EvergreenS

[kibri]

 

Kom med dine favoritsange - dem der får hårene til at stå, næsen til at løbe og øjnene fulde af vand.

Forklar hvorfor dette dette nummer gør det for dig, selv om det kommer fra en rejseclockradio kl.03:40, på en rasteplads i Slovakiet.

 

Tænk over dit skriv og kom med det. Hellere fÃ¥ gode end mange ubegrundede. 

[Thomas Sillesen]

Der er sÃ¥ mange    Men en af dem som altid fÃ¥r mig til at tænke er "Camouflage" af Stan Ridgway. Mest fordi teksten er ret genial efter min mening, og der kunne vel næsten koges en film pÃ¥ den sang...

I was a p.f.c. on a search patrol, huntin’ charlie down
It was in the jungle wars of ’65
My weapon jammed and I got stuck way out and all alone
And I could hear the enemy movin’ in close outside
Just then I heard a twig snap and I grabbed my empty gun
And I dug in scared while I counted down my fate
And then a big marine¨c¨ca giant, with a pair of friendly eyes¨c¨c
Appeared there at my shoulder and said wait.

When he came in close beside me, he said don’t worry, son, I’m here¨c¨c
If charlie wants to tangle now, he’ll have two to dodge
I said, well, thanks a lot! I told him my name and asked him his
And he said the boys just call me camouflage

Chorus:
Woah-oh-oh-oh, camouflage
Things are never quite the way they seem
Woah-oh-oh-oh, camouflage
I was awfully glad to see this big marine


Well, I was gonna ask him where he came from, when we heard the bullets fly
Comin’ through the brush, and all around our ears
It was then I saw this big marine light a fire in his eye
And it was strange, but suddenly, I forgot my fears

Well, we fought all night, side by side, we took our battle stance
And I wondered how the bullets missed this man
’cause they seemed to go right through him¨c¨cjust as if he wasn’t there
And in the mornin’ we both took a chance and ran
And it was near the riverbank when the ambush came on top of us
And I thought it was the end, and we were had
Then a bullet with my name on it came buzzin’ through a bush
And that big marine, he just swat it with his hand
Just like it was a fly...

Chorus:
Woah-oh-oh-oh, camouflage
Things are never quite the way they seem
Woah-oh-oh-oh, camouflage
This was an awfully strange (big) marine


{spoken}
And I knew there was somethin’ weird about him,
’cause when I turned around,
He was pullin’ a big palm tree up outta the ground
And swattin’ those charlies with it from here to kingdom come

When he led me outta danger I saw my camp and waved goodbye
He just winked at me from the jungle and then was gone
When I got back to my h.q., I told ’em about my night
And the battle I’d spent with a big marine named camouflage
When I said his name, the soldier gulped, and a medic took my arm
And led me to a green tent on the right
He said you may be tellin’ true, boy, but this here is camouflage
And he’s been right here since he passed away last night
In fact, he’s been here all week long...
But before he went, he said semper fi, and said his only wish
Was to save a young marine caught in a barrage
So here, take his dog tag, son, I know he’d want you to have it now
And we both said a prayer for a big marine named camouflage

Chorus repeat

So next time you’re in a jungle fight, and you feel a presence near
Or hear a voice that in your mind will lodge
Just be thankful that you’re not alone¨c¨cyou’ve got some company
From a big marine the boys call camouflage

Chorus repeat x2

Hup, hey-ho, hey, left... left...
Woah, woah, camouflage
Hey, hey-ho, ho, left... left...
Woah, woah, camouflage
Repeat endlessly until fade...

[zaka]

Ja der er en del, men de to første jeg kom til at tænke på er Suicide's Frankie Teardrop og Billie Holiday's Strange Fruit.
Evergreens er nok et for pænt ord til de to sange, men de "gør det ved mig" hver gang.

Frankie Teardrop er en af de mest skræmmende anti-krigs sange jeg har hørt til dato. Frankie er vietnam veteran og det går ham og hans familie grueligt galt.

Frankie teardrop
Twenty year old Frankie
He's married he's got a kid
And he's working in a factory

He's working from seven to five
He's just trying to survive
well lets hear it for Frankie
Frankie Frankie

Well Frankie cant make it
Coz things are just too hard
Frankie cant make neough money
Frankie cant buy enough food

And Frankie's getting evicted
Oh let's hear it for Frankie
Oh Frankie Frankie
Oh Frankie Frankie

Frankie is so desperate
He's gonna kill his wife and kids
Frankie's gonna kill his kid
Frankie picked up a gun

Pointed at the six month old in the crib
Oh Frankie
(scream)
Frankie looked at his wife

Shot her
(screams)
"Oh what have I done?"
Let's hear it for Frankie

Frankie teardrop
Frankie put the gun to his head
(screams)
Frankie's dead

(screams)

Frankie's lying in hell
(screams)

We're all Frankies
We're all lying in hell
(screams)

Et 10 minutter langt mareridt. Teksten sammen med fremførelsen er nærmest ckokerende. Jeg kan huske første gang jeg hørte den, jeg turde næsten ikke trække vejret. En simpel rÃ¥ intens pulserende synth-bass med   Alan Vega's udtryksløse vokal ovenpÃ¥ og sÃ¥ er der lige Vega's skrig .

Strange Fruit:

Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.

Den tekst sunget med Holiday's indlevelse - jeg ved ikke rigtigt hvad jeg skal skrive mere. Det er unikt.

[kibri]

Godt gået! Skidt af mig at kalde dem "evergreens", men det var i mangel...

Sillesen - fabeltext. Jeg lytter den senere i dag.

zaka - "Teardrop" kender jeg ikke, men vil gøre et forsøg. "Strange Fruit" er skræmmende. Har også set den på DVD hos SES. Det skal slet ikke beskrives.

En af mine:
Cowboy Junkies "Bea´s Song (River Song Trilogy Part:II)

Speed River at my feet running low and flat
I'm sitting here burning daylight,
thinking about the past
and that distance out there
where the earth meets the sky
The slightest move and this river mud
pulls me further down
John's at my side, but he's sitting on firmer ground

John says I look at the moon and the stars
these days more often than I look into his eyes
and I can't disagree so I don't say nothing
I just stare on past his face at Venus rising,
like a shining speck of hope hanging over the horizon

With each passing year that I sit here
that horizon seems to inch just that much nearer
and all that appears on it seems as clear as spit
But if there's on thing in my life
that these years have taught
it's that you can always see it coming
but you can never stop it

Speed River at my feet running low and flat
I'm sitting here burning daylight,
thinking about the past
and that distance out there
where the earth meets the sky
The slightest move and this river mud
pulls me further down
John's at my side,
but he's not noticing that I'm drowning
The slightest move and this river mud
pulls me further down
John's at my side,
but he's not noticing that I'm drowning

En simpel lovesong, men det er så ligetil, smukt musikalsk spillet, med en melodiline der kunne fortsætte og fortsætte. Margo´s vokal er uendelig smuk og befinder sig under, over og imelllem linierne. Helstøbt.
Desværre blive den aldrig spillet i radioen.

[Thomas Sillesen]

Et andet fedt fedt nr som det er yderst svært at blive deprimeret af at høre    

[piobyte]

Nathalie Merchant der  synger " one fine day "  Fra filmen af samme navn   SÃ¥ er min dag reddet og en klump sunket, Det er uhyggeligt smukt .

[kibri]

Thomas - hørte "Camouflage" i dag. Ren film. Sådan een man ikke stopper på halvvejen....

zaka - skræmmende F. Teardrop. Kan ikke slippe skrigende. Stygt.

Mange genge er det det helt simple og enkle der gør det, hvilket disse to numre er fine eksponenter for. Balancen imellem latterlig og genial er så tynd.

N. Young har rigtig mange sange der kan hensætte mig.
Denne er så sublim og i min top 10:

Needle And The Damage Done:

I caught you knockin'
at my cellar door
I love you, baby,
can I have some more
Ooh, ooh, the damage done.

I hit the city and
I lost my band
I watched the needle
take another man
Gone, gone, the damage done.

I sing the song
because I love the man
I know that some
of you don't understand
Milk-blood
to keep from running out.

I've seen the needle
and the damage done
A little part of it in everyone
But every junkie's
like a settin' sun.
:cry:

[kibri]

Cat Stevens kunne det også. Skulle jeg vælge en musiker til paladset, var det ham.
På den total oversete "Numbers", findes mange perler. Det et konceptalbum omhandlende en fjern galakse, hvor alt er numerisk. De små Polygoner lever efter talregler, men der er en der drømmer....:

Novim's Nightmare:

Once I had a dream, that worried me
Like a drunken guillotine
Lingering just above my head
Why, why, why, why?
Why was I born ";The Nine";
Cursed repeatedly
Who would know if I should die.
No one needed me
Doo doo doo doo doo

Dark and empty was the place to which I'd come
Cold and silent was the house my name was on
Nine rooms and a tomb in every one
S'dark and empty was the place to which I'd come

All at once my bones began to change
I was tall and young again,
Sweet as rain falling on the snow
Who, who, who, who?
Who is he, who am I, and
What laid in between?
How can I say goodbye? No one let me in
Can't see no need for Nine no more

[kibri]

Nu behøver der ikke at være sungne ord.. Klassiske værker og des lige er yderst velkomne... SES, Macwerk, micjac...?

En instrumental klassiker fra Camel. Igen et konceptalbum. En tilskadekommen SnegÃ¥s tilses af en mand og hans nye veninde.. GÃ¥sen helbredes og hun stopper herefter med at besøge ham...

[zaka]

kibri, balancen mellem latterlig og genial havde jeg ikke overvejet   men du har ret. Alan Vega's corny rock'a'billy/Elvis-style vokal med masser af ekko/rumklang er tæt pÃ¥ at være patetisk, men Frankie Teardrop virker hver gang alligevel.

En stor og mægtig Elvis omkring '76/'77 ville sikkert kunne krænge en dybt sentimental version af Frankie Teardrop ud  

I øvrigt har Springsteen Ã¥bent erklæret at han har hentet inspriation fra Suicide's musik - det høres bedst pÃ¥ Nebraska's  State Tropper og Johnny 99.

Ja Neil Young kan også her. Borrowed Tune fra Tonight's The Night, det sted hvor han synger (med en af de mest skrøbelige stemmer jeg har hørt):

"I'm singin' this borrowed tune
I took from the Rolling Stones,
Alone in this empty room
Too wasted to write my own."

Så er jeg færdig...

En anden er Sam Cooke's Lost and Lookin' - det er ikke så meget teksten der har et meget almindeligt "min-elskede-er-væk-og-jeg-er-åh-så-alene"-tema. Cooke synger den a capella med en stemme der er næsten unaturlig smuk. Find den på det absolut glimrende Night Beat album.

[gurdet]

Ja - her er også en, der balancerer på en knivsæg. Bare den mindste smule yderligere patos, og den ville falde ud som grotesk latterlig ...
Er det smukt eller er det sygt ... ?

I saw my baby
She was turning blue
Oh, I knew that soon, her
Young life was through

And so I got down on my knees
Down by her bed
And these are the words
To her I said:

Everything will be alright Tonight
Everything will be alright Tonight

No one moves
No one talks
No one thinks
No one walks, Tonight

Everyone will be alright, Tonight
Everyone will be alright, Tonight

No one moves
No one talks
No one thinks
No one walks, Tonight, Tonight

I am gonna love her to the end
I am gonna love her to the end
I will love her 'til I die
I will see her in the sky ... Tonight

Langt ude junkiepoesi ... Iggy Pop fra Lust for Life

Mvh

[piobyte]

Ja - her er også en, der balancerer på en knivsæg. Bare den mindste smule yderligere patos, og den ville falde ud som grotesk latterlig ...
Er det smukt eller er det sygt ... ?

I saw my baby
She was turning blue
Oh, I knew that soon, her
Young life was through

And so I got down on my knees
Down by her bed
And these are the words
To her I said:

Everything will be alright Tonight
Everything will be alright Tonight

No one moves
No one talks
No one thinks
No one walks, Tonight

Everyone will be alright, Tonight
Everyone will be alright, Tonight

No one moves
No one talks
No one thinks
No one walks, Tonight, Tonight

I am gonna love her to the end
I am gonna love her to the end
I will love her 'til I die
I will see her in the sky ... Tonight

Langt ude junkiepoesi ... Iggy Pop fra Lust for Life

Mvh

 OK ,har den med Tracy Bonham og Iggy sÃ¥ den skal da lyttes , har aldrig lagt mærke til teksten

[macwerk]

Nu behøver der ikke at være sungne ord.. Klassiske værker og des lige er yderst velkomne... SES, Macwerk, micjac...?

Jan Johansson's "Jazz PÃ¥ Svenska" siger tingene lige ud  


Jeg studsede godt nok første gang jeg hørte Velvet Undergrounds "The Gift":

Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit.
It was now mid-August which meant that he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months.
Two months, and all he had to show were three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls.
True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin and he to Locust, Pennsylvania she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity.
She would date occasionally, but merely as amusement.
She would remain faithful. But lately Waldo had begun to worry.
He had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams.
He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his printed quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes,
As he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothings of some Neanderthal,
Finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the human mind could bear.

Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him.
Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts.
And the thing was, they wouldn't understand who she really was.
He, Waldo, alone, understood this.
He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche.
He had made her smile, and she needed him, and he wasn't there. (Awww.)
The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers Parade was scheduled to appear.
He had just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons lawn for a dollar-fifty
And had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha.
There was nothing more than a circular form the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America inquiring into his awning needs.
At least they cared enough to write.

It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in
the mails. Then it struck him: he didn't have enough
money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion,
true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly
simple. He would ship himself parcel post special
delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket
to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought
masking tape, a staple gun and a medium sized
cardboard box, just right for a person of his build.
He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could
ride quite comfortably. A few airholes, some water, a
selection of midnight snacks, and it would probably be
as good as going tourist.

By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly
packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up
at three o'clock. He'd marked the package "FRAGILE"
and as he sat curled up inside, resting in the foam
rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried
to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha's
face as she opened the door, saw the package, tipped
the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo
finally there in person. She would kiss him, and then
maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of
this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package
and he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thud
in a truck and then he was off.

Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It
had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember
not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about it
though. After it was over he'd said that he still
respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way
of nature and even though no, he didn't love her, he
did feel an affection for her. And after all, they
were grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo --
but that seemed many years ago. Sheila Klein, her
very, very best friend walked in through the porch
screen door into the kitchen. "Oh God, it's
absolutely maudlin outside."
"Ugh, I know what you mean, I feel all icky." Marsha
tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk
outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt
grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and
made a face.
"I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but," she
wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like throwing
up."
Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an
exercise she'd seen on television. "God, don't even
talk about that." She got up from the table and went
to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and
blue vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than
steak." And attempted to touch her knees. "I don't
think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again." She gave up
and sat down, this time nearer the small table that
supported the telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," she
said to Sheila's glance.
Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. "After last night, I
thought maybe you'd be through with him."
"I know what you mean. My God, he was like an
octopus. Hands all over the place." She gestured,
raising her arms upward in defense. "The thing is
after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you
know, and after all he didn't really do anything
Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him, you
know what I mean." She started to scratch. Sheila
was giggling with her hand over her mouth. "I'll tell
you, I felt the same way, and even after a while," she
bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to," and now she
was laughing very loudly.

It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence
Darrow Post Office rang the door bell of the large
stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson
opened the door, he helped her carry the package in.
He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed
and left with a fifteen-cent tip that Marsha had
gotten out of her mothers small beige pocket book in
the den. "What do you think it is?" Sheila asked.
Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. S
he stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in
the middle of the living room. "I don't know."

Inside the package Waldo quivered with excitement as
he listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran her
fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the
center of the carton. "Why don't you look at the
return address and see who it is from?" Waldo felt
his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating
footsteps. It would be soon.

Marsha walked around the carton and read the
ink-scratched label. "Ugh, God, it's from Waldo!"
"That schmuck," said Sheila. Waldo trembled with
expectation. "Well, you might as well open it," said
Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the stapled flap.

"Ahh, shit," said Marsha groaning. "He must have
nailed it shut." They tugged at the flap again. "My
God, you need a power drill to get this thing opened."
They pulled again. "You can't get a grip!" They
both stood still, breathing heavily.
"Why don't you get the scissors," said Sheila. Marsha
ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a
little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her
father kept a collection of tools in the basement.
She ran downstairs and when she came back, she had a
large sheet-metal cutter in her hand.
"This is the best I could find." She was very out of
breath. "Here, you do it. I'm gonna die." She sank
into a large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily.
Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape
and the end of the cardboard, but the blade was too
big and there wasn't enough room. "Godamn this
thing!" she said feeling very exasperated. Then,
smiling, "I got an idea."
"What?" said Marsha.
"Just watch," said Sheila touching her finger to her
head.

Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with
excitement that he could barely breathe. His skin
felt prickly from the heat and he could feel his heart
beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila
stood quite upright and walked around to the other
side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees,
grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath
and plunged the long blade through the middle of the
package, through the middle of the masking tape,
through the cardboard, through the cushioning and
(thud) right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head,
which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs
of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.

[zaka]

Yeah! Macwerk.

Nu vi er ved det makabre.

Richard Kern - Sonic Youth - Charles Manson - Lydia Lunch - Death Valley 69 - ren paranoia - absolut ikke for børn

se video

Jeg har hørt og set den en millard gange, men den kan stadig give mig gådehud.

[gurdet]

Til det, der begynder at minde om en række musikalske modbydeligheder, kom jeg lige til at tænke på denne, O'Malleys Bar med Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds fra Murder Ballads. Omtrent et kvarter med en grufuld (men også morsom) udpensling af nedslagtningen af et helt værtshus.
Et sted i teksten hedder det: Well I spun to the left, I spun to the right, I spun to the left again, Fear me! Fear me! Fear me!, but no one did cause they were dead.

Der findes næppe bedre musik end denne til myldretidstrafik...

Fra samme album også den hårrejsende smukke morder/offer duet med Kylie Minogue, Where the Wild Roses Grow.
Mvh