- 17 June 2006
- 14,350
Moυσεία
- Thread starter Κωστας Λυμπεροπουλος
- Start date
- 17 June 2006
- 14,350
Janis never made a better vocal performance in her lifetime.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xu9olEGFN5c
Oh, the cuckoo, she's a pretty bird, and she warbles when she flies
But she never hollers cuckoo till the fourth day of July.
Said Jack o'Diamonds, well Jack o'Diamonds, well I know you of old,
Honey you robbed me of my silver and out of all my gold,
All of my gold, all of my gold.
Well, Jack o'Diamonds, oh Jack o'Diamonds, oh I know you of old,
Honey, you robbed me of my silver and out of all my gold.
Said the cuckoo, she's a cruel bird, and she warbles when she flies
And every time that she passes, my true love says good-bye,
Well, says good-bye, well says good-bye,
Ooh, ooh, ooh, whoo, ooh ...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xu9olEGFN5c
Oh, the cuckoo, she's a pretty bird, and she warbles when she flies
But she never hollers cuckoo till the fourth day of July.
Said Jack o'Diamonds, well Jack o'Diamonds, well I know you of old,
Honey you robbed me of my silver and out of all my gold,
All of my gold, all of my gold.
Well, Jack o'Diamonds, oh Jack o'Diamonds, oh I know you of old,
Honey, you robbed me of my silver and out of all my gold.
Said the cuckoo, she's a cruel bird, and she warbles when she flies
And every time that she passes, my true love says good-bye,
Well, says good-bye, well says good-bye,
Ooh, ooh, ooh, whoo, ooh ...
- 17 June 2006
- 14,350
Δημοκηδής
Μέλος Σωματείου
- 23 June 2006
- 10,221
Haagenti
AVClub Fanatic
- 17 June 2006
- 14,350
- 17 June 2006
- 14,350
the song "is the album's (Astral Weeks) whirlpool. Possibly one of the most compassionate pieces of music ever made, it asks us, no, arranges that we see the plight of what I'll be brutal and call a lovelorn drag queen with such intense empathy that when the singer hurts him, we do too."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrOgYjp20j0
Down on Cyprus Avenue
With a child-like vision leaping into view.
The clicking clacking of the high-heeled shoes,
Ford and Fitzroy; Madam George.
Marching with the soldierboy behind
He's much older now with hat on, drinking wine
And the smell of sweet perfume comes drifting thru
In the cool night breeze like Shalimar
And then your self control lets go
And suddenly you're up against the bathroom door.
The hallway lights are finely getting dim
You're in the front row touching him
And outside they're making all the stops
The kids out in the streets collecting bottle tops,
Going for cigarettes and matches to the shops,
Happy talking, Madam George
And that's when you fall, Oh,
Oh, that's when you fall
And you fall into a trance
Sitting on a sofa playing games of chance
With your folded arms in history books you glance
Into the eyes of Madam George
And you think you've found your bag,
You're getting weaker and your knees begin to sag
And in the corner playing dominoes in drag,
The one and only Madam George
And outside the frosty window raps
She says "Be cool, I think that it's the cops"
Stands up, drops everything she gots,
It's not easy now you know
Now you know you gotta go
Catch a train from Dublin up to Sandy Row,
In the wind, rain & fog & slush & snow
Keep on going on
Say good-bye we know you're pretty far out
And all the little boys comin' round
They got gold cigarette lighters in their pockets
Walking away from it all, so cool.
That's when you fall
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrOgYjp20j0
Down on Cyprus Avenue
With a child-like vision leaping into view.
The clicking clacking of the high-heeled shoes,
Ford and Fitzroy; Madam George.
Marching with the soldierboy behind
He's much older now with hat on, drinking wine
And the smell of sweet perfume comes drifting thru
In the cool night breeze like Shalimar
And then your self control lets go
And suddenly you're up against the bathroom door.
The hallway lights are finely getting dim
You're in the front row touching him
And outside they're making all the stops
The kids out in the streets collecting bottle tops,
Going for cigarettes and matches to the shops,
Happy talking, Madam George
And that's when you fall, Oh,
Oh, that's when you fall
And you fall into a trance
Sitting on a sofa playing games of chance
With your folded arms in history books you glance
Into the eyes of Madam George
And you think you've found your bag,
You're getting weaker and your knees begin to sag
And in the corner playing dominoes in drag,
The one and only Madam George
And outside the frosty window raps
She says "Be cool, I think that it's the cops"
Stands up, drops everything she gots,
It's not easy now you know
Now you know you gotta go
Catch a train from Dublin up to Sandy Row,
In the wind, rain & fog & slush & snow
Keep on going on
Say good-bye we know you're pretty far out
And all the little boys comin' round
They got gold cigarette lighters in their pockets
Walking away from it all, so cool.
That's when you fall
- 17 June 2006
- 14,350
"The beauty, sensitivity, holiness of the song is that there's nothing at all sensationalistic, exploitative, or tawdry about it; in a way Van is right when he insists it's not about a drag queen, as my friends were right and I was wrong about the "pedophelia" - it's about a person, like all the best songs, all the greatest literature.
The setting is that same as that of the previous song - "Cyprus Avenue", apparently a place where people drift, impelled by desire, into moments of flesh-wracking, sight-curdling confrontation with their destinies. It's an elemental place of pitiless judgement - wind and rain figure in both songs - and, interestingly enough, it's a place of the even crueler judgement of adults by children, in both cases love objects absolutely indifferent to their would-be adult lovers. Madame George's little boys are downright contemptuous - like the street urchins who end up cannibalizing the homosexual cousin in Tennessee Williams's Suddenly Last Summer, they're only too happy to come around as long as there's music, party times, free drinks and smokes, and only too gleefully spit on George's affections when all the other stuff runs out, the entombing winter settling in with not only wind and rain but hail, sleet, and snow.
What might seem strangest of all but really isn't is that it's exactly those characteristics which supposedly should make George most pathetic - age, drunkenness, the way the boys take his money and trash his love - that awakens something for George in the heart of the kid whose song this is. Obviously the kid hasn't simply "fallen in love with love," or something like that, but rather - what? Why just exactly that only sunk in the foulest perversions could one human being love another for anything other than their humanness: love him for his weakness, his flaws, finally perhaps his decay. Decay is human - that's one of the ultimate messages here, and I don't by any stretch of the lexicon mean decadence. I mean that in this song or whatever inspired it Van Morrison saw the absolute possibility of loving human beings at the farthest extreme of wretchedness, and that the implications of that are terrible indeed, far more terrible than the mere sight of bodies made ugly by age or the seeming absurdity of a man devoting his life to the wobbly artifice of trying to look like a woman.
You can say to love the questions you have to love the answers which quicken the end of love that's loved to love the awful inequality of human experience that loves to say we tower over these the lost that love to love the love that freedom could have been, the train to freedom, but we never get on, we'd rather wave generously walking away from those who are victims of themselves. But who is to say that someone who victimizes himself or herself is not as worthy of total compassion as the most down and out Third World orphan in a New Yorker magazine ad? Nah, better to step over the bodies, at least that gives them the respect they might have once deserved. where I love, in New York (not to make it more than it is, which is hard), everyone I know often steps over bodies which might well be dead or dying as a matter of course, without pain. and I wonder in what scheme it was originally conceived that such an action is showing human refuse the ultimate respect it deserves.
There is of course a rationale - what else are you going to do - but it holds no more than our fear of our own helplessness in the face of the plain of life as it truly is: a plain which extends into an infinity beyond the horizons we have only invented. Come on, die it. As I write this, I can read in the Village Voice the blurbs of people opening heterosexual S&M clubs in Manhattan, saying things like, "S&M is just another equally valid form of love. Why people can't accept that we'll never know." Makes you want to jump out a fifth floor window rather than even read about it, but it's hardly the end of the world; it's not nearly as bad as the hurts that go on everywhere everyday that are taken to casually by all of us as facts of life. Maybe it boiled down to how much you actually want to subject yourself to. If you accept for even a moment the idea that each human life is as precious and delicate as a snowflake and then you look at a wino in a doorway, you've got to hurt until you feel like a sponge for all those other assholes' problems, until you feel like an asshole yourself, so you draw all the appropriate lines. You stop feeling. But you know that then you begin to die. So you tussle with yourself. how much of this horror can I actually allow myself to think about? Perhaps the numbest mannekin is wiser than somebody who only allows their sensitivity to drive them to destroy everything they touch - but then again, to tilt Madame George's hat a hair, just to recognize that that person exists, just to touch his cheek and then probably expire because the realization that you must share the world with him is ultimately unbearable is to only go the first mile. The realization of living is just about that low and that exalted and that unbearable and that sought-after. Please come back and leave me alone. But when we're along together we can talk all we want about the universality of this abyss: it doesn't make any difference, the highest only meets the lowest for some lying succor, UNICEF to relatives, so you scratch and spit and curse in violent resignation at the strict fact that there is absolutely nothing you can do but finally reject anyone in greater pain than you. At such a moment, another breath is treason. that's why you leave your liberal causes, leave suffering humanity to die in worse squalor than they knew before you happened along. You got their hopes up. Which makes you viler than the most scrofulous carrion. viler than the ignorant boys who would take Madame George for a couple of cigarettes. because you have committed the crime of knowledge, and thereby not only walked past or over someone you knew to be suffering, but also violated their privacy, the last possession of the dispossessed. "
Lester Bangs - 'Stranded'.
Μη διαβάζετε γραφιάδες παιδιά.
Σιγά τώρα!
Είμαστε στην εποχή του σολιψισμού: "Εγώ, ο Εαυτούλης μου, ότι μου αρέσει Εμένα.
και να πα να γ.μηθούνε όλοι και όλα."
You poor souls.
How I pitty you.
The setting is that same as that of the previous song - "Cyprus Avenue", apparently a place where people drift, impelled by desire, into moments of flesh-wracking, sight-curdling confrontation with their destinies. It's an elemental place of pitiless judgement - wind and rain figure in both songs - and, interestingly enough, it's a place of the even crueler judgement of adults by children, in both cases love objects absolutely indifferent to their would-be adult lovers. Madame George's little boys are downright contemptuous - like the street urchins who end up cannibalizing the homosexual cousin in Tennessee Williams's Suddenly Last Summer, they're only too happy to come around as long as there's music, party times, free drinks and smokes, and only too gleefully spit on George's affections when all the other stuff runs out, the entombing winter settling in with not only wind and rain but hail, sleet, and snow.
What might seem strangest of all but really isn't is that it's exactly those characteristics which supposedly should make George most pathetic - age, drunkenness, the way the boys take his money and trash his love - that awakens something for George in the heart of the kid whose song this is. Obviously the kid hasn't simply "fallen in love with love," or something like that, but rather - what? Why just exactly that only sunk in the foulest perversions could one human being love another for anything other than their humanness: love him for his weakness, his flaws, finally perhaps his decay. Decay is human - that's one of the ultimate messages here, and I don't by any stretch of the lexicon mean decadence. I mean that in this song or whatever inspired it Van Morrison saw the absolute possibility of loving human beings at the farthest extreme of wretchedness, and that the implications of that are terrible indeed, far more terrible than the mere sight of bodies made ugly by age or the seeming absurdity of a man devoting his life to the wobbly artifice of trying to look like a woman.
You can say to love the questions you have to love the answers which quicken the end of love that's loved to love the awful inequality of human experience that loves to say we tower over these the lost that love to love the love that freedom could have been, the train to freedom, but we never get on, we'd rather wave generously walking away from those who are victims of themselves. But who is to say that someone who victimizes himself or herself is not as worthy of total compassion as the most down and out Third World orphan in a New Yorker magazine ad? Nah, better to step over the bodies, at least that gives them the respect they might have once deserved. where I love, in New York (not to make it more than it is, which is hard), everyone I know often steps over bodies which might well be dead or dying as a matter of course, without pain. and I wonder in what scheme it was originally conceived that such an action is showing human refuse the ultimate respect it deserves.
There is of course a rationale - what else are you going to do - but it holds no more than our fear of our own helplessness in the face of the plain of life as it truly is: a plain which extends into an infinity beyond the horizons we have only invented. Come on, die it. As I write this, I can read in the Village Voice the blurbs of people opening heterosexual S&M clubs in Manhattan, saying things like, "S&M is just another equally valid form of love. Why people can't accept that we'll never know." Makes you want to jump out a fifth floor window rather than even read about it, but it's hardly the end of the world; it's not nearly as bad as the hurts that go on everywhere everyday that are taken to casually by all of us as facts of life. Maybe it boiled down to how much you actually want to subject yourself to. If you accept for even a moment the idea that each human life is as precious and delicate as a snowflake and then you look at a wino in a doorway, you've got to hurt until you feel like a sponge for all those other assholes' problems, until you feel like an asshole yourself, so you draw all the appropriate lines. You stop feeling. But you know that then you begin to die. So you tussle with yourself. how much of this horror can I actually allow myself to think about? Perhaps the numbest mannekin is wiser than somebody who only allows their sensitivity to drive them to destroy everything they touch - but then again, to tilt Madame George's hat a hair, just to recognize that that person exists, just to touch his cheek and then probably expire because the realization that you must share the world with him is ultimately unbearable is to only go the first mile. The realization of living is just about that low and that exalted and that unbearable and that sought-after. Please come back and leave me alone. But when we're along together we can talk all we want about the universality of this abyss: it doesn't make any difference, the highest only meets the lowest for some lying succor, UNICEF to relatives, so you scratch and spit and curse in violent resignation at the strict fact that there is absolutely nothing you can do but finally reject anyone in greater pain than you. At such a moment, another breath is treason. that's why you leave your liberal causes, leave suffering humanity to die in worse squalor than they knew before you happened along. You got their hopes up. Which makes you viler than the most scrofulous carrion. viler than the ignorant boys who would take Madame George for a couple of cigarettes. because you have committed the crime of knowledge, and thereby not only walked past or over someone you knew to be suffering, but also violated their privacy, the last possession of the dispossessed. "
Lester Bangs - 'Stranded'.
Μη διαβάζετε γραφιάδες παιδιά.
Σιγά τώρα!
Είμαστε στην εποχή του σολιψισμού: "Εγώ, ο Εαυτούλης μου, ότι μου αρέσει Εμένα.
και να πα να γ.μηθούνε όλοι και όλα."
You poor souls.
How I pitty you.
Last edited:
Κάλλη Συνοδινού
Supreme Member
- 17 June 2009
- 3,594
The Byrds - Have You Seen Her Face
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ir-l7O_wxLI&feature=related
Have you seen her face?
With her eyes reflect
The colors in the sky
On one familiar place
To be swept into
Whenever she's close by
Makes me wonder why
Run by, don't turn back
Can't hide from the look in her eye
Must be the way she walks
A style made up to capture all ahe needs
No time to spend on this talk
If your luck runs dry
She might see you tonight
Everything inside
Run by, don't turn back
Can't hide from the look in her eye
Run by, don't turn back
Can't hide from the look in her eye
You'll find you're locked in her spell
All the sights and sounds
Your senses will be found
And only time will tell
How much love can be
To wait so patiently
Wait and see
Run by, don't turn back
Can't hide from the look in her eye
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ir-l7O_wxLI&feature=related
Have you seen her face?
With her eyes reflect
The colors in the sky
On one familiar place
To be swept into
Whenever she's close by
Makes me wonder why
Run by, don't turn back
Can't hide from the look in her eye
Must be the way she walks
A style made up to capture all ahe needs
No time to spend on this talk
If your luck runs dry
She might see you tonight
Everything inside
Run by, don't turn back
Can't hide from the look in her eye
Run by, don't turn back
Can't hide from the look in her eye
You'll find you're locked in her spell
All the sights and sounds
Your senses will be found
And only time will tell
How much love can be
To wait so patiently
Wait and see
Run by, don't turn back
Can't hide from the look in her eye
ΔΗΜΗΤΡΗΣ ΜΑΝΩΛΑΚΟΣ
Supreme Member
- 19 June 2006
- 8,661
- 17 June 2006
- 14,350
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQhY8j2u5U4
Down the road sits the Big O Motel,
Where people tell lies in their own private cell.
With cast down eyes and a packaged surprise,
I come and I go we plan it just so.
At the Big O Motel, on the vibrating bed,
Cologne drenched curtains of velour red.
In the smoky glass mirror I look at my face,
But, on the bed beside me someone has taken your place.
By the Big O mOtel, there's a drive through bar,
They'll make you a daiquiri in a mason jar.
The man at the window with the receding hair line,
Looks away from me but says " same place, same time ".
At the Big O Motel, on the vibrating bed,
Cologne drenched curtains of velour red.
In the smoky glass mirror I look at my face,
But, on the bed beside me someone has taken your place.
The man on the corner with sausage shaped fingers,
After he's gone, his cigar smoke lingers.
After he's gone I take a shower,
I watch the clock's hands passing the hours.
Down the road sits the Big O Motel,
Where people tell lies in their own private cell.
With cast down eyes and a packaged surprise,
I come and I go we plan it just so.
At the Big O Motel, on the vibrating bed,
Cologne drenched curtains of velour red.
In the smoky glass mirror I look at my face,
But, on the bed beside me someone has taken your place.
By the Big O mOtel, there's a drive through bar,
They'll make you a daiquiri in a mason jar.
The man at the window with the receding hair line,
Looks away from me but says " same place, same time ".
At the Big O Motel, on the vibrating bed,
Cologne drenched curtains of velour red.
In the smoky glass mirror I look at my face,
But, on the bed beside me someone has taken your place.
The man on the corner with sausage shaped fingers,
After he's gone, his cigar smoke lingers.
After he's gone I take a shower,
I watch the clock's hands passing the hours.
- 17 June 2006
- 14,350
Κάλλη Συνοδινού
Supreme Member
- 17 June 2009
- 3,594
The Chieftains & Van Morrison - Have I told You lately
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4vAsdBHu3k
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness
Take away all my sadness
Ease my troubles that's what you do
For the morning sun in all its glory
Greets the day with hope and comfort too
You fill my heart with laughter
And somehow you make it better
Ease my troubles that's what you do
There's a love that's divine
And it's yours and it's mine like the sun
And at the end of the day
We should give thanks and pray
To the one, to the one
Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness
Take away all my sadness
Ease my troubles that's what you do
There's a love that's divine
And it's yours and it's mine like the sun
And at the end of the day
We should give thanks and pray
To the one, to the one
And have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
You fill my heart with gladness
Take away my sadness
Ease my troubles that's what you do
Take away all my sadness
Fill my life with gladness
Ease my troubles that's what you do
Take away all my sadness
Fill my life with gladness
Ease my troubles that's what you do
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4vAsdBHu3k
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness
Take away all my sadness
Ease my troubles that's what you do
For the morning sun in all its glory
Greets the day with hope and comfort too
You fill my heart with laughter
And somehow you make it better
Ease my troubles that's what you do
There's a love that's divine
And it's yours and it's mine like the sun
And at the end of the day
We should give thanks and pray
To the one, to the one
Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness
Take away all my sadness
Ease my troubles that's what you do
There's a love that's divine
And it's yours and it's mine like the sun
And at the end of the day
We should give thanks and pray
To the one, to the one
And have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
You fill my heart with gladness
Take away my sadness
Ease my troubles that's what you do
Take away all my sadness
Fill my life with gladness
Ease my troubles that's what you do
Take away all my sadness
Fill my life with gladness
Ease my troubles that's what you do
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness
Stephania Gk.
AVClub Addicted Member
- 23 April 2008
- 2,381
Γιώργος Κουν.
Supreme Member
Re: Απάντηση: Moυσεία
"Μουσεία" στα μούτρα σας..
τόχουμε πεί ή τόχουμε παραλείψει, δεν θυμάμαι
"Μουσεία" στα μούτρα σας..
τόχουμε πεί ή τόχουμε παραλείψει, δεν θυμάμαι
Last edited:
Γιώργος Κουν.
Supreme Member
Re: Απάντηση: Moυσεία
Μπάσει περιπτώσει το προσπερνώ και θα ξανα-γράψω για το αγαπημένο Τρία, πως έπαιζε μαζί με τους μετασεισμούς των Διδυμων του '81 μαζι με το sailing shoes των Little Feat.
O κόσμος στο υπαιθρο, στα αυτοκίνητα, έξω γενικά, τι πιο καλή περίπτωση για εμάς να είμαστε μέσα....
Λίγο είναι να ακους Zeppelin, επιτέλους χωρίς ακουστικά ξένοιαστος κι ωραίος, τρεις η ώρα τα ξημερώματα;:guitarist:
Μπάσει περιπτώσει το προσπερνώ και θα ξανα-γράψω για το αγαπημένο Τρία, πως έπαιζε μαζί με τους μετασεισμούς των Διδυμων του '81 μαζι με το sailing shoes των Little Feat.
O κόσμος στο υπαιθρο, στα αυτοκίνητα, έξω γενικά, τι πιο καλή περίπτωση για εμάς να είμαστε μέσα....
Λίγο είναι να ακους Zeppelin, επιτέλους χωρίς ακουστικά ξένοιαστος κι ωραίος, τρεις η ώρα τα ξημερώματα;:guitarist:
Γιώργος Κουν.
Supreme Member
