mais uma vez a percorrer discos antigos dei

novamente com este nocturno mais-que-perfeito

em demanda do nocturno mais-que-perfeito

recordei este velho standard, revisitado em

boa hora por louis armstrong e oscar peterson

recordando um azul & nocturno mais-que-perfeitos...

...outro nocturno mais-que-perfeito...

...um nocturno mais-que-perfeito...

em demanda do nocturno mais-que-perfeito:

o standard de victor young 
pelo injustamente esquecido charlie rouse

[ dois dos meus italianos de eleição num nocturno mais-que-perfeito ]

[mais um nocturno mais-que-perfeito]

mark kozelek (dos red house painters e sun kil moon) na recriação de uma velha canção dos yes

[sim, outro nocturno mais-que-perfeito]

[...outro nocturno mais-que-perfeito...]

cheguei tarde a art pepper, quase demasiado tarde. no começo dos anos oitenta ofereceram-me o lp "roadgame" (de '81), 

um dos seus últimos discos (morreria no ano seguinte). depois foi uma descoberta em rewind, até aos clássicos do 
west coast sound dos anos 50. e hoje veio-me à memória este standard, um nocturno mais-que-perfeito.

[um outro nocturno mais-que-perfeito]

[ um nocturno de chopin é sempre

um pouco de céu na terra ]

d e s c u b r a
a s
s e t e
d i f e r e n ç a s :





aquilo a que chamo nocturnos mais-que-perfeitos são sempre aqueles breves momentos em que, apesar da insegurança e da incerteza de tudo o que nos rodeia, sabemos que alguém atingiu a essência do belo e a transformou para nós num porto de abrigo que é tangível, uma âncora na deriva da corrente, uma promessa de reconciliação entre mares revoltos. alguns desses instantes preciosos - um pouco de céu na terra - foram-nos oferecidos por um joão sebastião em estado de graça: é o caso deste prelúdio da suite para violoncelo, tocado



a) com um arco



b) com os dedos

um nocturno mais-que-perfeito, ideal para ouvir às escuras de noite, com a janela aberta, deixando a brisa entrar.

do seu primeiro album a solo, e nunca verdadeiramente à margem dos van der graaf, 
gostei de recordar hoje este nocturno mais-que-perfeito de peter hammill.

Spring came far too early this year:

May flowers blooming in February.

Should I be sad for the month,

or glad for the sky?

The birds don't know which way to sing

and, my friend,

neither do I.

Two days ago, a girl I truly thought I loved

suddenly didn't seem to matter at all.

Should I sing sad farewell

to things I'm really glad I've left behind?

The birds don't know which way to sing

and, my friend,

neither do I.

In another day, heavy snow will lie upon the ground

and buds prematurely bloomed shall fail;

and every creature living now,

then will surely die...

The birds don't know which way to sing

and, my friend,

neither do I.

The birds don't know if it's time yet to fly;

they don't know which way to go

and, my friend,

neither do I.

e a ouvir o regresso da chuva lá fora recorda-se cá dentro outro nocturno mais-que-perfeito de daniel lanois, 
que me tem acompanhado desde sempre e teve o condão de tornar mais suaves os momentos mais duros

Union station, tombstone high


No more tears, this fountain dry


Nameless faces, just headlines


We don't ride that train no more

No resistance, turn my head


They could go out East instead


Newfoundland, land of my father


I don't ride your train no more

Cold steel shining, Battle Creek


Eyes are heavy, rain and sea


Massey-Ferguson memories


Don't ride that train no more

Hey, there captain, is that you


Could you tell me, tell me what to do


I've been twenty years on that Soo line


Now we don't ride your train no more

Smoke rises from the face of sand


Dreams about, dreams of beaver dams


Sam can't hear quite like he used to


Tell them why we don't ride no more

Hey, Pierre Trudeau oh, where are you?


My friend to lead us through


These hard times, oh so much confusion


I don't hear your train no more

e é isto: 
muitas vezes, naquela demanda insana em busca do nocturno mais-que-perfeito, 
regresso a velhas canções de thomas alan waits. 



The Ice Man's mule is parked

Outside the bar

Where a man with missing fingers

Plays a strange guitar

And the German dwarf

Dances with the butcher's son

And a little rain never hurt no-one

And a little rain never hurt no-one

They're dancing on the roof

And the ceiling's coming down

I sleep with my shovel and my leather gloves

A little trouble makes it worth the going

And a little rain never hurt no-one

The world is round

And so I'll go around

You must risk something that matters

My hands are strong

I'll take any man here

If it's worth the going

It's worth the ride

She was 15 years old

And never seen the ocean

She climbed into a van

With a vagabond

And the last thing she said

Was "I love you mom"

And a little rain

Never hurt no-one

And a little rain

Never hurt no-one

e, do album is a woman, outro nocturno mais-que-perfeito de kurt wagner…

 

Last thought that you think today


Has already happened


The link between profound and pain


Covers you like Sherwin Williams

Smokey Joe is broken


Drops into your lap


And the big red wasp


Makes a scan through my black pages

Last night, our boy was out there


Burning up his matches


Saw him in the afternoon


Sporting a black eye

The universal man


With a pistol or a bottle


Types with confidence


As we grow out of our bruises

Once I had a friend


Who had the knack of tossing


His mind around geography


Boy, you think, you have problems

The hunter is asleep


At least that's what I call him


In the afternoon of


The new cobweb summer

pensei nas letras do meu nome e neste nocturno de kurt wagner
(a sério, avisem-me se os lambchop vierem tocar à europa)

 


Teardrops form a shadow


This tongue starts to waggle


That's a lovely dress


And oh that's just teaching



And it's not true you know


You swear and all by yourself


As time delivers for a while now


This may not appeal to you


But i can hardly spell my name



A siamese beside his lonely awesome

And i've been waiting all my life


In spite of this arrangement


Moderation on vacation


It's time we all settled down



And it's not true you know


You swear and all by yourself


As time delivers for a while now


This may not appeal to you


But i can hardly spell my name