Category: música

The Windmills Of Your Mind

Round,
Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning
On an ever-spinning reel
Like a snowball down a mountain
Or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that’s turning
Running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind
Like a tunnel that you follow
To a tunnel of its own
Down a hollow to a cavern
Where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving
In a half-forgotten dream
Like the ripples from a pebble
Someone tosses in a stream
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind
Keys that jingle in your pocket
Words that jangle in your head
Why did summer go so quickly?
Was it something that you said?
Lovers walk along a shore
And leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming
Just the fingers of your hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway
And the fragment of a song
Half-remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong?
When you knew that it was over
You were suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the color of his hair?
Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning
On an ever-spinning reel
As the images unwind
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Coro

Não tenho ouvido muita música, porque desde há uns anos para cá que aproveito o tempo de viagem ou de cozinha (ou de adormecer, ou de banho…) para ouvir podcasts*.

A que oiço é o L. que me envia porque acha que vou gostar (e acerta), ou é muito antiga, de quando ouvia mesmo muita música (2006? não sei).

Mas há uma que me vai à alma. E eu gosto de vários tipos de música, mas há sempre uma que me toca num ponto fraco. Não a sei descrever, mas é música tradicional do leste europeu. Normalmente nunca percebo o que dizer, mas ou são canções de amor, ou canções sobre a morte e o desaparecimento. São invariavelmente tristes, e eu acho-as belas, belas, belíssimas. Hoje saltitei de coro feminino em coro feminino.

O ponto de partida foi este, uma música chamada “Na casa da minha mãe”, dos Warsaw Village Band (álbum de 2002), que têm músicas muito alegres, mas esta sempre foi a minha preferida.

U Mojej Matecki brzunkały ślunecki //At my mother’s glasses clanged

a tero nie bendo bo ni ma córecki // and now they don’t because there is no daughter.

Ojla ojlala ojlala Ojla ojlala ojla

Brzunkajta śklunecki jekieśta brzunkały // Glasses, clang as you clanged.

kochajta me chłopcy jekieśta kochali // Boys, love me as you loved.

 Ojla ojlala ojlala Ojla ojlala ojla

 

Tamuj chłopcy tamuj gdzie bziała posadzka // Boys, go there, where is a white floor.

 tam sie chłopcy schodza gdzie cujo dziewcacka // Boys gather there, where they sense a girl

 

Ojla ojlala ojlala Ojla ojlala ojla

E depois, vim parar a outras músicas lindas. Como esta Heyamoli da Georgia.

 

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E estas, que não encontro em mais nenhum lado: Ta Shto Mijej Miloj Mamo/Ne Hodi Durvo Visoko (Bulgaria); Vet më the te dua (Albania); As ja merr ja thuj njerë (Albania)
Vete me the te dua,
e tash m`ke harruar
e tash m`ke harruar…

Mua me harrove,
tjetren dashurove,
tjetren dashurove…

Kur te piqet qershija,
kujtoj lotet e mija,
kujtoj lotet e mija…

Ta la amanet …
mos me harro krejt…

Kur t`me lindin djale,
ja la emrin tan,
ja la emrin tan…

Kur te te linde vajze,
lenja emrin tem,
lenja emrin tem…

E assim descobri Tutarchela, um coro polifónico georgiano muito ao jeito de Le mystére des voix bulgares.

The Rose with the Broken Neck

Lonely I see
Lonely I need
Lonely I feel
Lonely I bleed
Lonely I trust
And lonely I must
Be the rose with the broken neck

The plow on the farm
The train on the track
The tracks on my arm
The train in the wreck

That’s when they all sing this song
About when you are all alone
In your home with the broken neck

Help myself to a drink
Help myself to the sink
The dogs start to moan
And the crows start to beg
At my eyes and down at the ground
Oh and it shows
On the rose with the broken neck

Rodrigo Amarante

Tive a minha fase de ir a concertos sozinha, experimentar. Ir sem conhecer. Não fazia isso há alguns anos e o Rodrigo Amarante foi o motivo para o ter feito esta semana.

E foi um bom concerto, não há nada a não gostar num brasileiro simpático, com músicas bonitas, e muitas histórias. Ajudou gostar da música que fez para a série Narcos. Ajudou ainda mais gostar muito (e em segredo, mesmo muito) de Los Hermanos.

A fazer mais vezes!

O meu preferido

É como se a fase dos cantores e as bandas preferidas tivesse passado, desaparecido. Já não sei dizer o que é que eu oiço ou de quem é que gosto mais quando me perguntam.

Mas secretamente, sei que o Matt Elliot tem sido o meu cantor preferido. Eu gosto muito da músicas, gosto dos arranjos, das letras. Gosto acima de tudo da voz tão serena e limpa, que vai ao fundo dele, escava, e é com doçura que traz um arauto de tragédia. Assim é The Calm Before, o álbum lançado esta semana. Aqui vai uma música. Sobre a calmaria antes da tempestade.

Here comes a storm
The dust & papers dance around the room
It tells of a storm
The sky is a painted viscous swirl of troubled hues
There’s a storm
The branches rock & dance & creak & wave
We’re in for a storm
I’ve got this headache that I’ve had for days
Here comes the rain
The first few drops caress & gently dance
They light up your face
You smile in wonder looking through the eyes of a child once again
But soon the gentle drops become the deadly wolf of a gale
Our voices become lost beneath the chaos
Here comes a storm
The way the wind it starts to play and race
It whispers a storm
& here comes a storm
Just as everything was falling into place here’s a storm
There must be a storm
Don’t we need it
Just to clear it
To blow the dust away
Away, to a place where it can never be found or thought of again

Draw me the shades
The beasts that softly whisper in your ear & keep you awake
We all have ghosts & monsters dear it’s best to give them a face
& then you simply take it, burn & throw the ashes away
The creeping doubts will disappear without trace
Here comes the dawn
I can’t believe we’ve been sitting here all night talking this long
About exactly when & where it started going so wrong
Dissecting every aspect as if it was fine all along
I told you that I’d never been all that strong
Here comes a storm
& with it come the things that we will have to face in this storm
& here comes a storm
Just as everything was falling into place here’s a storm
There must be a storm
Don’t we need it
Just to clear it
To blow the ashes away
Away, to a place where they can never be found or thought of again

This patch of blue, this ray of sun
The sense of a strange uneasy calm
Perhaps that was all, perhaps we’re done
Or maybe the worst is yet to come
& all is calm & cold as death
As all of nature holds her breath
But soon enough she’ll blow
She’ll howl
She knows
& she will howl
She’ll blow us deep into the ground
To the ground
Where we can only pray that we’ll never be found