgitated in French), we still can’t wrap our fingers around it. This thing they call Malajube. Their theatrics are reflections of city streets being destroyed by giant cartoons of neon hammers chasing down purple nails with crazy eyes. Their tongues of nonsense surely do not describe the perverted image that I have come up with yet my translation seems so much more fun. And with the intro to “Montreal -40C” taking cue from the acidy drip-drip paintings of Wayne Cohen, it is no wonder that my mind immediately took a turn off the beaten path.

And yet, in taking a step back it seems that my bearings are all awry. This heat, oh dear Lord, take it away. Forgive my head and the stains across this page. Oh dear Lord, take it all away.

Montreal. Negative forty. Those were the days.

[mp3] Malajube – Montreal -40C
[mp3] Malajube - Fille À Plumes
[mp3] Malajube - Étienne D'août

Their site has a bunch of info on where to get the album, Trompe L'oeil, as well as some slamming good videos that further infuse my cartoon hammer revelation.