Sometimes I don't know where this dirty road is taking me Sometimes I can't even see the reason why I guess I keep on gamblin', lots of booze and lots of ramblin' It's easier than just a-waitin' 'round to die
One-time friends I had a ma, I even had a pa He beat her with a belt once cause she cried She told him to take care of me, she headed down to Tennessee It's easier than just a-waitin' 'round to die
I came of age and found a girl in a Tuscaloosa bar She cleaned me out and hit it on the sly I tried to kill the pain, I bought some wine and hopped a train Seemed easier than just a-waitin' 'round to die
A friend Said I Knew WHERE Some easy money WAS We robbed a man and brother did we fly The posse caught up with me, drug me back to Muskogee It's two long years, just a-waitin '' round to die
Now I'm out of prison, I got me a friend at last He Do not steal or cheat or drink or lie His name's codeine , he's the nicest thing I've seen Together we're gonna wait around and die
-
Waitin 'round to die. Townes Van Zandt
[Original 1968. The video is a documentary from 1975 or 1976 that is called Heartworn highways. " The long-haired girl is his girlfriend and the older man, a neighbor. Perhaps history that this account is the master. Some suppose. There are no guarantees. The letter is the original song and therefore not match exactly, although that does not make you miss a beauty ñañigo].
almost a month ago I had the great idea, after reading the magazine of El País a report on the 100 songs that have influenced the life of a hundred singers Hispanic, write to my friends an email in which they demanded, I and my things, a list of five songs, a Either way, have influenced and / or marked their lives.
Slightly email me with such a thing without knowing it I became a Boomerang that I have been embedded in his neck. My friends have behaved to rise to the occasion and I have sent in their respective reviews, among others, The Miami girl, the gem name, I expounded, to my absolute delight, with a very short and blunt, 3 pages, email the past eighty years. Songs ranging from a Libertad Lamarque singing with Carlos Gardel to the ends of the Beyoncé.
course, and rightly so, my friends claim my five songs. And who has sent me to ask myself these pods. An own goal from midfield.
Today, it was time, I decided to dust off my fingers and put me in the task of catching up with this corner. Also, the excuse is valid to do so. But going by.
was born in Valencia, but my first 13 years were spent at my maternal grandparents in a village with pretensions of Construction and high-sounding name: horizonte ... Earth was so plentiful and "little terra" was a bad joke the streets were dirt, the red, and in the rainy season everything is turned into a parody of Macondo. In 1971 came a black slime, covering hot and smelly streets. After cooling, and lose their foul smell, the streets were decorated with brilliant white lines came true progress. Which did not last long, the wonderful planning MOP-Ministry of Public Works then-record Like who does not like things, that the sewers were not placed, they follow me? - and one day they opened the bowels of the streets. When finished with the sewers ... and fill the scarred streets, the CANTV was given to place telephone networks and, guess what, open again healed streets of my town. It's been a few floods of yellow leaves and things never change. Macondo ... can!
My childhood was pastoral, the most sixties and seventy-year-old. Going to school in the morning, the ma-me-mi-mo-mu concerned. Waking up every day, Directions to Radio. Filling my evenings with eternal battle between the plants in the yard, huge, my grandparents, cowboys and Indians, "bear the awful smell of guava all over the place and waiting, salivating at the limit, the first mangoes. Attend parties, every Saturday at the home of Meleán-all characters in the square, piñatas, birthdays, weddings and my first dead body present, Tony, a baby of fifteen years that was a victim of diabetes ... I still remember the face of Mrs. Ricarda-the desolate mother, her eyes lost in thought. A Nilda, coming from high school, and learn of the death of his brother. Mr. Antonio The father, completely sad and muttering the unanswered question: Why ?.
In that moment I understood how the block was a family, a family of strangers ... like all families. At that moment the silence was present, almost palpable, heavy and hard. The radio fell silent and the TV also. When it was normal to the block, after the respective mourning, returned to the realm of radio. Each house had its radio on all day. At night was the empire of television ... but that's another story.
Finally, we return.
The radio was also on Michelle Barber, a shearer at half Italian urbanization, also was in the hold of the Lady Fatima, a Portuguese-faced porcelain, and was attended by turns with his brother Faustino. The music was taking shape, and what body in the bar that was next to the pump and the Shoot-o was called Bella Vista? - Banned completely bar any lady decent. The bar was the typical cabinet beside the road, the road was lost by the Central Plains, the western part of the country. Road that went beyond the Andes-which I later learned.
Since childhood I have said any number of songs, musical pieces, sounds. Long before that: "The tree we ..." learned in school, my brain is filled with music and images that complement those sounds. Ultimately that brat doodle turns kneeling understand what was meant listening to those songs
For years I pursued a line from a song I heard in the house of Don Antonio Meleán, in one of his huge party, where The who's who of the block was evident. Since I know that life will give you, at its proper time, you need ... for about three years ago I found out who it was that song and who sings it.
Well, it was none other than Carmen Sevilla, song: Honey Triana. Even the laughter fills me write this. "With a chicken pen and ink of a squid you write me in the corners that are increasingly suffering ..." , but is not justify, he was a child. It was the reign of Juan Legido and Los Churumbeles of Spain, Lola Flores and ..., Carmen Sevilla.
It is impossible not to think about music and singers, music and characters. I can not help remember chums Nilda Elio Roca-crazy she turned it on shouting "I want to be your love day and night, to Los Angeles Negros, and wither at the point of constant detuning, Leonardo Fabio, his "I cut a flower ...." dream was possible worlds in the voices of Blanca Rosa Gil, Carmen Delia Depini, Nelson Ned "And Sandro ..., how to forget and see how the girls on the block became frantic with your hips. Do not evoke the tears of my grandmother, "The Philosopher" by the untimely death of Cherry Navarro.
Bertha, while ironing, listening dose of Mexican singers on offer. The Panchos, Pedro Vargas, Jorge Negrete, Pedro Infante and get to dance, including shirts, at the point of Perez Prado and Latin bands filled with merengue, vallenato, a sweet danzón, merecumbé, cumbia, gaita-nothing is perfect, "a lost tango, chachacha and salsa, lots of sauce. The national arsenal of guaracha was also present when Radio America let out "I get snuck Billo's" with the voices of Cheo Garcia and Memo Morales, The Melodic with their inimitable Manolo Monterrey or Victor Piñero , Veronica King. Listen to the queen Celia Cruz, spicy Emilita Dago, 's Cuba "La Sonora" and its amazing singers ...
Boleros. Chucho Avellanet was who brought me the songs of Maria Grever and a strange glitter in the eyes of my mother's younger sister. Then, I discovered at the home of Helen Mendoza, Lucho Gatica lacrimal flood with memories of my grandfather and cousins \u200b\u200bwho were in Caracas with his arsenal of discs . It was the absolute rule of the songs of Agustin Lara, Barbarito Diez Rolando Laserie, profound voice of Tona La Negra, Nelson Pinedo, Estela Raval, with the Five-Latinos, the Mona Bell, Beny Moré and scandal alusinante-yeah ..., with S of sensational and sublime de La Lupe. At the same time I met the Italian singers, singing in Castilian, with Nicola Di Bari, Mina, Pepino di Capri, Gabriela Ferri. French scraping of Aznavour, Piaf wounding melancholy or the rawness of Brel and my mother sigh. And "Jala Jala" of Ricky Ray still makes me dance. We were completely and totally eclectic.
The hippies. The era of NASA, and all Apollos, opened, at least in that town, a hunger for the gringo. The daughter of Mrs. Virginia gave him for singing in English and spent a Leo Dan, a Piero, a Marco Antonio Muñiz, a Luisito Rey, Cesar Acosta a a "anilluuu, anilluuuu, anilluuuuuuUUuu ..." constant. The Beatles came to town.
In Meleán Don parties sounded a: "I like to Be in America! OK by me in America! Ev'rything free in America. " Along with" What shell is that? " of the worshipers of Leo Marini, Daniel Santos and their respective etcetera. How can we forget Julio Iglesias, Juan Pardo, José José, La Quinta Formula, Earthlings, The National M-Mirla, Mirtha, Mirna, Mayra, "The Wedge, Lila Morillo-inevitable in such a list," José Luis Rodríguez-before and after being El Puma, "Ivo, Edgar Alexander, Trino Mora, Raquelita Brown, Tania, Delia, Nancy Ramos, Los Tres Tristes Tigres, Sugar, Cocoa and Milk, Camilo Sesto, Nino Bravo, Cecilia, Peret. The Indian Araucanian, Palito Ortega, Lola Beltran Rocio Durcal and Enrique Guzman ...
suburban rancher My course, those veins that open the way to school I studied at Don Bosco of my native Valencia. How not to get lost with Noel Petro, The Sisters Streets, the Majagual Coraleros Claudia de Colombia, Julio Jaramillo and Bolero Ranchero by Javier Solis.
began my teens, to close at those arms, Calle El Bosque, watching sunsets and listening, looking total stupid, Barry Manilow shelling "Even now" , as you know, "Could it be magic " . And in all this, between sheets "Close to you" replied Karen Carpenter and I believed him. Young pods while outside the Hard Music did from his.
already
Willy Colon and Ruben Blades were daily, the New Trova came to me from the hand of Soledad Bravo, then a "Remember April" Amaury , Pablo much, much Silvio and "I forgive" Noel Nicola. Carabobo University takes shape in the voice and the strength of Serrat ... well "Honey Triana" , the song Carmen Sevilla, wrote Augusto Algueró, husband of Seville at the time, but it is also the author of mythical "Penelope" Serrat. In the end I stumbled with Sevilla took me notes Serrat ... no longer end up in hell. I hope.
Among the corridors of the university, I came across, front, and without anesthesia, with "So you " Aldemaro and life is beautiful. Sonia mortified until I wrote the letter, did not know at that time discovered a world, the Aldemaro, which today opens my horizons wonderful.
Caracas, UCAB, I plunged into the deep waters of Mecano, hot sauce and 440 took shape in my waist! The revolution of Venezuelan singers of the early eighties, Jordan, Franco, Luz Marina, Ilan, Cecilia Todd, Esperanza Marquez, The Rego, Antoinette, Kiara, Montaner ... Brazilians Maria Betania Caetano Veloso, Gal Costa. and its universe of carnival. His Holy Name Lord Cazuza long rivers did tear with my "Fas part do meu show" . Indeed "Me deixa Louca" , after 20 years, in spite of the time, did not deserve even a coffee or a glass of water and Elis, the poor, died again. The selfishness of some, it's pathetic, terribly sad and cries of loneliness so alone. Anyway, I took a wrong with the perfect and immaculate.
Suddenly, I found my Migratory Bird and discovered that a fan, EL Fanaticism, Eurovision has all the videos since 1961, "You want juice? .., Take 80 cups-and I am seeing a Raphael, a Mocedades, a Domenico Modugno and their Gigliola Cinquetti" Non ho l ' eta " and spinning wheel of my memory back to take a turn.
Friends. This has been my musical life, a hummingbird flight ... and that's without touching, almost to nothing, whirlwind Anglo-Saxon or academic music ... It would last years to write and do not end up in a thousand centuries.
Now I wonder: How I can think to ask, my friends, I nominate only 5 songs?
Today I am 46 years old. I've lived my first 45 with troughs and peaks. If I divide my 45 from 5 me 9. Then, if the math does not deceive me, I summarize nine years in each song ... the formula is easier but not harder.
There you go:
... Baby Triana, Carmen Sevilla. Brings me to my childhood, my grandmother's candy "The Philosopher", my people on one side of the world, the streets full of smiles and new colors, the innocence, "a wonderful clown Togolo created by Toco Gómez - to Sopotocientos.
Heat. lyrics, music and arrangements of Aldemaro Romero. With voice, in a state of grace, Maria Teresa Chacin. This piece represents all the dreams of a country to be done. A long road. A Caracas discover from the tenth floor, in the evenings by Urdaneta Avenue. The first kiss completely sinful. If you hear the original version, you will notice how Aldemaro shines the London Symphony Orchestra. New Wave at its best. The piano, at 57 seconds, then the entry of metals simply fascinates me. It is a round piece, round. Bravo Aldemaro, wherever you feel like living.
Friends. Juan Luis Guerra and his 440. Represents my Beloved Empress China. Is one apartment facing the golf course, is knowing that friends there. Is to see the dwarf go crazy with questions, to see the laughter of Elida, Meneca listen to is the look of Armanda, is the silence in solidarity with Ana Teresa. It Alba, Lucy, is Nini, and the divine voice of his beautiful sister, Aurora arepas, the character of Hilda, Dolores hair. My early writings, Rosemary meet in the halls of the Catholic. Is to build strong ties that still survive. Know that friendship is and the rest is the rest. It is, ultimately, meet my Migratory Bird is to build possible.
Moonlight. Interpreted by Rocio Durcal . Somewhere must get out the melodramatic side. In my 27 to my 36 years, the world turned me dice. Time of difficult decisions and constant change. From tears to the late night of eternal unanswered whys. Empty voids. Of broken love, smiles deaf ... chaos. Changes can!
As If We Never Said Goodbye. Music of Andrew Lloyd Webber, lyrics by Don Black & Christopher Hampton sung by Glenn Close. And I love, absolutely, to musicals. I remember well cuñando first heard that song. It was on the morning of December 24, 1998. Ave My Immigration gave me that night, "Broadway Collection" with songs from top musicals. were 3 cds I've heard so many times I do not know. Since I discovered, that song is already part of my life. And you do not know how.
Last night we made the photo. Nobody saw us. Ji ji. But we saw. That explains why the note I just found in the mailbox. See what he says, imagine it with calligraphy murderer, and tremble:
"This, if you, a hundred ignorant rye, fools, critters-Cretaceous, did not know, not pandering or espíaventanas neighborhood, but privileged borough , good marble and ladies bikes. For that and for me and my wife we \u200b\u200bare abominable young faces, gestures and even the smell (which I would swear that reaches our balcony window from its loathsome), we are not willing to tolerate that we take pictures at night, betrayal and bad time, when one likes to look bad guy's face through the window of the room, cursing the world, and believes that it does for anyone and in secret. This note is the only warning: if reoccurs, consult the black paper and know how to go to Terrible People. Don Primperan
Miss Georgia, ProtoMarqués small-third of Tétitifornia and Lord (down, down, down in Amériqui) of the Third Policeman. "
-
After seeing the picture carefully, we have discovered the author of the note: in the building of a black back, third window from the bottom left, dark rectangle face of fear. rather not have.
Although they had their ups and downs at the beginning (or perhaps because of that, or around the end), Sean Thornton and Mary Kate Danaher married and were very happy in Innisfree. And tell that to John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara were also passed the sea of \u200b\u200binteresting things. But not in Innisfree.
As you know, dear friends and colleagues in the molarity, we had a few days worried about the fate of our young Link in the East. The last thing we saw of him was a video of a few seconds in which to voice it pale face troubled and clearly uttered the word fishy. Well, we get from the station further east Molar French (the beautiful Mono Station) this image of young boy poisoned that according to our Emotional Intelligence Services (SIE these wonderful men!) Was taken on Saturday 4 April around 13.39, most likely halftime at the residence of Lady Gaga Tembeleque Parkinson. It looks great and the people around you seem well fed and lovers of Mono, friendly with him. As for his clothing and tools, venture SRS experts theorize that it could be highly sophisticated instruments to communicate with the souls of the dead, but it gives me that what they intend to make such statements is my trust to take me to the garden (emotional). So, I'd bet on some kind of ritual nanoneurológico (attention to the helmet and goggles of camphor) and that he saw as a child, every Thursday afternoon in the streets of my neighborhood-corner than anything I miss: old half naked eating flies with both hands.
In any case, either way, and that give me the all and firulín firulamen: Hurray, Alvar Fáñez!
Well my daddy left home when i was three And He Did not leave much to ma and me Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze. Now, I do not blame him cause I have run and hid But the meanest thing I ever did That Was Before I left, I jump up and named me "Sue."
Well, I must or 'Thought That is quite a joke And it got a lot of laughs from a' lots of folk, It seems I had to fight my whole life through. Some gal would giggle and I'd get red And some guy'd laugh and I'd bust his head, I tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named "Sue."
Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean, My fist got hard and my wits got keen, Roam from town to town to hide my shame. But I made me a vow to the moon and stars That I'd search the honky-tonks and bars And kill that man who gave me that awful name.
Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid-July And I just hit town and my throat was dry, I thought I'd stop and have myself a brew. At an old saloon on a street of mud, There at a table, dealing stud, Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me "Sue."
Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad From a worn-out picture that my mother'd had, And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye. He was big and bent and gray and old, And I looked at him and my blood ran cold And I said: "My name is 'Sue!' How do you do! Now you gonna die!!" Yeah that's what I told him
Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes And he went down, but to my surprise, He come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear. But I busted a chair right across his teeth And we crashed through the wall and into the street Kicking and a' gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer.
I tell ya, I've fought tougher men But I really can't remember when, He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile. I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss, He went for his gun and I pulled mine first, He stood there lookin' at me and I saw him smile.
And he said: "Son, this world is rough And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough And I know I wouldn't be there to help you along. So I give ya that name and I said goodbye I knew you'd have to get tough or die And it's the name that helped to make you strong."
He said: "Now you just fought one hell of a fight And I know you hate me, and you got the right To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do. But ya ought to thank me, before I die, For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in the eye Cause I'm the son-of-a-bitch that named you "Sue.'"
What could I do? What could I do? I got all choked up and I threw down my gun And I called him my pa, and he called me his son, And I came away with a different point of view. And I think about him, now and then, Every time I try and every time I win, And if I ever have a son, I think I'm gonna name him Bill or George! Anything but Sue! I still hate that name!
A boy named Sue
Johnny Cash Live at San Quentin "
1969 (the stanza in italics are not appearing on video from jail, but here on disk version, which includes a beep in the "son of a bitch" in the penultimate stanza):
