Album : Amused to death
Released : 1992
Ecoutez ce choeur, à la fin du morceau, la guitare de Jeff Beck … Et la radio qui ponctue la chanson, nous renvoie-t-elle à la fin de “Have a Cigar” sur Wish you were here ? ou encore, à cette télé, entre “Don’t Leave me now”, et “Another brick in the wall part 3″, sur The Wall ?
Extraits choisis : “We’ve got a choice” – “The Lord said Peter I can see Your house from here” (me fait toujours sourir au milieu du morceau, celle-là !) – “An honest man Finally reaped what he had sown”
*******
Miraculous you call it babe
You ain’t seen nothing yet
They’ve got Pepsi in the Andes
Mcdonalds in Tibet
Yosemite’s been turned into
A golf course for the Japs
The Dead Sea is alive with rap
Between the Tigris and Euphrates
There’s a leisure centre now
They’ve got all kinds of sports
They’ve got Bermuda shorts
The had sex in Pennsylvania
A Brazilian grew a tree
A doctor in Manhattan
Saved a dying man for free
It’s a miracle
Another miracle
By the grace of God Almighty
And pressures of marketplace
The human race has civilized itself
It’s a miracle
We’ve got a warehouse of butter
We’ve got oceans of wine
We’ve got famine when we need it
Got a designer crime
We’ve got Mercedes
We’ve got Porsche
Ferrari and Rolls Royce
We’ve got a choice
She said meet me
In the Garden of Gethsemane my dear
The Lord said Peter I can see
Your house from here
An honest man
Finally reaped what he had sown
And farmer in Ohio has just repaid a loan
It’s a miracle
Another miracle
By the grace of God Almighty
And pressures of marketplace
The human race has civilized itself
It’s a miracle
We cower in our shelters
With our hands over our ears
Lloyd-Webber’s awful stuff
Runs for years and years and years
An earthquake hits the theatre
But the operetta lingers
Then the piano lids comes down
And break his fucking fingers
It’s a miracle
Hommages et Remerciements – sur un fond sonore choisi par Mr Guyaut himself ce soir:
Cette semaine Pierre Guyaut (“La mémoire molle du Rock ‘n Roll”) anime ses dernières émissions “21 rocks” après 40 ans de radio, et en cette fin d’été 2011, une page radiophonique se tourne pour moi. Je rédige ces lignes avec un pincement au coeur, alors que ses jingles (“Pierre Guyaut, la terreur des sonotones”) et salutations (“je pars maintenant, car je préfère partir au faîte de la gloire, plutôt qu’aux fêtes de Wallonie”) ponctuent des morceaux de Queen, des Kinks, Deff Lepard, ACDC, The Whos, des Stones, Paul Personne, Beatles, Eagles, Led Zep, Humble pie, (“Le morceau préféré de Natacha”) Deep Purple, Metallica, (“si vous n’avez pas encore mis votre chat dehors, vous verrez, maintenant il va sortir tout seul – écoutez plutôt”) Motorhead, Megadeath, … Bref, le quotidien de mes soirées lorsque je suis à la maison – et en fait, beaucoup de la musique que j’aime. It’s only Rock ‘n Roll, and i like it – c’est ainsi.
Pierre Guyaut, que je range donc comme précieuseument au moyen de cet article avec Philippe Gauthier (Ah ! Perfecto sur Radio2, à la charnière des années 80 et 90 ! je sais l’ami qui devrait se souvenir, mais qui d’autre se rappelle des fanzines et du répondeur, je me demande ?), Jacques de Pierpont, Martine Matagne, Jacques Mercier, Jean-Paul Smismans, Max, Francis Zegut (!) et quelques autres, principalement mais pas exclusivement de la famille rtbf, lignée 21 (… Radio21, 21, Classic21), et dont les voix et les équipes ont fait et font le bonheur de ma culture radio, et plus particulièrement musicale.
Evidemment, il s’agit de lui – mais finalement, aussi de tous les autres dont le tour est venu, ou viendra; et c’est inéluctable.
Quelqu’un a fini par trouver le moyen de prépensionner Pierre Guyaut … et Natacha par la même occasion.
*révérence*
Ami du soir et de la guitare, au revoir !
Bohemian Rhapsody – Queen, sur A night at the opera, 1974.
Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide,
No escape from reality
Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and see,
I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy,
Because I’m easy come, easy go, Little high, little low,
Any way the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me, to me
MAMA just killed a man,
Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he’s dead
MAMA, life had just begun,
But now I’ve gone and thrown it all away
Mama, ooh ooh oooh ohh.., Didn’t mean to make you cry,
If I’m not back again this time tomorrow,
Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters
Too late, my time has come,
Sends shivers down my spine, body’s aching all the time
Goodbye, ev’rybody, I’ve got to go,
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth
Mama, ooh, I don’t want to die,
I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all
I see a little silhouetto of a man,
Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango!
Sent a bolt of lightning, very, very frightening me
(Galileo) Galileo!! (Galileo) Galileo!!, Galileo!!
figaro!!
Magnifico I’m just a poor boy nobody loves me
He’s just a poor boy from a poor family,
Spare him his life from this monstrosity
Easy come, easy go, will you let me go
Bismillah! No, we will not let you go
(Let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go
(Let him go!) Bismillah! We will not let you go
(Let me go) Will not let you go
(Let me go) Will not let you go (Let me go) Ah
No, no, no, no, no, no, no
(Oh mama mia!!!, mama mia) Mama mia, let me go
Beelzebut!.. has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me
So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye
So you think you can love me and leave me to die
Oh, baby, can’t do this to me, baby,
Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here
Nothing really matters, Anyone can see,
Nothing really matters,
Nothing really matters to me
Any way the wind blows
Yop, jour anniversaire, que je clos sur deux chansons, après une belle journée de mois d’août, faite (pêle-mêle) de soleil, de nombreux rires, messages sympathiques et affectueux, une séance photo pour un article à venir, et la visite de témoins de Jéovah (Ben oui, tout arrive).
Perfect Day, de Lou Reed, en 1972, sur Transformer, album post Velvet. Repris à ma connaissance et dans le désordre par Nick Cave – peut-être même est-ce encore une version différente lorsqu’il la chante avec ses mauvaises graines ? – U2, Suzanne Vega, et Tom Jones, et probablement beaucoup d’autres. Je suis sûr que vous aurez l’une ou l’autre version supplémentaire en tête.
Just a perfect day
drink sangria in the park
And then later when it gets dark
we go home
Just a perfect day
feed animals in the zoo
Then later a movie too
and then home
Oh, it’s such a perfect day
I’m glad I spent it with you
Oh, such a perfect day
You just keep me hanging on
you just keep me hanging on
Just a perfect day
problems all left alone
We can do this on our own
it’s such fun
Just a perfect day
you made me forget myself
I thought I was someone else
someone good
Oh, it’s such a perfect day
I’m glad I spent it with you
Oh, such a perfect day
You just keep me hanging on
you just keep me hanging on
You’re going to reap just what you sow
You’re going to reap just what you sow
You’re going to reap just what you sow
You’re going to reap just what you sow
Et, Double Shot oblige, comme je l’entends alors que je rédige ces lignes, la succession des morceaux de Dark Side of The Moon – aujourd’hui, je retiens Time : ça sonne comme de circonstance, alors qu’une autre année commence. Mais ce sera sans doute sur The Great Gig in The Sky que je m’endormirai dans un instant …
Pink Floyd : Time – (Mason, Waters, Wright, Gilmour)
Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.
Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.
So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it’s sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you’re older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.
Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I’d something more to say.
Paraît sur l’album Love Over Gold, en 1982 – je vous recommande cette version longue, pour le son incroyable du final.
Ici, dans la version live releasée sur Money For Nothing.
***
A long time ago came a man on a track
Walking thirty miles with a sack on his back
And he put down his load where he thought it was the best
Made a home in the wilderness
Built a cabin and a winter store
And he ploughed up the ground by the cold lake shore
The other travelers came walking down the track
And they never went further, no, they never went back
Then came the churches then came the schools
Then came the lawyers then came the rules
Then came the trains and the trucks with their load
And the dirty old track was the telegraph road
Then came the mines and then came the ore
Then there was the hard times then there was a war
Telegraph sang a song about the world outside
Telegraph road got so deep and so wide
Like a rolling river …
And my radio says tonight it’s gonna freeze
People driving home from the factories
Six lanes of traffic
Three lanes moving slow …
I used to like to go to work but they shut it down
I got a right to go to work but there’s no work here to be found
Yes and they say we’re gonna have to pay what’s owed
We’re gonna have to reap from some seed that’s been sowed
And the birds up on the wires and the telegraph poles
They can always fly away from this rain and this cold
You can hear them singing out their telegraph code
All the way down the telegraph road
I’d sooner forget but I remember those nights
Yeah, life was just a bet on a race between the lights
You had your head on my shoulder you had your hand in my hair
Now you act a little colder like you don’t seem to care …
Well just believe in me baby and I’ll take you away
From out of this darkness and into the day
From these rivers of headlights these rivers of rain
From the anger that lives on the streets with these names
‘cos I’ve run every red light on memory lane
I’ve seen desperation explode into flames
And I don’t want to see it again …
From all of these signs saying ‘sorry but we’re closed’
All the way down the telegraph road
Allez, histoire de dire … j’y étais, aussi !
Quelle débauche d’énergie avant, pendant et après le spectacle … 4 jours de montage, une infrastructure de 180 tonnes, près de 28m de haut, dont le mat principal culmine à 45m, un écran circulaire mobile de 24x36m (54 tonnes !?), 2 jours de démontage, 1300 personnes pour la logistique, combien de semi-remorques ? 60.000 spectateurs qui se déplacent pour un concert … multipliez par plus de 70 dates sur 2 ans, et ajoutez les avions … Saupoudrez néanmoins aussi de philanthropie et de messages humanitaires …
James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich (Metallica)
Bono, The Edge (U2)
Patti Smith
Bruce Springsteen (& the e-street band ; clarence clemons)
Mick Jagger (Rolling Stones)
Jeff Beck, Sting
John Fogerty (Creedance clearwater revival)
Tom Morello (Rage against the machine)
No comment – Thank you, guys.
Special thanks to Mark Ysaïe for sharing the concert.
The Wall, originellement release en 1979 par Pink Floyd est essentiellement écrit par Roger Waters.
Ci-dessous, la première chanson de la 3eme face de ce double album opéra rock mythique, Hey You !
Hey you, out there in the cold
Getting lonely, getting old
Can you feel me?
Hey you, standing in the aisles
With itchy feet and fading smiles
Can you feel me?
Hey you, dont help them to bury the light
Don’t give in without a fight.
Hey you, out there on your own
Sitting naked by the phone
Would you touch me?
Hey you, with you ear against the wall
Waiting for someone to call out
Would you touch me?
Hey you, would you help me to carry the stone?
Open your heart, I’m coming home.
But it was only fantasy.
The wall was too high,
As you can see.
No matter how he tried,
He could not break free.
And the worms ate into his brain.
Hey you, standing in the road
always doing what you’re told,
Can you help me?
Hey you, out there beyond the wall,
Breaking bottles in the hall,
Can you help me?
Hey you, don’t tell me there’s no hope at all
Together we stand, divided we fall.
[Click of TV being turned on]
“Well, only got an hour of daylight left. Better get started”
“Isnt it unsafe to travel at night?”
“It’ll be a lot less safe to stay here. You’re father’s gunna pick up our trail before long”
“Can Loca ride?”
“Yeah, I can ride… Magaret, time to go! Maigret, thank you for everything”
“Goodbye Chenga”
“Goodbye miss …”
“I’ll be back”