Makunouchi Bento - Telegrams for the Little Sea Winds
These are the stories the Lighthouse entrusts to us.
These are the stories we lodge with you.
You alone are caretaker of these stories now.
In the middle of the unfathomable summer of 1999 our two kids from Makunouchi Bento, pupils back then, found themselves thrown together in a summer camp. The camp was held in a disposed lighthouse, somewhere near Bergen, Norway. The shell of the lighthouse was old, so old that everybody saw it as part of the landscape, a painted errection in the fabric of the place.
The lighthouse meat was not bricks or stones, as you might think, but old smoking pipes, retired smoking pipes, donated kindly by the sailors of Seven Seas. It was a lighthouse like no other: at every gust of wind, this lighthouse was spreading exotic tobacco aromas and was whistling like a bunch of healthy green sailors at a passing blonde. It was a lighthouse that unfolded stories without inhaling pause, a contraption that gave birth to unimaginable fluttered adventures for those who know how to listen.
At this point, we must admit openly: until we reached this camp, we were guitarophobes! With such fury and passion as only a child can be. But everything changed when an old sailor has taught us that rum and coke flavour could be highly enhanced if you dip a guitar headstock in the glass and even the guitar sounds better a few hours after this secret manoeuvre. Therefore, this EP contains guitar splinters. It's our treat, for everyone!
From this very lighthouse we harvested 3 rounded stories, the stories included in this EP. It took us a long time to recall them and share them with you, but that happened because with any story comes great responsibility: the lighthouse stories are travelling with a curse in their tail, a very vague and reasonable danger after all. And it goes like this: every creature who hears the story to the end is required to spread the story to 6 more people at least! (this is likely to be only a mere camp legend, concocted and perpetuated by young naive minds, but we didn't want to take the risks). Him who does not spread the story suffers a vile fate: he won't be able to wash or touch the water and whistle in the same time for all his blessed days. Thus, we can assume that he will end sullen and stinky, without friends and destitute of the great inscrutable joy of whistling this (or any other) little sea shanty in the shower:
one two, build a crew.
three four, sail some more.
five six, pipes and sticks.
seven eight, sharks to hate.
nine ten, sail again!
Video - Santiago J. Franzani