Bolas e Letras

I walk into the corner of my room
see my friends in high places
I dont know which is which or who is whom
theyve stolen each others faces
Janet is there w/ her hi-hatting hair
full of bedroom feathers
Janet is known to make dead men groan
in any kind of weathers
I crawl over to her
I say –hey baby I say –hey Janet
–you are the one/ you are the sun
& I’m yr dutiful planet–
but she aint down w/ any of that
shes heard that shit before
I say –ah ha o yeah youre right
cause I see Betty X standing by the door
w/ more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
& its getting strange in here
yeah it gets stranger every year
more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
now Betty X is like Betty Y
minus that fatal chromosome
her hair is like the wine dark sea
on which sailors come home
I say –hey baby– I say –hey Betty X
(I lean close up to her throat)
–this light you are carrying is like a lamp
hanging from a distant boat
–It is my light– said Betty X
Betty X says –this light aint yours!!!
& so much wind blew through her words
that I went rolling down the hall
for more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
& its strange in here
yeah it gets stranger every year
more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
I turn another corner/ I go down a corridor
& I see this guy
he must be about 100 foot tall
& he only has one eye
he asks me for my autograph
I write –nobody– & then
I wrap myself up in my woolly coat
& blind him w/ my pen
cause someone must of stuck something in my drink
everything was getting strange looking
1/2 the people had turned into squealing pigs
that the other 1/2 were cooking
–let me out of here!!!– I cried
& I went pushing past
& I saw Miss Polly!!! singing with some girls
I cried, –strap me to the mast!!!!!–
for more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
its getting strange in here
& it gets stranger every year
more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
then a black girl w/ no clothes on
danced across the room
we charted the progress of the planets
around that boogie-woogie moon
I called her my nubian princess
I gave her some sweet-back bad-ass jive
I spent the next seven yrs between her legs
pining for my wife
but by and by it all went wrong
I felt all washed-up on the shore
she stared down at me from up in the storm
as I sobbed upon the floor
for more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
& dont it make you feel alone
& dont it make you wanna get right-on home
more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
here comes Alina w/ two black eyes
she’s given herself a transfusion
she’s filled herself w/ panda blood
to avoid all the confusion
I said –the sun rises & falls w/ you–
& various things about love
but a rising violence in me
cut all my circuits off
Alina she starts screaming
her cheeks are full of psychotropic leaves
her extinction was nearly absolute
when she turned her back on me
for more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
& its getting strange in here
yeah it gets stranger every year
more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
I bumped bang crash into Deanna
hanging pretty in the door frame
all the horrors that have befallen me
well Deanna is to blame
every time I see you babe
you make me feel so all alone
& I wept my face into her dress
long after she’d gone home
w/ more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
& dont it make you feel alone
dont it make you wanna get right back home
more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
dont it make you feel so sad
dont the blood rush to yr feet
to think that everything you do today
tomorrow is obsolete
technology & women
& little children too
dont it make you feel blue
dont it make you feel blue
for more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
dont it make you feel alone
dont it make you wanna get right back home
more news from nowhere
more news from nowhere
goodbye/goodbye/goodbye

Ain't got no home, ain't got no shoes
Ain't got no money, ain't got no class

Ain't got no skirts, ain't got no sweaters
Ain't got no perfume, ain't got no love
Ain't got no faith
Ain't got no culture
Ain't got no mother, ain't got no father

Ain't got no brother, ain't got no children
Ain't got no aunts, ain't got no uncles
Ain't got no love, ain't got no mind
Ain't got no country, ain't got no schooling
Ain't got no friends, ain't got no nothing

Ain't got no water, ain't got no air
Ain't got no smokes, ain't got no chicken
Ain't got no...
Ain't got no water
Ain't got no love

Ain't got no air
Ain't got no God
Ain't got no wine
Ain't got no money

Ain't got no faith
Ain't got no God
Ain't got no love
Then what have I got
Why am I alive anyway?
Yeah, hell
What have I got
Nobody can take away

I got my hair, got my head
Got my brains, got my ears
Got my eyes, got my nose

Got my mouth
I got my...

I got myself
I got my arms, got my hands
Got my fingers, got my legs
Got my feet, got my toes
Got my liver
Got my blood
I've got life
I've got lives

I've got headaches, and toothaches
And bad times too like you
I got my hair, got my head

Got my brains, got my ears
Got my eyes, got my nose

Got my mouth
I got my smile
I got my tongue, got my chin
Got my neck, got my boobs
Got my heart, got my soul
Got my back
I got my sex
I got my arms, got my hands
Got my fingers, got my legs
Got my feet, got my toes
Got my liver
Got my blood
I've got life
I've got my freedom
Ohhh
I've got life!

Carlos, filho de Coimbra e da alma musical dessa mítica cidade, não fez por menos e fez-se igualmente filho e neto de Artur e de Gonçalo, exímios feiticeiros da guitarra portuguesa. Como qualquer vocação que se quer contrariada, Carlos negou os desejos de sua mãe e aprendeu “a tirar da guitarra sons mais violentos, como reacção ao pieguismo langoroso a que geralmente a guitarra portuguesa estava ligada”.

Tenho em mim uma memória longínqua e adolescente de um concerto de Carlos Paredes, não me recordo onde nem quando, só retive as cordas vibrantes e desesperadas, os gritos surdos que se me colaram, a quem, muito provavelmente, deverei esta minha torta natureza de poeta vadio. Verdes anos.

I met a girl and we ran away
I swore I'd make her happy every day
And how I made her cry
Two faces have I

Sometimes mister I feel sunny and wild
Lord I love to see my baby smile
Then dark clouds come rolling by
Two faces have I

One that laughs one that cries
One says hello one says goodbye
One does things I don't understand
Makes me feel like half a man

At night I get down on my knees and pray
Our love will make that other man go away
But he'll never say goodbye
Two faces have I

Last night as I kissed you 'neath the willow tree
He swore he'd take your love away from me
He said our life was just a lie
And two faces have I
Well go ahead and let him try

É para isto que serve a wikipedia:

"Paranoid Android" é o segundo single do álbum de 1997 OK Computer, da banda britânica Radiohead. Foi lançado em 2 de fevereiro de 1997. O título é uma referência a Marvin, o Andróide Paranóide, uma personagem deprimida da obra de Douglas Adams The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

A canção foi gravada na mansão do século XV da actriz Jane Seymour, que Thom Yorke, vocalista da banda, pensava estar assombrada. Yorke referiu-se à canção como sendo sobre "as pessoas mais aborrecidas ao cimo da Terra" e "sobre caos". A música surgiu da aglutinação de três partes diferentes, originalmente planeadas como três canções distintas, e foi inspirada após uma cena ocorrida num bar em Los Angeles onde Thom Yorke se encontrava: numa atmosfera cheia de pessoas pretensiosas e falsas, uma mulher irrita-se após alguém despejar um copo de vinho no seu vestido. A reacção exagerada da mulher inspira a passagem "[…] squealing Gucci little piggy […]" ("porquinho berrador [num vestido] Gucci")."

These mist covered mountains
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be
Someday you'll return to
Your valleys and your farms
And you'll no longer burn to be
Brothers in arms

Through these fields of destruction
Baptisms of fire
I've witnessed your suffering
As the battle raged higher
And though they did hurt me so bad
In the fear and alarm
You did not desert me
My brothers in arms

There's so many different worlds
So many different suns
And we have just one world
But we live in different ones

Now the sun's gone to hell and
The moon's riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it's written in the starlight
And every line in your palm
We are fools to make war
On our brothers in arms

Jim Morrison, 1968, fotografado por Art Kane

Confesso que desconfio de gente da minha geração que não partilha de certos gostos. Quando oiço alguém torcer o nariz à música dos Doors reconheço, quase automaticamente, que estou perante um caso agudo de pedantismo, de falta de vida, de enconadice latente. Sim, a ditadura dos gostos é tudo menos politicamente correcta, mas há assuntos indiscutíveis, como sejam ter alguma vez na vida pedido lume a uma moça com um “Come on baby light my fire”, ter devorado o “The end” às escuras no quarto quando os nossos pais não nos deixaram ir àquela festa ou, quando sempre conseguimos ir a essa festa, termos andado à biqueirada numa discoteca embalados pelo "Roadhouse blues". Há merdas que não se discutem.

Miles Davis’s “So What” is one of the most famous compositions in jazz, instantly recognisable from its introductory bass phrase. Recorded in 1959, it has sold millions of copies as the opening track of the album Kind Of Blue. It is simple, melodic and catchy, but the song’s origins are complex. They can be found in what was once revolutionary harmonic theory, in classical music and African ballet, and several sections of the song were “borrowed”.

Trecho descaradamente roubado ao Finantial Times

Como eram belos os tempos em que nada era imediato, tudo envolvia dedicação, como o simples gesto de acertar com a agulha do gira-discos na ranhura certa do vinil. Seduzir não era carregar num botão que nos dirigia automática e friamente para a música pré-definida, era cuidar do disco para que não tivesse riscos e afagar a agulha em cada música, era tocar sem pressa num corpo de porcelana, era toda uma envolvência que simbolizava o privilégio de viver esse momento único e irrepetível. Hoje tudo é fácil, os engates estão à distância de um touch, uma queca pode ser só um desabafo de quem está aborrecido. Que saudades do vinil.