SLEEPER

long story short:

this is a tale about an evil human who steals musi­cally tal­ented cats +
impris­ons them in a cat piano.

how does a cat piano dif­fers from a piano piano?
instead of ham­mers hit­ting strings to cre­ate notes, nails hit cat’s tails to make the lovely music.

the cat piano won both the syd­ney film fes­ti­val + mel­bourne inter­na­tional film fes­ti­val for best ani­ma­tion short

Nick Cave nar­rates film that’s based on a poem writ­ten by Eddie White below.  His voice is per­fect for the vibe + really cap­tures the essence of a cat get­ting owned.

entire film is ani­mated in pho­to­shop, drawn with wacom tablets.

peep The People’s Repub­lic of Ani­ma­tion! 
they are whoa.

watch it here

Poem

By Eddie White

Long ago my city’s lumi­nous heart, beat with the song of four thou­sand cats.
Croon­ers who shone in the moon­light mim­icry of the spot­light.
Jazz singers. Hip cats that went ‘Scat!’
Buskers with open-​​mouthed hats hun­gry for a feed.
Par­lours paraded purring glam­orous songstresses.
Smoky hookahs and smok­ing hook­ers.
Strays strummed string and sung a cock­tail of cat’s tails.
A deca­dent party of meow­ing sound.
A bohemian behe­moth, post-​​midnight soiree.

Amongst the chorale ‘o tune­ful ones was one fair queen who drew me from o’er the way.
Her fur, an amorous white and a voice that made all the angels of eter­nity sound tone deaf.
Blind with love at first sight, touched by the taste of her sound,
I longed to be the micro­phone she cra­dled near her breast.

‘Twas our Shang-​​ri-​​la of sound,
A par­adise found where nothin’ could stop us.
Or so it seemed.

Singers began to van­ish like sailors lost at sea.
Snatched from stage alley way
Shanghai’d from behind scar­let cur­tain.
Into thin air they dis­ap­peared with­out a sin­gle cry.
Police study the clues.
Foot-​​prints from human shoes.

So you’ve heard of every instru­ment but?
Torn from your his­tory books is this pianola,
This harp­si­chord of harm.
The cru­ellest instru­ment to spawn from man’s grey cere­bral soup.
The Cat Piano.

Con­fined were the cats in a row of cages.
With each note struck upon it’s ivory tusks,
A sharp­ened nail would pierce each cat’s tail,
Forc­ing a note from each pitch on the scale.

I ran my cursed writer’s run to tell her beware.
She wasn’t there.
My soul cap­sized.
Like a fish, paral­ysed.
On a chop­ping board, its spinal cord ripped forth from its body,
Her vocals the last the thief had needed,
A rare celes­tial pitch that would com­plete his collection.

The city in unrest.
Fights broke out in its sleep.
I couldn’t dream any­more.
There was a hole in my heart and every­thing fell out of it.
All music for­bid­den.
Keep your lul­la­bies hid­den.
And your A and E minors off the street after dark.

My town grew cold and bit­ter.
In icy hiber­na­tion was the once thump­ing heart.
Now seiz­ing up.
Freez­ing up.

Katzen­klavier.
The tor­tur­ous worm of sound bur­rowed deep into my ears.
Le Piano du chat
I thought of Van Gogh.
Neko Piano.
I’d put an end to this inces­sant, inescapable drone.
Mao Gang Qin

I enlisted an army of the brave and I their gen­eral declared war.
Poised with tooth and fire in paw.
We would finally set­tle this musi­cal score.
Eyes with fierce intent that glowed.
Through tem­pes­tu­ous waters we rowed.
Storm­ing the shores,
Swarm­ing in scores,
Scal­ing its walls with well-​​sharpened claws,
We invaded the tower through all its doors.

Up the wind­ing stairs,
To meet him with blind­ing stares.
There he sat.
The organ grinder.

He turned, we pounced, we scratched and bit.
He stum­bled.
Fell through the win­dow.
Scream­ing into the indigo waters below.

We freed the chain gang from their jail.
Cre­mated the piano.
And for home we set sail.

The city had reclaimed its vestal muse.
It would live again.
Beat again.
Cats would sing in the street again.
And I in anonymity as I had been long before this solil­o­quy,
Could sit and lis­ten from afar.
The Cat Piano, now a healed over wound.
And this ode its fad­ing scar.