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czwartek, 22 października 2009
środa, 14 października 2009
Phantom Jukebox #6
SO QUIET | Summer and Winter
Dzisiejsze opady śniegu mnie zaskoczyły, cały zziębłem i zmokłem. W dziurawych conversach ciężko o suche skarpetki przy takich warunkach pogodowych. Po zajęciach miałem zamiar jak najszybciej uciec uciec przed zimą tramwajem numer 6. Problem w tym, że uciekł tramwaj. Poszedłem do empiku. Znalazłem tam płytę, która pomogła mi się z tą pogodą oswoić a nawet szczerze ją pokochać.
So quiet jest polskim Pan American'em, gra akustyczno- elektroniczne, minimalistyczno- ambientowe piosenki. Jest cicho, łagodnie, pieknie i wygodnie. Masteringiem płyty zajął się Michał Jacaszek. Jest cudowna.
Dzisiejsze opady śniegu mnie zaskoczyły, cały zziębłem i zmokłem. W dziurawych conversach ciężko o suche skarpetki przy takich warunkach pogodowych. Po zajęciach miałem zamiar jak najszybciej uciec uciec przed zimą tramwajem numer 6. Problem w tym, że uciekł tramwaj. Poszedłem do empiku. Znalazłem tam płytę, która pomogła mi się z tą pogodą oswoić a nawet szczerze ją pokochać.
So quiet jest polskim Pan American'em, gra akustyczno- elektroniczne, minimalistyczno- ambientowe piosenki. Jest cicho, łagodnie, pieknie i wygodnie. Masteringiem płyty zajął się Michał Jacaszek. Jest cudowna.
poniedziałek, 12 października 2009
Masters Form the Past #1 | Sandy Denny
Sandy Denny urodziła się w 1947 w Londynie. Prze wielu uważana za twórcę i zarazem najwybitniejszego przedstawiciela nurtu angielskiego folk rocka. Występowała z zespołami Fotheringay, Fairport Convention ale także solo. Jej znakiem rozpoznawczym jest bajecznie czysty ale przy tym silny głos. Wystąpiła gościnnie na czwartym albumie Led Zeppelin w utworze "the Battle of Evermore", zostając przy tym jedynym gościnnym muzykiem w karierze tego zespołu. Zmarła w wieku 31 lat w wyniku upadku ze schodów, który po miesiącu wywołał atak i śmierć.
Sandy Denny jest aniołem.
To moje ulubione utwory z jej solowych poczynań. Niesamowite kompozycje, teksty i ten głos pełen magii i melancholii.Late November
The wine it was drunk, the ship it was sunk,
The shot it was dead, all the sorrows were drowned.
The birds they were clouds, the brides and the shrouds
And as we drew south the mist it came down.
The wooded ravine to the wandering stream,
The serpent he moved, but no-one would say.
The depths of the waters, the bridge which distraught us
And brought to me thoughts of the ill-fated day.
The temples were filled with the strangest of creatures
One played it by ear on the banks of the sea.
That one was found but the others they went under.
Oh the tears which are shed, they won't come from me.
The methods of madness, the pathos and the sadness,
God help you all, the insane and wise.
The black and the white, the darkness of the night,
I see only smoke from the chimneys arise.
The pilot he flew all across the sky and woke me.
He flew solo on the mercury sea.
The dream it came back, all about the tall brown people,
The sacred young herd on the phosphorus sand.
The wine it was drunk, the ship it was sunk,
The shot it was dead, all the sorrows were drowned.
The birds they were clouds, the brides and the shrouds
And as we drew south the mist it came down.
The wooded ravine to the wandering stream,
The serpent he moved, but no-one would say.
The depths of the waters, the bridge which distraught us
And brought to me thoughts of the ill-fated day.
The temples were filled with the strangest of creatures
One played it by ear on the banks of the sea.
That one was found but the others they went under.
Oh the tears which are shed, they won't come from me.
The methods of madness, the pathos and the sadness,
God help you all, the insane and wise.
The black and the white, the darkness of the night,
I see only smoke from the chimneys arise.
The pilot he flew all across the sky and woke me.
He flew solo on the mercury sea.
The dream it came back, all about the tall brown people,
The sacred young herd on the phosphorus sand.
Next Time Around
Then came the question and it was about time.
The answer came back and it was long.
The house it was built by some man in a rhyme,
But whatever came of his talented son?
Who wrote me a dialogue set to a tune?
Always you told me of being alone,
Except for the stories about God and you,
And do you still live there in Buffalo?
They put up the walls with no more to say,
Nobody stopped to ask why it was done.
The stream was too far and the rain was too high,
So into the city the river did run.
Because of the architect the buildings fell down,
Smothered or drowned all the seeds which were sown.
I wish I were somewhere, but not in this town.
Maybe the ocean next time around.
I seem to remember the face and the name,
But if it's not you I won't care.
I know of changes, but nothing would change you
To Theo the sailor who sings in his lair.
And then I'll turn and he won't be there,
Dusky black windows to light the dark stair,
Candles all gnarled in the musty air
All without flames for many's the year.
Then came the question and it was about time.
The answer came back and it was long.
The house it was built by some man in a rhyme,
But whatever came of his talented son?
Who wrote me a dialogue set to a tune?
Always you told me of being alone,
Except for the stories about God and you,
And do you still live there in Buffalo?
They put up the walls with no more to say,
Nobody stopped to ask why it was done.
The stream was too far and the rain was too high,
So into the city the river did run.
Because of the architect the buildings fell down,
Smothered or drowned all the seeds which were sown.
I wish I were somewhere, but not in this town.
Maybe the ocean next time around.
I seem to remember the face and the name,
But if it's not you I won't care.
I know of changes, but nothing would change you
To Theo the sailor who sings in his lair.
And then I'll turn and he won't be there,
Dusky black windows to light the dark stair,
Candles all gnarled in the musty air
All without flames for many's the year.
niedziela, 11 października 2009
niedziela, 4 października 2009
czwartek, 1 października 2009
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