- Judas!!
Uma voz difamatória ouve-se no meio da sala de espectáculos, ditando assim um dos momentos mais marcantes da música moderna e dos concertos ao vivo. Dylan tinha mudado de estilo. De um ídolo da música country idolatrado por milhares de pessoas, cantando músicas de amor, sofrimento, viagens e protesto, passa de repente para um músico rock, eléctrico, que absorve a nova cultura emergente em manhattan, ameaçando destruir a forte cultura tradicional presente na altura. Judas! Chamara-lhe uma vez. Aí sem razão, embora possa ter sido acusado de traição à música e princípios a que estavam habituados os seus admiradores, não deixou de fazer boa música.
- Judas!!
Chamo agora eu a uma das bandas que mais estimo e tenho vindo a estimar ao longo destes últimos anos. Desde pequeno que me lembro de ver aquele estranho álbum com um feto de anjo de ar misterioso e encantador, brilhante entre o azul escuro e envelhecido do papel da capa. Desde essa altura que me lembro das longas viagens de carro a ouvir uma música que sempre gostei, que sempre se deu com os meus ouvidos, e que talvez tenha ajudado a formar o meu actual carácter musical. Anos depois, quando comecei a ganhar consciência do que era verdadeira música e arte, depois de conhecer Glósóli, que me deliciou, retornei ao disco escondido entre Vivaldis e Lou Reeds, por curiosidade, para ouvir coisas novas. Descubro também outro, (), que viria a dar valor tempo depois. Hoje, considero Ágætis Byrjun o melhor álbum de todos os tempos, um álbum que vem deliciar os antigos desejos de Brian Eno ao criar a música experimental, um disco que actua verdadeiramente no corpo, que actua quase como terapia. Um disco que enquanto destrói psicologicamente uns, constrói outros. Um disco que não faz sentido, que está sozinho, isolado, num género completamente novo, sem precedentes, sem nada, que não pode ser comparado com nada porque simplesmente não tem esá relacionado com nada, assumindo-se quase como um novo tipo de arte, apenas parecido com a música em termos de formato.() segue-lhe o rasto, não o conseguindo igualar, mas mantendo-se ao mesmo nível. Já Takk, aproxima-se mais do terreno e afasta-se do divinal, embora não deixando as suas raízes de lado e conseguindo manter-se como um álbum de lo
1 comentário:
Early one mornin' the sun was shinin',
I was layin' in bed
Wond'rin' if she'd changed at all
If her hair was still red.
Her folks they said our lives together
Sure was gonna be rough
They never did like Mama's homemade dress
Papa's bankbook wasn't big enough.
And I was standin' on the side of the road
Rain fallin' on my shoes
Heading out for the East Coast
Lord knows I've paid some dues gettin' through,
Tangled up in blue.
She was married when we first met
Soon to be divorced
I helped her out of a jam, I guess,
But I used a little too much force.
We drove that car as far as we could
Abandoned it out West
Split up on a dark sad night
Both agreeing it was best.
She turned around to look at me
As I was walkin' away
I heard her say over my shoulder,
"We'll meet again someday on the avenue,"
Tangled up in blue.
I had a job in the great north woods
Working as a cook for a spell
But I never did like it all that much
And one day the ax just fell.
So I drifted down to New Orleans
Where I happened to be employed
Workin' for a while on a fishin' boat
Right outside of Delacroix.
But all the while I was alone
The past was close behind,
I seen a lot of women
But she never escaped my mind, and I just grew
Tangled up in blue.
She was workin' in a topless place
And I stopped in for a beer,
I just kept lookin' at the side of her face
In the spotlight so clear.
And later on as the crowd thinned out
I's just about to do the same,
She was standing there in back of my chair
Said to me, "Don't I know your name?"
I muttered somethin' underneath my breath,
She studied the lines on my face.
I must admit I felt a little uneasy
When she bent down to tie the laces of my shoe,
Tangled up in blue.
She lit a burner on the stove and offered me a pipe
"I thought you'd never say hello," she said
"You look like the silent type."
Then she opened up a book of poems
And handed it to me
Written by an Italian poet
From the thirteenth century.
And every one of them words rang true
And glowed like burnin' coal
Pourin' off of every page
Like it was written in my soul from me to you,
Tangled up in blue.
I lived with them on Montague Street
In a basement down the stairs,
There was music in the cafes at night
And revolution in the air.
Then he started into dealing with slaves
And something inside of him died.
She had to sell everything she owned
And froze up inside.
And when finally the bottom fell out
I became withdrawn,
The only thing I knew how to do
Was to keep on keepin' on like a bird that flew,
Tangled up in blue.
So now I'm goin' back again,
I got to get to her somehow.
All the people we used to know
They're an illusion to me now.
Some are mathematicians
Some are carpenter's wives.
Don't know how it all got started,
I don't know what they're doin' with their lives.
But me, I'm still on the road
Headin' for another joint
We always did feel the same,
We just saw it from a different point of view,
Tangled up in blue.
Enviar um comentário