The Jukebox

I blame myself.

No more comp cds for Frosti.

I can help you rehabilitate, dude - we'll have "Living in the Past" weekends where we listen to nothing recorded before 1980.  :)

I'm sorry, Frosti.  I didn't mean to make you cry.

<hug>

there, there.

[Edited by on Aug 27, 2004 at 08:35am.]

hey, don't diss the Tull, man.  they were, like,  best heavy metal band for 1994 or whatever, dude.

In the hush before the heartbreak
Everything is beautiful
In the hush before the heartbreak
Everything's cool
In the hush before the heartbreak
I'll be your fool
In the hush before the heartbreak
I'll do anything for you

I don't care about tomorrow
I don't care about yesterday
I don't care about your lover
I won't make her go away
I don't care about appearances
Or what my friends will say
(Let them talk all day)
In the hush before the heartbreak
I just want you to stay

You can know someone forever
And know what no one else knows
You get closer and closer
Till you are closed

You will stay this way forever
In your perfect dusky room
With the light shining from heaven
From a perfect waning moon
Like the message that you sent me
Saying "I will be home soon"
(I'll be home soon)
In the hush before the heartbreak

That's beautiful ami - and haunting, considering...

 

Yes. It's by The Nields and is a very sad song. You can sample it at Amazon.

 

 

 

 

Let me bring you songs from the wood:
to make you feel much better than you could know.
Dust you down from tip to toe.
Show you how the garden grows.
Hold you steady as you go.
Join the chorus if you can:
it'll make of you an honest man.
Let me bring you love from the field:
poppies red and roses filled with summer rain.
To heal the wound and still the pain
that threatens again and again
as you drag down every lover's lane.
Life's long celebration's here.
I'll toast you all in penny cheer.
Let me bring you all things refined:
galliards and lute songs served in chilling ale.
Greetings well met fellow, hail!
I am the wind to fill your sail.
I am the cross to take your nail:
A singer of these ageless times.
With kitchen prose and gutter rhymes.
Songs from the wood make you feel much better.

Ayup.  Listened to the Hits disc in the garage while working on refinishing the deck furniture (still) again. ;)

A direct translation of the classic original "Águas de Março":

Waters of March

It's stick, it's stone
It's the end of the road
It's a rest of stump
It's a little alone

It's a shard of glass
It is life, it's the sun
It is night, it is death
It's the snare, it's the fishhook

It's peroba of the field
It’s the knot in the wood
Lamp caingá tree
It's the matita-pereira tree

It's wind-resistant wood
Falls of the ravine
It's the profound mystery
It's the you wish or you don’t

It's the wind blowing
It's the end of the slope
It's the beam, it's the span
The new roof party

It's the rain raining
It’s riverbank talk
Of the waters of March
It's the end of the struggle

It's the foot, it's the ground
It's the walk on the road
Small bird in the hand
A slingshot stone

It’s a bird in the sky
It’s a bird on the ground
It's a creek, it's a fountain
It's a piece of bread

It's the bottom of the well
It's the end of the way
In the face the annoyance
It's a little lonely

It's a thorn, it's a nail
It's a point, it’s a dot
It's a drop dripping
It's an tally, it’s a tale

It's a fish, it’s a gesture
It's silver shining
It's the morning’s light
It's the brick arriving

It's the firewood, it's the day
It's the end of the trail
It's the bottle of liquor
Splinter in the road

It’s the house’s design
It's the body in bed
It's the broken down car
It's the mud, it's the mud

It's a footstep, it's a bridge
It's a toad, it's a frog
It's a rest of brush
In the morning’s light

They are the waters of March
Closing the summer
It's the promise of life
In your heart

It's a snake, it’s a stick
It's John, it's Joseph
It's a thorn in the hand
It's the cut on the foot

They are the waters of March
Closing the summer
It's the promise of life
In your heart

It's stick, it's stone
It's the end of the road
It's a rest of stump
It's a little alone

It's a footstep, a bridge
It's a toad, it's a frog
It's a beautiful horizon
It’s a tertian fever

They are the waters of March
Closing the summer
It's the promise of life
In your heart

Tom Jobim's English re-write:

Waters of March

A stick, a stone,
It's the end of the road,
It's the rest of a stump,
It's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass,
It is life, it's the sun,
It is night, it is death,
It's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms,
A fox in the brush,
A knot in the wood,
The song of a thrush

The wood of the wind,
A cliff, a fall,
A scratch, a lump,
It is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free,
It's the end of the slope,
It's a beam, it's a void,
It's a hunch, it's a hope

And the river bank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the end of the strain,
The joy in your heart

The foot, the ground,
The flesh and the bone,
The beat of the road,
A slingshot's stone

A fish, a flash,
A silvery glow,
A fight, a bet,
The range of a bow

The bed of the well,
The end of the line,
The dismay in the face,
It's a loss, it's a find

A spear, a spike,
A point, a nail,
A drip, a drop,
The end of the tale

A truckload of bricks
in the soft morning light,
The shot of a gun
in the dead of the night

A mile, a must,
A thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme,
It's a cold, it's the mumps

The plan of the house,
The body in bed,
And the car that got stuck,
It's the mud, it's the mud

Afloat, adrift,
A flight, a wing,
A hawk, a quail,
The promise of spring

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life
It's the joy in your heart

A stick, a stone,
It's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump,
It's a little alone

A snake, a stick,
It is John, it is Joe,
It's a thorn in your hand
and a cut in your toe

A point, a grain,
A bee, a bite,
A blink, a buzzard,
A sudden stroke of night

A pin, a needle,
A sting, a pain,
A snail, a riddle,
A wasp, a stain

A pass in the mountains,
A horse and a mule,
In the distance the shelves
rode three shadows of blue

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life
in your heart, in your heart

A stick, a stone,
The end of the road,
The rest of a stump,
A lonesome road

A sliver of glass,
A life, the sun,
A knife, a death,
The end of the run

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the end of all strain,
It's the joy in your heart.

(Very interesting.)

Cool song(s), Dock.  Sounds like a traditional/folk type of tune, no?

Here's my current earworm.  Woke up with it - classic dream jukebox playing in my head again.

 

Comes a time
when you're driftin'
Comes a time
when you settle down
Comes a light
feelin's liftin'
Lift that baby
right up off the ground.

Oh, this old world
keeps spinning round
It's a wonder tall trees
ain't layin' down
There comes a time.

You and I we were captured
We took our souls
and we flew away
We were right
we were giving
That's how we kept
what we gave away.

Oh, this old world
keeps spinning round
It's a wonder tall trees
ain't layin' down
There comes a time.

good one, Sparky!

Thanks JB.  Neil is definitely in my pantheon of music deities.

No need to publicly mourn your lack of cranial capacity there dude.

All the gods of a people considered as a group

Sparky's musical dieties taken as a group would be considered a pantheon, i think.

He learned how to speak English from watching old episodes of Howard Cossell!  :)

Yeah, I was going for the #3 feel - musical deities, a group of them.

musical deities, a group of them.

pigs, three different ones.

Cool song(s), Dock. Sounds like a traditional/folk type of tune, no?

It's a Brazilian-pop perennial from the bossa nova era (late '50s-early '60s).

Many Brazilian tunes, particularly from bossa nova and MPB writers, have lovely, soft-sensual lyricism in the images. And of course, it's all lost if you don't have the language. Caetano Veloso alone, for example, has sung more interesting things about the modern world crashing into the trad-society world than any US/UK songwriter I can think of.

So in the next lifetime, it's not only Greek I have to pick up, but Portuguese, too.

Said Red Molly to James that's a fine motorbike
A girl could feel special on any such like
Said James to Red Molly, well my hat's off to you
It's a Vincent Black Lightning, 1952
And I've seen you at the corners and cafes it seems
Red hair and black leather, my favorite color scheme
And he pulled her on behind
And down to Boxhill they did ride

Said James to Red Molly, here's a ring for your right hand
But I'll tell you in earnest I'm a dangerous man
I've fought with the law since I was seventeen
I robbed many a man to get my Vincent machine
Now I'm 21 years, I might make 22
And I don't mind dying, but for the love of you
And if fate should break my stride
Then I'll give you my Vincent to ride

Come down, come down, Red Molly, called Sergeant McRae
For they've taken young James Adie for armed robbery
Shotgun blast hit his chest, left nothing inside
Oh, come down, Red Molly to his dying bedside
When she came to the hospital, there wasn't much left
He was running out of road, he was running out of breath
But he smiled to see her cry
And said I'll give you my Vincent to ride

Says James, in my opinion, there's nothing in this world
Beats a 52 Vincent and a red headed girl
Now Nortons and Indians and Greeveses won't do
They don't have a soul like a Vincent 52
He reached for her hand and he slipped her the keys
He said I've got no further use for these
I see angels on Ariels in leather and chrome
Swooping down from heaven to carry me home
And he gave her one last kiss and died
And he gave her his Vincent to ride

Actually the version I can't get outta my head is my brother's, sitting on the beach with a guitar, last year this time.

He's a guest of the state at present.

I, too, like that song - although the rhythm that started running through my head reminded me more of some other song... is this borrowed from another tune?

With "a cappella" always remember -- "two Ps, two Ls"

Night wolves moan
The winter hills are black
I'm all alone
Sitting in the back
Of a long white Cadillac

Headlights shine
Highway fades to black
I'll take my time
In a long white Cadillac
In a long white Cadillac

Sometime I blame it on a woman
Why my achin' heart bleeds
Sometimes I blame it on the money
Sometimes I blame it on me

Train whistle cries
Lost on its own track
I'll close my eyes
I'm never coming back
In a long white Cadillac

Night wolves moan
The winter hills are black
I'm all alone
Sitting in the back
Of a long white Cadillac

One time I had all that I wanted
But it just skipped through my hands
One time I sang away the sorrow
One time I took it like a man

Headlights shine
Highway fades to black
It's my last ride
I'm never coming back
In a long white Cadillac

Worse than "Em, eye, ess, ess, eye, ess, ess, eye, pee, pee, eye?  :)

You'd be surprised. A way to help implant it is to notice the astonishing number of times the term is spelled incorrectly.

Misspelled, perhaps?  I'm appalled.

A bit "us vs. them"ish in the last stanza, but I like it. 

I'd rather pull them onboard than drown them, personally.  Even though later they probably will comandeer the ship and run it aground on a reef somewhere in the South Pacific.

Helplessly hoping
her harlequin hovers
nearby
awaiting a word
Gasping at glimpses
of gentle true spirit
He runs, wishing he could fly
Only to trip at the sound of good-bye...

Thanks for that dude.  Gots to get me more Bacon.