NO TODO ES VIOLENCIA Y DROGAS SOBRE TODO HAY BUEN ROLLO Y MUCHA MARCHA PORQUE TIENE UN PUÑADO DE GRANDES CANCIONES EN SU CARRERA EN SOLITARIO
lunes, 31 de marzo de 2008
Ian Brown Fight
PERO NO TODO ES TAN IDILICO EN SUS CONCIERTOS, AQUI TENEÍS A IAN BROWN SOLTANDO UNAS YOYAS....
ME ENCANTA ESTE TIO
IAN BROWN - COCAINE ANYONE?? BIRMINGHAM
IAN BROWN PIDIENDO ALGO DE POLVO BLANCO....
JODER HAY QUE RECONOCER QUE SUS CONCIERTOS SON DIVVERTIDOS NO?
Ian Brown - Thriller (Michael Jackson Cover)
OTRA VERSIÓN DE IAN BROWN .... EN ESTA OCASIÓN SE ATREVE CON EL CYBORG MÁS FAMOSO DEL PLANETA MICHAEL JACKSON
RARE: Ian Brown and Steve Jones sing 'Submission'
IAN BROWN TAMBIÉN TOCA SIEMPRE ALGUNA VERSIÓN EN SUS CON CONCIERTOS... EN ESTA OCASIÓN UN TEMA MÍTICO DE LOS PISTOLS
Ian Brown - Made Of stone
El viernes 11 toca en Madrid el rey mono: IAN BROWN.
Si hay un grupo que realmente marco mis gustos musicales son los STONE ROSES, y si hay un artistas que mola verle en directo mucho más que escucharle en casa, ese es IAN BROWN.
Además siempre toca varios temas clásicos de los STONE ROSES...
YO NO PIENSO PERDERMELO
I AM KLOOT - 3 Feet Tall
Llevaba ya bastante tiempo sin dedicar tiempo al blog, pero es que se me ha juntado mucho trabajo. Queda poco tiempo para que por fin pueda abrir el café-bbr al que llevo dedicando el último año y medio.
El video es del último disco de I AM KLOOT.
Espero que os guste
lunes, 17 de marzo de 2008
Interpol - PDA
La verdad es que me encanta el sonido de esta banda...
Y espero la oportunidad de verles en directo.
El Summercase se apuntado un buen tanto con su contratacion.... sobre todo este año en el que el FIB y el SUMMERCASE han entrado en un absurda competencia que lo çunico que hace es perjudicarnos a los asistentes a estos festivales... pues la competencia no es en precio, sino en grupos pues ambos festivales se celebran el mismo finde....
No se de quien es la culpa,pero me parece que el que haya sido responsable de la coincidencia en el tiempo de ambos festivales es un puto cretino.
De nuevo INTERPOL
interpol - slow hands
Es lunes y algunos tenemos que trabajar. La verdad es que en Madrid llevamos unos dias maravillosos con un clima muy agradable que incita a estar en la calle todo el dia.
El video es de INTERPOL, que ha anunciado su presencia en el SUMMERCASE 2008
INTERPOL
Historia
Su historia comienza en 1998, cuando Drudy y Kessler se conocieron en la Universidad de Nueva York, incorporándose después Fogarino y Dengler. Cuando necesitaron un vocalista, recurrieron a un viejo amigo británico, Paul Banks. En 2000 Greg Drudy dejó la banda, para unirse con Sam, a quien conoció su trabajo en una tienda de discos local.
Tras dos años de actuaciones por el circuito alternativo de Nueva York y sus alrededores, publicaron el EP Interpol (2000), con la compañía Fukd, firma underground de la Chemikal.
Un año después, tras asistir al famoso programa inglés de la BBC de John Peel, despegan definitivamente, firmando con el sello Matador. Con esta compañía editan a finales de 2002 un EP homónimo como adelanto de su debut en largo, Turn On the Bright Lights (2002, Matador). Más tarde lanzaron otro EP, The Black (2003), con la compañía EMI.
Cabe destacar además, la creación de un disco llamado Peel sesions con versiones alternativas de temas como 'Hands away'.
En su primer álbum "Turn on the Bright Lights", que apareció en el 2002, tuvieron un sonido oscuro e hipnótico. Grabado en los estudios Tarquin en Bridgeport, Connecticut, el disco vendió una cantidad de copias record para una producción independiente. Realizaron una larga gira para promocionarlo por Estados Unidos y apariciones en varios programas de televisión, recibiendo un buen trato de parte de la prensa.
En el 2004 lanzan su disco "Antics" con un sonido más ligero y digerible. La banda logra nuevamente con este disco tener un éxito tanto de público como de crítica. Luego emprenden otra extensa gira, que incluyó conciertos como teloneros de U2 y The Cure.
En el 2007, durante su presentación en el Festival de Coachella 2007, dan a conocer el nuevo material de producción, Our Love to Admire, en el cual presentan el single que lleva por nombre Heinrich Maneuver y algunos otros que son primicia para ese entonces.
Su tercer álbum titulado Our Love to Admire, fue lanzado el 9 de Julio de 2007 en el Reino Unido, y el 10 de Julio en los Estados Unidos, bajo la etiqueta de Capitol Records, seguido de un lanzamiento en Japón el 20 de Julio. El primer sencillo del álbum se titula The Heinrich Maneuver, que fue lanzado el 7 de Mayo del 2007.
Sonido e influencias
La crítica musical los ha etiquetado como de estilo retro-rock o revival rock. Interpol tiene un estilo de rock oscuro, de raíces claramente ochenteras, a caballo entre el pop plúmbeo y existencialista de los ingleses Joy Division y Bauhaus y la vertiente más sucia del rock independiente americano de Sonic Youth, Dinosaur Jr o, sobre todo, Pearl Jam. También podemos señalar la influencia de los Pixies, en los neoyorkinos, principalmente en la manera de afrontar la creación musical.
Integrantes
Los miembros de la banda son:
Paul Banks - vocales, guitarra
Carlos Dengler - bajo y sintetizador
Sam Fogarino - batería
Daniel Kessler - guitarra y coros
Discografía
Álbums
Turn on the Bright Lights (2002) #158 US, #101 UK
"Untitled",
"Obstacle 1",
"NYC",
"PDA",
"Say Hello to The Angels",
"Hans Away",
"Obstacle 2",
"Stella Was a Diver and She Was Always Down",
"Roland",
"The New",
"Leif Erikson"
Antics (2004) #15 US, #21 UK
"Next Exit",
"Evil",
"Narc",
"Take You on a Cruise",
"Slow Hands",
"Not Even Jail",
"Public Pervert",
"C'mere",
"Length of Love",
"A Time to Be So Small"
Our Love To Admire (2007)
"Pioneer to the Falls",
"No I in Threesome",
"The Scale",
"The Heinrich Maneuver",
"Mammoth",
"Pace Is the Trick",
"All Fired Up",
"Rest My Chemistry",
"Who Do You Think",
"Wrecking Ball",
"The Lighthouse"
EPs
The Black EP
Interpol EP
Precipitate EP
Fukd I.D. #3
Demo Tape
Singles Turn on the Bright Lights
2002 "The Interpol EP: PDA / NYC / Specialist" #170 UK
2002 "Obstacle 1" #72 UK
2003 "Say Hello To The Angels / NYC" #65 UK
2003 "Obstacle 1 (remix)" #41 UK
de Antics
2004 "Slow Hands" #15 US Modern Rock #36 UK
2005 "Evil" #24 US Modern Rock, #18 UK
2006 "C'mere" #19 UK
de Our Love To Admire
2007 "The Heinrich Maneuver"
2007 "Mammoth"
2007 "No I In Threesome"
2007 "Pace is the Trick"
El nombre Interpol, supuestamente proviene del nombre de Paul Banks. Cuando estuvo en México, los amigos solían llamarlo "Pol, Pol, Interpol." Otra razón sería que la palabra Interpol sugiere orden y eficiencia, evocando el estilo de la banda.
viernes, 14 de marzo de 2008
Iggy Pop and The Stooges, Live in Cincinnati, 1970
En relaciçon con los prçoximos conciertos y Festivales que vamos a poder disfrutar en Madrid y alrededores, no podçia faltar la referencia al Electric Weekend Festival 2008 que se celebrara en Getafe, los proximos 30 y 31 de Mayo donde volveremos a tener el placer de disfrutar de IGGY POP and THE STOOGES en directo.
Aqui teneis una actuacion mitica del grupo en 1970...
FUZZTONES in Switzerland 1988 strychnine sonics cover
I like a taste
Of 69
You think it's funny
When I ... (more)
Added: November 20, 2007
I like a taste
Of 69
You think it's funny
When I lick that stuff
But once you try it
You can't get enough!
Fuzztones in Switzerland 1988 Me Tarzan You Jane
de nuevo los gurus del Revival Garagero de los 80: THE FUZZTONES, en su mejor momento...
FUZZTONES @ Psychemania 1987 1,2, 5
Finalmente he encontrado una interpretaciçon en directo del tema de los Haunted interpretado por los FUZZTONES en directo, con el que inicie este breve recorrido por los tortuosos caminos del Fuzz.
The Fuzztones @ Piper Club (1990) - WARD 81
The sultans of Fuzz and Psych:THE FUZZTONES AGAIN.
OFRECIENDO UNA INTERPRETACION SALVAJE DEL EPICO TEMA: WARD 81, EN DIRECTO EN 1990....
Recordar es fundamental que antes de que caiga la noche hagais lo que tengais que hacer:
ADMINISTER THE MEDICINE
RECORDARLO, ES FUNDAMENTAL.
SINO ATENEROS A LAS CONSECUENCIAS....
Fuzztones Live 1981 - 1985 (Part 1) - Happy Halloween
HAPPY HALLOWEEN....
Aqui teneís uan versión de un tema mítico de la película Rocky Horror Show interpretado por los FUZZTONES.
Es impresionante.
FUZZTONES - Halloween 2007 - The Witch
Siguiendo el hilo conductor garagero que me esta poseyendo este viernes, y dedicándoselo à un ser tan raro como el mayor amante de las fuerzas oscuras, aqui teneís un gran versión del clásico de los SONICS, "The Witch"...
Una vez que firmas con sanfgre tu pactoi diabólico es muy dificil escapar de las fuerzas de la oscuridad.
Y eso que hoy hace un día soleado, pero no debes olvidar que la oscuridad te acecha...
The Fuzztones Halloween 2007 - Jack The Ripper
Uno de mis mejopres amigos del colegio, del que actualmente no se nada fue mi compañero de concierto, en la Fiesta de Halloween de 1990 en el Revolver Club de Madrid, que se celebró con un mítico concierto de los FUZZTONES al que ya me he referido en un post anterior. Este post se lo dedico, esté donde este...
Por fin he encontrado un video que refleja de alguna manera el concierto al que asistí.
Son 16 años después... pero el espíritu es parecido, Los Fuzztines también iban disfrazados, la iluminación mediante velas potenció el efecto terrorífico de su mostruosa puesta en escena.
La verdad es que los años pasan, pero quien mantiene un alma poseida por fuerzas del ultramundo a través de un pacto diabólico conserva el espíritu del garage en su cuerpo....
El garage y lo fantásmagórico siempre ha estado muy unido, como Rudi Petrudi ha puestro de manifiesto a lo largo de más de 25 años de carrera musical.
El beber sangre y comer placenta también ayuda....
Es una dieta que siempre he seguido y que me ha ayudado a disfrutar de la noche madrileña....
The FUZZTONES - Hurt On Hold
Este videoclip de loS Fuzztones es del año 1989, y perteneceal LP que presentaron en directo en MADRID EN EL PRIMER CONCIERTO QUE ASISTÍ DE ESTE MÍTICO GRUPO GARAGERO.
Personalmente me trae muchos recuerdos. Espero que sirva a alguien como aproximación a este genero musical.
Tiene marcha, es divertido... y sobretodo mola.
LA VERDAD NO SE PORQUE PERO LOS VIERNES ME SALE MI VENA MÁS BLACK AND HAIRY...
the Fuzztones - 1-2-5
Aqui teneís una versión del tema anterior de los Hauntred, grabado por los Fuzztones en 1985, perteneciente al disco "Lisergyc emantions".
El revival garagero de los 80 desde mi punto de vista, influenciado obviamente por formar parte de mis primeras aproximaciones a la música en directo en Madrid, es genial.
HAUNTED 1-2-5
Lamentablemente he sido incapaz de encontrar un video original de los Haunted, la quintaesencia de los grupos garageros de los 60. Pero a pesar de ello me he animado a subir este tema: "1,2,5" por el buen rollo que transmite y la calidad del mismo. Al fin y la cabo es viernes, no?
De alguna forma hay que ir mentalizándose para el finde.
Espero que os guste
miércoles, 12 de marzo de 2008
Luna - 4000 days (Live in BH, Brazil 2001)
Luna - 4000 days
Well raise my rent...turn the clocks back
How I wish it could last forever
Flies the size of cigarette packs
I tried to pay with camel bucks
Remember remember
I'm sticking to my story
Remember remember
It's all that I have left
Darlin' lady listeners
My friends all make me sick
Listeners of the future
Come on and help me quick
Do you remember stumbling home?
Do you remember dancing alone?
Four thousand days
I'm sticking to my story
Four thousand days
It's all that I have left
I got patches on my eyes
Got pillows on my head
Singing chacha 2000
I need to get to bed
Luna - Superfreaky Memories (Live in BH, Brazil 2001)
LUNA - SUPERFREAKY MEMORIES
Well they're swapping pharmaceuticals in Mussolini Park
And they're wigglin' and wobbilin' and dozin' in the dark
And it's winter in New Jersey and it's Christmas in New York
With a giggle and a stare and a bottle and a cork
And Kristina took your photo with a needle and a spoon
But she said we got to hurry cos her dad will be home soon
And these superfreaky memories have put me in my place
But then my superfreaky memories are gone without a trace
Please excuse my eyes
Please excuse my hands
Please excuse my eyes
Put me in my place
In a dirty little room in a nasty little world
You were out of your mind you were throwin' up your hands
You were makin' crazy plans left a message on the mirror
And your mouth was making words but there was nobody there
Now the gears are rolling by and you don't get any wiser
And the years are rolling on but you're going round and round
And these superfreaky memories have put me in my place
But my superfreaky memories are gone without a trace
Luna - Black Postcards (Tell Me Do You Miss Me)
Para aquellos que no han tenido la oportunidad de ver en directo a Luna, les recomiendo que adquieran el DVD TELL ME DOYOU MISS ME...
Es impresionante.
LUNA - BLACK POSTCARDS
Locksley - Don't Make Me Wait
De este grupo ya he hecho referencia en un post anterior,pero por si alguno se lo ha pasado por alto me animo ha poner otro video.
Tienen un sonido totalmente british, muy beatles, kinks, etc...
>Pero tienen marcha, son aanimados y su música mola. Sobre todo para un puto lunes nublado. De esos que te sientas en el ordenador y ves que el tiempo es tu mayor enemigo: te falta cuando tienes que acabar algo y te sobra cuando te tiene que pagary no aparecen... a esos cabrones les dedico este puto post: DON´T MAKE ME WAIT, que hay alguno que me ha encargado trabajos , se los he hecho y no me ha pagado....
Sin resentimiento hijosdeputa
New Order live, 1983, 'Blue Monday'
New Order es una de las bandas vivientes más importantes de la historia de la música moderna y uno de los grupos más influyentes en la música popular de las dos últimas décadas. La historia comienza en Manchester, en el año 1976, cuando Bernard Sumner (guitarra), Peter Hook (bajo), Stephen Morris (batería), e Ian Curtis (cantante), se reúnen con el nombre de Warsaw. Después cambian su nombre a Joy Division, evolucionando la música punk heredada por los Sex Pistols, creando lo que se llamaría post-punk. En 1980 Ian Curtis acaba con su vida, lo que significa el fin de Joy Division. Sus miembros vivientes deciden seguir haciendo música bajo el nombre de New Order, esta vez con la teclista Gillian Gilbert (esposa de Sthepen Morris). New Order pertenece al sello discográfico Factory Records, propiedad de su amigo Tony Wilson.
En 1981 editan su primer trabajo discográfico bajo el nombre de New Order, titulado Movement. Después de muchos trabajos lanzan su canción más representativa, Blue Monday que se convierte en un gran éxito mundial. En 1989 lanzan uno de sus mejores discos, titulado Technique, donde encuentran un sonido tecno con una ligera mezcla del new wave y es considerado junto al Happiness de The Beloved el disco que marca el cambio de la música de baile enfocada al hedonismo a la música de baile enfocada a la introspección.
New Order: Ceremony live NYC 1981
New Order es un grupo inglés de rock, formado en 1980 por los miembros del disuelto grupo Joy Division, tras el suicidio de su vocalista Ian Curtis.
La versión temprana de New Order era fuertemente relacionable con Joy Division, pero rápidamente encontraron un sonido distintivo. Su sonido ha sido descrito como una fusión entre la música electrónica y el post punk.
En una entrevista telefónica con Xfm el 4 de mayo de 2007, Peter Hook anunció la separación definitiva del grupo.
New Order era una de las bandas más importantes de la historia de la música moderna y uno de los grupos más influyentes en la música popular de las dos últimas décadas. La historia comenzó en Manchester, en el año 1976, cuando Bernard Sumner (guitarra), Peter Hook (bajo), Stephen Morris (batería), y Ian Curtis (cantante), se reunieron con el nombre de Warsaw. Después cambiaron su nombre a Joy Division, evolucionando la música punk heredada por los Sex Pistols, creando lo que se llamaría post-punk. En 1980 Ian Curtis acabó con su vida, lo que significó el fin de Joy Division. El resto del grupo decidió seguir haciendo música bajo el nombre de New Order, esta vez con la teclista Gillian Gilbert (esposa de Sthepen Morris). New Order pertenecía al sello discográfico Factory Records, propiedad de su amigo Anthony Wilson.
En 1981 editaron su primer trabajo discográfico bajo el nombre de New Order, titulado Movement. Después de muchos trabajos lanzaron su canción más representativa, Blue Monday que se convirtió en un gran éxito mundial. En 1989 lanzaron una de sus mejores grabaciones titulada Technique, donde encontraron un sonido tecno con una ligera mezcla del new wave y es considerado junto al Happiness de The Beloved el disco que marca el cambio de la música de baile enfocada al hedonismo a la música de baile enfocada a la introspección.
En 1993, New Order publicó Republic, escrito y producido junto a Stephen Hague y considerado por muchos el disco más accesible de la banda. Poco después, New Order se separarían para perseguir proyectos en solitario: Bernard Sumner junto a Johnny Marr de The Smiths formó Electronic, que fue el grupo surgido de New Order con más éxito comercial, publicando tres discos y colaborando con Pet Shop Boys y Karl Bartos de Kraftwerk. Peter Hook formó Revenge, que se disolvieron tras un disco y un par de EPs, para luego formar Monaco junto a David Potts, publicando dos discos. Los dos miembros restantes de New Order, Stephen Morris y Gillian Gilbert formarían el grupo apropiadamente llamado The Other Two (Los otros dos), publicando a su vez dos discos.
Este paréntesis terminaría cuando New Order se reunieron para tocar en el Festival de Reading de 1998, volviendo al estudio poco después para grabar Get Ready en el 2001. En año 2005, lanzan su más reciente trabajo (ya sin Gillian Gilbert y con la inclusión de Phil Cunningham) titulado Waiting for the siren's call.
The Cure Play For Today In Orange
Ayer estuve en el concierto de los Cure, en Madrid, Fueron 3 horas de RISAS, bailes, GRITOS. Fueron tres horas de diversión.
No se si todo el público se lo pasó tan bien como nosotros... me gustaría pensar que si.
James - Getting Away With It (Live on Later with Jools)
Liberata.
Pues eso... Liberata. Me han echado por quedarme dormido en la pista y la verdad esta vez no solo lo ha agradecido taru hasta para mi ha sido una bendición...
Aunque el efecto vacuna de un buen vomito pensé que me protegería durante un largo rato me equivoque al no descotar los efectos siempre intensos de la siempre peligrosa combinación alcohol y cigarritos euforizantes...
Liberata. Privata. Ya dare mas detalles
martes, 11 de marzo de 2008
empresa, liderazgo y respeto
AMERCAN ANALOG SET - HARD TO FIND
Me gustan los libros de relatos, en primer lugar, porque me fascina la capacidad de algunos para comunicar tantas cosas en tan poco espacio. Generar emociones, provocar dudas, sorprender...Tienen algo mágico. además pasado algunos años lo puedes volver a leer y descubrir aspectos o detalles que se te pasaron por alto, incluso con alguno de ellos tienes la sensación de que es la primera vez que lo lees. Por decirlo de alguna forma, escomo si el libro tuviera varias existencias o te provocase sensaciones diferentes en cada nueva lectura. eso es lo que me ha pasado hoy.
Hace ya varios años un amigo muy especial me regaló por mi cumpleaños un libro de relatos con un título muy urgente: "Cada vez lo imposible, dieciséis relatos sobre la empresa de la vida"
De uno de esos 16 relatos, llamado "Paraca" de Lorenzo Silva, he sacado los siguientes párrafos que creo que a varias de las personas más importantes de mi vida, entre los que por supuesto se encuentra este amigo, les puede aportar algo.
A ellos les dedico este post con el deseo de que les sirva de algo.
"Yo no era un apéndice de (…) un trozo del organismo empresarial, sino alguien que momentáneamente se alojaba en él y que solo consentiría en aceptar sus reglas mientras vislumbrara un beneficio personal superior a los costes y cualquier otro beneficio al que pudiera acceder en otra parte. Y l día que me largara (…) mi estancia en sus filas no pasaría de ser una experiencia más (…) para servirme de ella en un viaje que iba mucho más allá.
Lo sentía mucho por quienes esperaban de mi una devoción cuasireligiosa, pero si había dejado de ir a misa a los 13 años, cuando todavía albergaba un residuo de fe, no iba a sustituir a la que alguna vez había creído la religión verdadera por un evangelio construido en torno a la satisfacción del cliente, el margen bruto y el beneficio después de impuestos. Si tenía que volver a creer en algún Dios, me permitía exigirle al candidato un poco más de grandeza y elegancia.
(…) cualquiera, incluso el más mediocre, puede en un momento dado revelarle a uno alguna pista crucial sobre la existencia o el modo de enfrentarse a ella
Fue una madrugada, después de varios días sin apenas dormir para sacar adelante una operación compleja valorada en (…) millones.
…supongo que me dio un ataque de franqueza o (…) el cansancio me hizo perder toda prevención y me permite preguntarme en voz alta:
- Pero que coño hacemos aquí, a estas horas
(…)
- Demostrarnos y demostrarles lo que somos
(…) lo que te digo es que soportamos esto por respeto a nosotros mismos, no por miedo a que nos quiten el sueldo o por lealtad a entelequias que no existen como (…) todas las compañías mercantiles del mundo. Cada uno como profesional debe poder obrar con esa convicción, y yo como jefe debo cuidar de que tu la conserves. Por eso estoy aquí contigo a las 4 de la madrugada, porque mal vas a poder respetarte si sientes que yo no te respeto. Y mal vas a dar el 100% de lo que ere sin tienes ese convencimiento de que estas luchando por tu dignidad y de que yo te la reconozco.
(…) eso es lo que nunca aprenderán los idiotas que repiten como loros el catecismo de la empresa. Valdrán para dirigir a otros acojonados como ellos, pero nunca para movilizar el corazón y el cerebro e hombres y mujeres de verdadera valía. Quien usa métodos de pastorear borregos acaba al frente de un rebaño. Es cómodo, porque los borregos nunca techan en cara tus errores pero a la vez es un seguro de que jamás lograrás nada memorable
(…) te diré donde lo aprendí (…) no se me ocurrió otra cosa que alistarme (al ejercito)
(…) Recuerdo a un capitán que no nos mandaba hacer nada que no hiciera él y que siempre repetía un artículo de las ordenanzas: el oficial siempre reclamará para si los puestos de mayor riesgo y fatiga. (…)Yo no me olvidé de la frase y te recomiendo que tu nunca la olvides. A aquél capitán le seguíamos al infierno. Si te atienes a ella te seguirán al infierno a ti. Si no, solo harán aquello que el miedo o el interés les dicten".
El vídeo es de un grupo independiente americano que se llama American Analog set del que ya he subido otro vídeo anteriormente y el tema es "Hard to find" que viene ni que pintado para un post que hace referencia a un estilo de liderazgo tan difícil de encontrar, incluso entre los militares.
Me gustan los libros de relatos, en primer lugar, porque me fascina la capacidad de algunos para comunicar tantas cosas en tan poco espacio. Generar emociones, provocar dudas, sorprender...Tienen algo mágico. además pasado algunos años lo puedes volver a leer y descubrir aspectos o detalles que se te pasaron por alto, incluso con alguno de ellos tienes la sensación de que es la primera vez que lo lees. Por decirlo de alguna forma, escomo si el libro tuviera varias existencias o te provocase sensaciones diferentes en cada nueva lectura. eso es lo que me ha pasado hoy.
Hace ya varios años un amigo muy especial me regaló por mi cumpleaños un libro de relatos con un título muy urgente: "Cada vez lo imposible, dieciséis relatos sobre la empresa de la vida"
De uno de esos 16 relatos, llamado "Paraca" de Lorenzo Silva, he sacado los siguientes párrafos que creo que a varias de las personas más importantes de mi vida, entre los que por supuesto se encuentra este amigo, les puede aportar algo.
A ellos les dedico este post con el deseo de que les sirva de algo.
"Yo no era un apéndice de (…) un trozo del organismo empresarial, sino alguien que momentáneamente se alojaba en él y que solo consentiría en aceptar sus reglas mientras vislumbrara un beneficio personal superior a los costes y cualquier otro beneficio al que pudiera acceder en otra parte. Y l día que me largara (…) mi estancia en sus filas no pasaría de ser una experiencia más (…) para servirme de ella en un viaje que iba mucho más allá.
Lo sentía mucho por quienes esperaban de mi una devoción cuasireligiosa, pero si había dejado de ir a misa a los 13 años, cuando todavía albergaba un residuo de fe, no iba a sustituir a la que alguna vez había creído la religión verdadera por un evangelio construido en torno a la satisfacción del cliente, el margen bruto y el beneficio después de impuestos. Si tenía que volver a creer en algún Dios, me permitía exigirle al candidato un poco más de grandeza y elegancia.
(…) cualquiera, incluso el más mediocre, puede en un momento dado revelarle a uno alguna pista crucial sobre la existencia o el modo de enfrentarse a ella
Fue una madrugada, después de varios días sin apenas dormir para sacar adelante una operación compleja valorada en (…) millones.
…supongo que me dio un ataque de franqueza o (…) el cansancio me hizo perder toda prevención y me permite preguntarme en voz alta:
- Pero que coño hacemos aquí, a estas horas
(…)
- Demostrarnos y demostrarles lo que somos
(…) lo que te digo es que soportamos esto por respeto a nosotros mismos, no por miedo a que nos quiten el sueldo o por lealtad a entelequias que no existen como (…) todas las compañías mercantiles del mundo. Cada uno como profesional debe poder obrar con esa convicción, y yo como jefe debo cuidar de que tu la conserves. Por eso estoy aquí contigo a las 4 de la madrugada, porque mal vas a poder respetarte si sientes que yo no te respeto. Y mal vas a dar el 100% de lo que ere sin tienes ese convencimiento de que estas luchando por tu dignidad y de que yo te la reconozco.
(…) eso es lo que nunca aprenderán los idiotas que repiten como loros el catecismo de la empresa. Valdrán para dirigir a otros acojonados como ellos, pero nunca para movilizar el corazón y el cerebro e hombres y mujeres de verdadera valía. Quien usa métodos de pastorear borregos acaba al frente de un rebaño. Es cómodo, porque los borregos nunca techan en cara tus errores pero a la vez es un seguro de que jamás lograrás nada memorable
(…) te diré donde lo aprendí (…) no se me ocurrió otra cosa que alistarme (al ejercito)
(…) Recuerdo a un capitán que no nos mandaba hacer nada que no hiciera él y que siempre repetía un artículo de las ordenanzas: el oficial siempre reclamará para si los puestos de mayor riesgo y fatiga. (…)Yo no me olvidé de la frase y te recomiendo que tu nunca la olvides. A aquél capitán le seguíamos al infierno. Si te atienes a ella te seguirán al infierno a ti. Si no, solo harán aquello que el miedo o el interés les dicten".
El vídeo es de un grupo independiente americano que se llama American Analog set del que ya he subido otro vídeo anteriormente y el tema es "Hard to find" que viene ni que pintado para un post que hace referencia a un estilo de liderazgo tan difícil de encontrar, incluso entre los militares.
lunes, 10 de marzo de 2008
you turn my head around
Over the Moon
The couple that turned Luna into New York's favorite insouciant rock band enter a new phase.
Dean Wareham and Britta Phillips at Angel's Share in New York.
When couples talk about their relationship, they can sound like a broken record. But Dean Wareham and Britta Phillips sound like one of their records: all hushed tones and wry asides, intimate and worldly, a cool layering of two distinct voices—his reedy and laconic, hers sex-kitteny and wise. Back Numbers is their second LP as the duo Dean & Britta and their first since the 2005 breakup of their previous outfit, Luna, once anointed by Rolling Stone as "the best band in the world that no one has ever heard of." The new album's stylish mix of original songs and inspired covers—notably the Lee Hazlewood and Ann-Margret plum "You Turn My Head Around"—is also the couple's first album together as husband and wife.
As with many modern romances, theirs began with a bit of cyber-research. When Britta prepared to audition for Luna back in 2000, she did two things: She learned 10 of their songs in less than a week and searched online for their photographs. "When I first saw Dean's picture, I went, 'Uh-oh!' And then I met him and thought, 'Oh, no,'" Britta recalled, laughing. After the audition, her assessment of Dean changed from "very cute" to "terse, taciturn, and grumpy." But this unsettling mix of cute and grumpy is also what makes Dean's songwriting so irresistible, as on "Wait for Me," a lilting, Britta-sung gem from the new album: "Through the window, dirty sky/Oatmeal cookies make me cry."
For his part, Dean claimed, "It wasn't love at first sight. Britta is attractive, so I'm sure I noticed. But it wasn't the main thing that I was thinking about at the end of that audition. That took time. I guess what was intoxicating was being onstage singing together."
"Performing onstage together was...sexy," Britta chimed in, sitting next to Dean in a small, votive-lit East Village bar with an immense painting of a Japanese cherub-cum-devil peering down at them.
As with many modern romances, there were complications. When Britta joined Luna, Dean was married. Britta had already experienced the complications of romantic involvement with a band member, having been married to and divorced from guitarist Jody Porter, now of Fountains of Wayne. So in spite of the frisson that Dean and Britta were experiencing onstage, they went out of their way to be professional offstage. They were so good at it that they remained a mystery to each other. "I didn't know," Britta admitted. "I didn't know," Dean echoed, as if adding a harmony. "But we figured it out."
Summing up their post-Luna life together, Britta offered three enviable words: "cozy, naughty, and lucky."
She could have also added busy.
As the voice of Bloberta Puppington for the Cartoon Network's Moral Orel, Britta is currently taping the show's second season. Dean, who was born in New Zealand and grew up in Sydney and Manhattan before majoring in social studies at Harvard, is at work on a memoir, forthcoming from Penguin Press. His editor, a Luna fan who e-mailed him out of the blue looking for a manuscript, is also Alan Greenspan's editor. "I'm hoping we can all go out to lunch together soon," Dean deadpanned. He and Britta are acting as music consultants for Noah Baumbach's as-yet-untitled follow-up to The Squid and the Whale, for which they contributed the film score. (A documentary about the end of Luna, Tell Me Do You Miss Me, was released last year.) They are also planning an early 2007 tour behind the new album. "I'm excited. I can't wait!" Britta said about the prospect of playing live again.
"Is that right?" Dean asked with a bit of mischief creeping into his trademark understated delivery, clearly pleased with what he was hearing.
Dean and Britta - You Turn my head around
when Dean met Britta
DEAN & BRITTA
Record-label woes, lineup changes, trouble at home, and an alluring new bass player on the road: a diary of a rock 'n' roll divorce from the founder of Luna. By Dean Wareham
Dean Wareham and his favorite bass player, Britta Phillips. (Photo: Michael Lavine)
We flew out to Los Angeles to tape the show, Later with Cynthia Garrett, in the studio next door to The Tonight Show. Our audience consisted of people who couldn't get tickets for Leno. We played two songs and did an awkward interview.
"How do you guys keep going?" Cynthia asked.
It sounded like an insult. Wasn't she really saying, "You've never had a gold record—why don't you just throw in the towel?" I wanted to ask her how a former VH1 host gets her own late-night network-TV show.
"What advice would you give to young people about having career longevity?" she asked.
"Go to law school," I said.
A few months before, Britta Phillips had driven from Pennsylvania to New York City to audition to be our new bass player. Britta walked into our rented rehearsal room wearing corduroy jeans, her hair cut in a bob. She was very feminine and gorgeous in a Scandinavian way, with high cheekbones and big, green eyes. Her bass was a fiesta-red Fender Precision, a classic seventies reissue.
After all the auditions, my bandmates and I stood outside on Avenue A to pick our new bassist.
"Listen," I said. "No hanky-panky. If anyone gets involved with her, they're out of the band."
I think I was joking. Perhaps I was half-joking. Perhaps I was dead serious.
Britta's first real show with the band was in Boston. She was perfect. And our show in D.C. got a good review in the next day's Washington Post, which mentioned the "beguiling Britta Phillips" on bass. That made me feel proud.
From D.C., we flew to Seattle, where we stayed at the Travelodge by the Space Needle for the hundredth time. I was feeling a little lonely and fragile, and I missed my son, Jack, who was now eight months old and lived back in New York with my wife of seven years, Claudia. I had met Claudia while performing in a high school play in 1980, and we both ended up going to Harvard.
In San Francisco at the Fillmore on April Fool's Day, we broke out "Bonnie and Clyde," a long, sexy French song about a doomed couple, with Britta singing the Brigitte Bardot part to my Serge Gainsbourg. The song ends with Bonnie and Clyde mowed down in a hail of bullets and descending into hell. I was careful not to look at Britta onstage.
"Britta's very pretty," my friend Alison told me.
"I guess so," I said, not wanting to appear too interested.
My old friend Howard Thompson, the former head of A&R at Elektra, was at the show, and he quietly told me that Britta had "the best visible panty line in rock."
Three weeks later, we found ourselves driving up to Providence—seven hours in the pouring rain. I had become acutely aware of where I was sitting in our rented van. I used to think of it as sitting in the front row or the back row, on the left or the right. But now I was in front of Britta, or next to Britta or, on that drive, behind Britta. I felt like I had fallen under a spell, and it had to stop. I took to chanting silently inside my head on these long rides: No, no, no. No, no, no. Yes.
Britta was quiet and mysterious and simply sat in front of me reading Robert Musil's The Man Without Qualities. Playing my six strings to her four was exciting, but I wanted more. I wanted to be her D.J., to play her my favorite songs. And she wanted to hear them. Being in a band is a bit like falling in love anyway, and Britta made the band exciting again.
Our short tour ended at the Electric Factory in Philadelphia. The last time we played here, in 1996, we opened for Lou Reed. I remember being backstage with Lou, waiting to use the men's room, when he sarcastically said, "This is so glamorous, huh?" But it was glamorous for me—I was backstage talking to Lou Reed. And the Electric Factory was high style compared with some of the places Luna had played, like the Jewish Mother in Virginia Beach or Sudsy's in Cincinnati.
Later that year, after a show at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, the band was invited to a dorm-room party by a pretty blonde film student who had been dancing wildly in front of me throughout our set.
"You can tell how someone is in bed," said Lee, "from how they dance."
I'd stopped noticing the girls in the audience, consumed by my crush on the beautiful girl onstage directly to my right. I knew I should try to control it, but I just couldn't. I thought about Britta all the time.
That night I deliberately left my cigarettes in the van, which gave me an excuse to knock on Britta's door. I could have just lied about needing a cigarette, of course, but I was going to play the charade properly.
I knocked on Britta's door; she gave me a cigarette and a kiss, and by the next day we were coconspirators.
I shouldn't have done that. It led to a world of hurt. And yet I did it, so perhaps it's wrong to say I shouldn't have. Why then did my feet lead me there, to that spot in front of her door? Was I just immoral and selfish? Perhaps.
The morning started off well—I was in a daze from the night before—but as our van rattled toward home, I started to panic. How could I possibly walk into my apartment and not have the whole thing written all over my face? But I opened the door, was greeted by Claudia and Jack and our dog, Samantha, and life went on.
We are all capable of grand deceptions. It's difficult at first—terrifying, even—but you get used to it. Sort of. Britta and I carried on an affair for months, rushing to our hotel rooms to meet in secret. It was exhilarating. It was also awful. The secrets were killing me. I was lying to everyone around me.
Interviewers asked, "Has the dynamic changed with a woman in the band?"
Sean and Lee called a meeting, ostensibly to discuss the making of our next record. Lee spoke first.
He and Sean were aware that something was going on between Britta and me. Sean was mostly bothered by having to pretend that he didn't know anything; Lee was more concerned that all of this would blow up in our faces. If word got out, he said, our whole lives as Luna would end.
I was humble and contrite that afternoon, but later that day I became incensed. How dare they tell me who to sleep with? I'd kept secrets for Sean and Lee over the years. We had an official band policy—what happens on the road is locked into the vault. That's how it was supposed to be, at least. Everyone likes to share a little secret now and then.
Claudia and I had been in denial about the state of our marriage—we loved each other, somewhere, but we had lost the romantic connection. Our life together was about diapers and chores and being sure not to wake the baby. We were irritable and sleep-deprived, and becoming parents seemed to highlight latent differences in our personalities. Still, I had no intention of leaving her and Jack. The very thought of it struck fear in my heart. And yet I couldn't stop. I've heard preachers say that once you let the devil into your life, it's hard to get him out, and I have found this to be true.
I promised myself that I would make a move, a decision, do something to fix my life. Soon, I said, soon.
The decision was made for me by the maid at the Days Inn in Fredonia, New York. Tarbox Road Studios, where we were recording what would turn out to be our last album, is in the middle of nowhere. I booked a room at the Days Inn in town, a 10-minute drive away. Britta came with me. I didn't feel quite comfortable with this arrangement—it was a whole new level of deception—yet I did it anyway.
On the final day of mixing, I checked out of the hotel and arrived at the studio at noon. There was a phone call waiting for me—Claudia, who had just called the hotel. The receptionist had put her call through to my room, where it was answered by the maid.
"Oh, no," she said, "they just left."
And with that utterance, I was cooked. Claudia ordered me to get my ass on a plane home—immediately.
I felt sick to my stomach.
How do we make the important decisions in our lives? I'm not sure when I actually decide to get out of bed in the morning. One second, I'm lying there thinking; the next, I'm walking to the kitchen to grind the coffee beans.
I took that JetBlue plane from Buffalo to JFK feeling like I was about to walk the plank. And walk the plank I did, through my apartment door into a sea of anger and tears and questions.
Claudia made it easier than it might have been. She gave me two choices, and five days to decide. Either Britta would leave Luna or I would pack my things and move out.
I was panic-stricken. I had no idea what I would do come Friday. I didn't want to leave Claudia and Jack—nor did I want to kick Britta out of Luna and out of my life.
Friday rolled around, and I still hadn't fired Britta. I pulled my suitcase down from the closet shelf, stuffed it with summer clothes, grabbed my '58 Les Paul, walked out the door, and cabbed it down to my horrid 100-square-foot studio, where I lay on the floor and cried.
Eventually I went out for a tuna melt and a chocolate shake at a greasy diner on Broadway. It was a gorgeous summer day. I managed a few bites of my sandwich and then walked up Broadway, then east and south to Tompkins Square Park. At four in the afternoon I found myself wandering aimlessly down Second Avenue, having unconsciously veered very close to home—if I was still allowed to use that word.
I looked across the street and saw our babysitter, Nicoleen, pushing Jack along in his stroller. I wanted so badly to run across the street. Jack was only a couple weeks shy of his second birthday and was talking now. He didn't know a lot of words yet, but his vocabulary was increasing each day. How could I explain to him that as of noon that day we no longer shared a roof? So there I stood, frozen, watching my son being wheeled out of my life.
A few days after September 11, 2001, the band went ahead with a planned tour of Brazil and Argentina. I convinced myself that I was not having a nervous breakdown, because I was able to eat and sleep and get up onstage singing "nyah nyah nyah" and "baa baa baa." And the food was great and the shows were well attended, and it was fun being with Britta, and I was crying a little less each day.
I called home to speak to Jack every day. "Why are you calling here?" Claudia would ask. There was no correct answer to that question. I had always called home.
I had stopped wearing my wedding ring and stowed it in the zippered side compartment of my toiletry bag. I could have moved it, but where would I move it to?
In October, I moved into a tiny one-bedroom apartment at First Street and Avenue A. Claudia and I divided the stereo system: I took the receiver and the CD player, and she kept the big speakers. I treated myself to a good pair of B&W bookshelf speakers. There are certain advantages to living alone, I told myself. Now I could listen to music as loud as I wanted, whenever I wanted.
In its review of Romantica, Luna's first album with Britta, Spin gave us 7 out of 10: "There is no avoiding Romantica's sad, sad heart...Fizzy delights like 'Black Champagne' and 'Renée Is Crying' greet the sunset with a Sex on the Beach in one hand and a freshly served divorce summons in the other."
Did they know something? Of course they did. Everyone knew. I didn't need to go on pretending.
Claudia and I signed our divorce papers on January 15, 2003. Quite possibly, we worked harder on our divorce than we had on the marriage. We attended weekly sessions with a mediator to sort out all the issues that divorce entailed—a weekly schedule for Jack, a summer schedule, who would pay for what, what would happen on holidays, what would happen to our joint assets.
But after a year and a half of therapy, negotiation, anger, and sadness, I woke up one morning and didn't feel like a failure as a husband and a father. I wasn't miserable anymore. Britta and I moved in together, into a cute fourth-floor walk-up in the East Village. One day, the four of us—Claudia and Jack and Britta and I—even went to lunch together. This was Claudia's idea, and it was a good one. We realized that we could all get along, and everyone was going to be all right.
Two years later, on what turned out to be Luna's farewell tour, I was interviewed by a reporter in Germany who asked me, "What will be your legacy?"
I had been getting that question a lot, and I didn't have an answer for it. I'd recently received an e-mail from a 17-year-old girl in Sweden who said that she'd gone to a three-day pop festival that ended each night with everyone hanging out, drinking beer, watching the sun come up, and listening to On Fire by my previous band, Galaxie 500. We didn't set the world on fire, but it feels good to think that people were still listening to a little album I made with my friends back in 1989, halfway around the world, as the sun comes up.
We planned to do our two final shows at the Bowery Ballroom in New York, but when they sold out within a couple of hours, a Sunday matinee was added, and then a Monday night. Jack and Claudia came to the matinee. This was Jack's first time seeing Luna since he was two years old. He sat up in the balcony and waved to me excitedly. He told anyone who would listen, "That's my daddy!"
After the Monday-night show I drank Champagne and shook a lot of hands till I had had enough. I grabbed my Les Paul and my coat from the dressing room, and when Britta and I reentered the bar, people started clapping. It was like that moment at a wedding when the married couple reappears, in different clothes, before taking off.
I hugged Lee good-bye. He was off to L.A. in the morning. I hugged Sean good-bye. I would see him the next week for his fortieth birthday party, but it was an important farewell nonetheless. After 12 years of dueling guitars, from that moment on we were just two guys who used to be in a band together.
Britta and I trudged upstairs and out into the snowstorm and hailed a cab at the corner of Bowery and Delancey. I sat in bed for a week, thinking maybe this was the end of my career in music, that no one would care anymore, that all I had to look forward to was occasional soundtrack work or a guest vocal on someone else's record. But a year later, Britta and I were in the studio working on a new album for a new label. One Monday during the recording, we called our producer, the legendary Tony Visconti, to tell him we'd be late to the studio. "We're going down to city hall," I said. Tony insisted that we at least take the day off.
We were married by Judge Richard Owen, who had famously ruled against George Harrison in a music-plagiarism lawsuit brought by the Chiffons. Britta and I weren't so sure about this ruling—but we didn't feel like we had to defend the honor of our favorite Beatle just now.
From Black Postcards by Dean Wareham. Published by arrangement with The Penguin Press, a member of Penguin Group (USA), Inc. Copyright © Dean Wareham, 2008.
When Dean Met Britta
La revista Men´s Vogue publica un extracto del nuevo libro"Black Postcards: A Rock & Roll Romance" del miembro fundador y frontman de Galaxie 500 y Luna, Dean Wreham.
No lo he leído, salvo el extracto que a continuación reproduzco.
Pero para todos aquellos que disfrutamos de su música siempre hemos tenido la curiosidad de saber como se conocieron Dean y Britta, y no por satisfacer un morbo o curiosidad próxima a la de los consumidores de los programas de corazón, sino para descubrir como se puede ser feliz haciendo lo que a uno le gusta sin tener nunca un exito profesional (fuera de un pequeño grupo de personas que admiran su creatividad) y a la vez ser capaz de encontrar una persona maravillosa le complemente. Para mi es un historia de rock & Roll mucho más interesante que la de la mayoria de los grupos de música que simplemente mezclan alcohol, drogas, con personalidades conflictivas donde generalmente solo destaca una egolatria vacia de sentimientos
Black Postcards: A Rock & Roll Romance, the new book by former Galaxie 500/Luna frontman Dean Wareham is an honest look at a critically lauded, commercially neglected decade his band spent in cheap hotels, before dissolving (along with Dean's marriage) in 2004. Of course, Dean and ex-Jem singer Britta are now a married, musical duo. Unclear if Ms. Phillips still has, as the piece mentions, "the best visible panty line in rock." We'll always have Penthouse.
Facing the Music
Facing the Music
Record-label woes, lineup changes, trouble at home, and an alluring new bass player on the road: a diary of a rock 'n' roll divorce from the founder of Luna. By Dean Wareham
Dean Wareham and his favorite bass player, Britta Phillips. (Photo: Michael Lavine)
In 2000, my band, LUNA , was booked for our very first network-television appearance after eight years and five albums together. We played a kind of spacey twin-guitar rock 'n' roll—with the "roll" being just as important as the "rock"—that was probably best suited for late-night listening. We had sold out clubs all over the country, but we'd never had a bona fide radio hit.
Our biggest album, Bewitched, sold about 100,000 copies in the U.S.—good numbers for a book, but not for a massive record company. We'd just lost our major-label deal with Elektra, been dropped by our publisher, and been let go by our accountant. As if this wasn't enough, our bass player quit rock 'n' roll for good and flew home to New Zealand.
We flew out to Los Angeles to tape the show, Later with Cynthia Garrett, in the studio next door to The Tonight Show. Our audience consisted of people who couldn't get tickets for Leno. We played two songs and did an awkward interview.
"How do you guys keep going?" Cynthia asked.
It sounded like an insult. Wasn't she really saying, "You've never had a gold record—why don't you just throw in the towel?" I wanted to ask her how a former VH1 host gets her own late-night network-TV show.
"What advice would you give to young people about having career longevity?" she asked.
"Go to law school," I said.
A few months before, Britta Phillips had driven from Pennsylvania to New York City to audition to be our new bass player. Britta walked into our rented rehearsal room wearing corduroy jeans, her hair cut in a bob. She was very feminine and gorgeous in a Scandinavian way, with high cheekbones and big, green eyes. Her bass was a fiesta-red Fender Precision, a classic seventies reissue.
After all the auditions, my bandmates and I stood outside on Avenue A to pick our new bassist.
Our drummer, Lee, was sure that we should hire Britta. I was leaning that way. Sean, who played guitar, was on the fence. This was as close to a unanimous decision as we were going to get. It would be the first time a girl was part of our lineup.
"Listen," I said. "No hanky-panky. If anyone gets involved with her, they're out of the band."
I think I was joking. Perhaps I was half-joking. Perhaps I was dead serious.
Britta's first real show with the band was in Boston. She was perfect. And our show in D.C. got a good review in the next day's Washington Post, which mentioned the "beguiling Britta Phillips" on bass. That made me feel proud.
From D.C., we flew to Seattle, where we stayed at the Travelodge by the Space Needle for the hundredth time. I was feeling a little lonely and fragile, and I missed my son, Jack, who was now eight months old and lived back in New York with my wife of seven years, Claudia. I had met Claudia while performing in a high school play in 1980, and we both ended up going to Harvard.
In San Francisco at the Fillmore on April Fool's Day, we broke out "Bonnie and Clyde," a long, sexy French song about a doomed couple, with Britta singing the Brigitte Bardot part to my Serge Gainsbourg. The song ends with Bonnie and Clyde mowed down in a hail of bullets and descending into hell. I was careful not to look at Britta onstage.
"Britta's very pretty," my friend Alison told me.
"I guess so," I said, not wanting to appear too interested.
My old friend Howard Thompson, the former head of A&R at Elektra, was at the show, and he quietly told me that Britta had "the best visible panty line in rock."
Three weeks later, we found ourselves driving up to Providence—seven hours in the pouring rain. I had become acutely aware of where I was sitting in our rented van. I used to think of it as sitting in the front row or the back row, on the left or the right. But now I was in front of Britta, or next to Britta or, on that drive, behind Britta. I felt like I had fallen under a spell, and it had to stop. I took to chanting silently inside my head on these long rides: No, no, no. No, no, no. Yes.
Britta was quiet and mysterious and simply sat in front of me reading Robert Musil's The Man Without Qualities. Playing my six strings to her four was exciting, but I wanted more. I wanted to be her D.J., to play her my favorite songs. And she wanted to hear them. Being in a band is a bit like falling in love anyway, and Britta made the band exciting again.
Our short tour ended at the Electric Factory in Philadelphia. The last time we played here, in 1996, we opened for Lou Reed. I remember being backstage with Lou, waiting to use the men's room, when he sarcastically said, "This is so glamorous, huh?" But it was glamorous for me—I was backstage talking to Lou Reed. And the Electric Factory was high style compared with some of the places Luna had played, like the Jewish Mother in Virginia Beach or Sudsy's in Cincinnati.
Later that year, after a show at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, the band was invited to a dorm-room party by a pretty blonde film student who had been dancing wildly in front of me throughout our set.
"You can tell how someone is in bed," said Lee, "from how they dance."
I'd stopped noticing the girls in the audience, consumed by my crush on the beautiful girl onstage directly to my right. I knew I should try to control it, but I just couldn't. I thought about Britta all the time.
That night I deliberately left my cigarettes in the van, which gave me an excuse to knock on Britta's door. I could have just lied about needing a cigarette, of course, but I was going to play the charade properly.
I knocked on Britta's door; she gave me a cigarette and a kiss, and by the next day we were coconspirators.
I shouldn't have done that. It led to a world of hurt. And yet I did it, so perhaps it's wrong to say I shouldn't have. Why then did my feet lead me there, to that spot in front of her door? Was I just immoral and selfish? Perhaps.
The morning started off well—I was in a daze from the night before—but as our van rattled toward home, I started to panic. How could I possibly walk into my apartment and not have the whole thing written all over my face? But I opened the door, was greeted by Claudia and Jack and our dog, Samantha, and life went on.
We are all capable of grand deceptions. It's difficult at first—terrifying, even—but you get used to it. Sort of. Britta and I carried on an affair for months, rushing to our hotel rooms to meet in secret. It was exhilarating. It was also awful. The secrets were killing me. I was lying to everyone around me.
Interviewers asked, "Has the dynamic changed with a woman in the band?"
Sean and Lee called a meeting, ostensibly to discuss the making of our next record. Lee spoke first.
He and Sean were aware that something was going on between Britta and me. Sean was mostly bothered by having to pretend that he didn't know anything; Lee was more concerned that all of this would blow up in our faces. If word got out, he said, our whole lives as Luna would end.
I was humble and contrite that afternoon, but later that day I became incensed. How dare they tell me who to sleep with? I'd kept secrets for Sean and Lee over the years. We had an official band policy—what happens on the road is locked into the vault. That's how it was supposed to be, at least. Everyone likes to share a little secret now and then.
Claudia and I had been in denial about the state of our marriage—we loved each other, somewhere, but we had lost the romantic connection. Our life together was about diapers and chores and being sure not to wake the baby. We were irritable and sleep-deprived, and becoming parents seemed to highlight latent differences in our personalities. Still, I had no intention of leaving her and Jack. The very thought of it struck fear in my heart. And yet I couldn't stop. I've heard preachers say that once you let the devil into your life, it's hard to get him out, and I have found this to be true.
I promised myself that I would make a move, a decision, do something to fix my life. Soon, I said, soon.
The decision was made for me by the maid at the Days Inn in Fredonia, New York. Tarbox Road Studios, where we were recording what would turn out to be our last album, is in the middle of nowhere. I booked a room at the Days Inn in town, a 10-minute drive away. Britta came with me. I didn't feel quite comfortable with this arrangement—it was a whole new level of deception—yet I did it anyway.
On the final day of mixing, I checked out of the hotel and arrived at the studio at noon. There was a phone call waiting for me—Claudia, who had just called the hotel. The receptionist had put her call through to my room, where it was answered by the maid.
"Oh, no," she said, "they just left."
And with that utterance, I was cooked. Claudia ordered me to get my ass on a plane home—immediately.
I felt sick to my stomach.
How do we make the important decisions in our lives? I'm not sure when I actually decide to get out of bed in the morning. One second, I'm lying there thinking; the next, I'm walking to the kitchen to grind the coffee beans.
I took that JetBlue plane from Buffalo to JFK feeling like I was about to walk the plank. And walk the plank I did, through my apartment door into a sea of anger and tears and questions.
Claudia made it easier than it might have been. She gave me two choices, and five days to decide. Either Britta would leave Luna or I would pack my things and move out.
I was panic-stricken. I had no idea what I would do come Friday. I didn't want to leave Claudia and Jack—nor did I want to kick Britta out of Luna and out of my life.
Friday rolled around, and I still hadn't fired Britta. I pulled my suitcase down from the closet shelf, stuffed it with summer clothes, grabbed my '58 Les Paul, walked out the door, and cabbed it down to my horrid 100-square-foot studio, where I lay on the floor and cried.
Eventually I went out for a tuna melt and a chocolate shake at a greasy diner on Broadway. It was a gorgeous summer day. I managed a few bites of my sandwich and then walked up Broadway, then east and south to Tompkins Square Park. At four in the afternoon I found myself wandering aimlessly down Second Avenue, having unconsciously veered very close to home—if I was still allowed to use that word.
I looked across the street and saw our babysitter, Nicoleen, pushing Jack along in his stroller. I wanted so badly to run across the street. Jack was only a couple weeks shy of his second birthday and was talking now. He didn't know a lot of words yet, but his vocabulary was increasing each day. How could I explain to him that as of noon that day we no longer shared a roof? So there I stood, frozen, watching my son being wheeled out of my life.
A few days after September 11, 2001, the band went ahead with a planned tour of Brazil and Argentina. I convinced myself that I was not having a nervous breakdown, because I was able to eat and sleep and get up onstage singing "nyah nyah nyah" and "baa baa baa." And the food was great and the shows were well attended, and it was fun being with Britta, and I was crying a little less each day.
I called home to speak to Jack every day. "Why are you calling here?" Claudia would ask. There was no correct answer to that question. I had always called home.
I had stopped wearing my wedding ring and stowed it in the zippered side compartment of my toiletry bag. I could have moved it, but where would I move it to?
In October, I moved into a tiny one-bedroom apartment at First Street and Avenue A. Claudia and I divided the stereo system: I took the receiver and the CD player, and she kept the big speakers. I treated myself to a good pair of B&W bookshelf speakers. There are certain advantages to living alone, I told myself. Now I could listen to music as loud as I wanted, whenever I wanted.
In its review of Romantica, Luna's first album with Britta, Spin gave us 7 out of 10: "There is no avoiding Romantica's sad, sad heart...Fizzy delights like 'Black Champagne' and 'Renée Is Crying' greet the sunset with a Sex on the Beach in one hand and a freshly served divorce summons in the other."
Did they know something? Of course they did. Everyone knew. I didn't need to go on pretending.
Claudia and I signed our divorce papers on January 15, 2003. Quite possibly, we worked harder on our divorce than we had on the marriage. We attended weekly sessions with a mediator to sort out all the issues that divorce entailed—a weekly schedule for Jack, a summer schedule, who would pay for what, what would happen on holidays, what would happen to our joint assets.
But after a year and a half of therapy, negotiation, anger, and sadness, I woke up one morning and didn't feel like a failure as a husband and a father. I wasn't miserable anymore. Britta and I moved in together, into a cute fourth-floor walk-up in the East Village. One day, the four of us—Claudia and Jack and Britta and I—even went to lunch together. This was Claudia's idea, and it was a good one. We realized that we could all get along, and everyone was going to be all right.
Two years later, on what turned out to be Luna's farewell tour, I was interviewed by a reporter in Germany who asked me, "What will be your legacy?"
I had been getting that question a lot, and I didn't have an answer for it. I'd recently received an e-mail from a 17-year-old girl in Sweden who said that she'd gone to a three-day pop festival that ended each night with everyone hanging out, drinking beer, watching the sun come up, and listening to On Fire by my previous band, Galaxie 500. We didn't set the world on fire, but it feels good to think that people were still listening to a little album I made with my friends back in 1989, halfway around the world, as the sun comes up.
We planned to do our two final shows at the Bowery Ballroom in New York, but when they sold out within a couple of hours, a Sunday matinee was added, and then a Monday night. Jack and Claudia came to the matinee. This was Jack's first time seeing Luna since he was two years old. He sat up in the balcony and waved to me excitedly. He told anyone who would listen, "That's my daddy!"
After the Monday-night show I drank Champagne and shook a lot of hands till I had had enough. I grabbed my Les Paul and my coat from the dressing room, and when Britta and I reentered the bar, people started clapping. It was like that moment at a wedding when the married couple reappears, in different clothes, before taking off.
I hugged Lee good-bye. He was off to L.A. in the morning. I hugged Sean good-bye. I would see him the next week for his fortieth birthday party, but it was an important farewell nonetheless. After 12 years of dueling guitars, from that moment on we were just two guys who used to be in a band together.
Britta and I trudged upstairs and out into the snowstorm and hailed a cab at the corner of Bowery and Delancey. I sat in bed for a week, thinking maybe this was the end of my career in music, that no one would care anymore, that all I had to look forward to was occasional soundtrack work or a guest vocal on someone else's record. But a year later, Britta and I were in the studio working on a new album for a new label. One Monday during the recording, we called our producer, the legendary Tony Visconti, to tell him we'd be late to the studio. "We're going down to city hall," I said. Tony insisted that we at least take the day off.
We were married by Judge Richard Owen, who had famously ruled against George Harrison in a music-plagiarism lawsuit brought by the Chiffons. Britta and I weren't so sure about this ruling—but we didn't feel like we had to defend the honor of our favorite Beatle just now.
From Black Postcards by Dean Wareham. Published by arrangement with The Penguin Press, a member of Penguin Group (USA), Inc. Copyright © Dean Wareham, 2008.
Lunes,
Hay días, generalmente lunes, que son un puto asco. Pero a veces, muy pocas veces te levantas un lunes y te notas con más energía, más optimista aunque tus problemas sigan siendo los mismos.... te encuentras algo mejor.Joder como molan esos lunes.....
Espero que no sea el único que hoy se ha levantado con más energía para enfrentarse a este puto lunes...
Para todos lo demás el siguiente tema:
Nouvelle Vague - Blue Monday
domingo, 9 de marzo de 2008
COPS CHOPPER, AIR APPAUS AND COPS STREET
Bnksy es un artista que me tiene flipado. No le conocia porque no tengo muchos conocimientos sobre el tema.
En los últimos post he hecho referencia a Banksy y he colgado alguna de sus obras de arte y seguiré haciendolo en los sucesivos, espero que os gusten a mi me flipan.
TIENE UNA FORMA ARTÍSTICA, SENSIBLE E IRONICA DE EXPRESAR SU SENTIMIENTO ANTISISTEMA.
CON UNA SUTILEZA NO EXENTA DE INGENIO HACE UNA CRITICA CONSTANTE DE LAS FUERZAS DL ORDEN Y CUERPOS DEL ESTADO. DEL EJERCIO DEL MILITARISMO BARAO Y LA INJUSTICIA.
Un tema que expresa estas ideas es "For what is worth" The Bufalo Springfield, entre los que se encentra uno de los más grandes: Neil Young, que, por otro lado, cambiando de tem tendremos la oportunidad de volver a verlo en directo en el único concierto de calidad (salvo quizás tampien a Jack Johnson, al que han tenido la decenciado de programarlo el mismo día que toca Mr Young para evitarnos tener que ir 2 días) del inefable Fetival rock en rio (esa pseudo horterada que se han inventdo pra que shaquira, alejando sanz y demás solistas lalinos puedan decir algún día que tocoron en un festival de rock), que no entiendo a que esperan para llevarselo de una puta vez a rio desde donde nunca debió salir.
sábado, 8 de marzo de 2008
heros
GRAFFITI HEROES
In 1974 a 33 year old man named George Davis was convicted of robbing the payroll of the London Electricity Board in Ilford. He was nailed on the evidence of cops who were outside the bank at the time of the robbery and was sent to prison for 20 years.However, his friend Peter Chappell was convinced Davis was innocent and inspired by discrepancies in the police statements and the fact that none of the bloodstains at the scene matched with the defendant, started calling for Davis' release.
Chappall enrolled some friends and embarked on one of the largest sustained grafitti campaigns Britain has ever seen. Over the following months 'G DAVIS IS INNOCENT' appeared on walls, bridges and tunnels from one side of London to the other, some of which are still visible today.
The vandalism culminated in Chappell and four others breaking into Headingley cricket ground in August 1975 the night before a test match between England and Australia. Using plastic cutlery from a service station they dug holes in the pitch, filled them with oil and painted 'Sorry it had to be done, but George Davis is innocent' in large white letters on the wall as they left. The match was postponed and Chappell got 18 months for criminal damage.
The campaign brought the case to the attention of the Home Secretary who after a police inquiry released Davis two years into his sentence using the highly exceptional and controversial Royal Prerogative of Mercy.The fight to free George Davis was one of the most spetacular campaigns ever fought against injustice, an achievement only slightly marred when a year after his release Davis was found guilty of robbing the Bank of Cyprus for which he served six years, and three years after which he was caught red-handed robbing a mail train.George Davis is now a free man and happily married to the daughter of a North London Chief Inspector of Police.
velvet underground
El otro día estuve en la buhardilla de un colega escuchando vinilos, mientras comentabamos sobre un guión de un corto escrito por otro colega... Buen plan. Con sabor entre clásco y actual.
Lo mejor en cualquier es que fue divertdo. Fue otra tarde en chamartin. Un Miércoles. Asi hay muchas y variadas. Esto es mi barrio. Momentos agradables con gente divertida e interasante. Converaciones entretenidas.
Buena gente con inquietudes culturales.
Este barrio, estas tardes, esos ratos....
Velvet Underground - femme fatale (live)
Lo mejor en cualquier es que fue divertdo. Fue otra tarde en chamartin. Un Miércoles. Asi hay muchas y variadas. Esto es mi barrio. Momentos agradables con gente divertida e interasante. Converaciones entretenidas.
Buena gente con inquietudes culturales.
Este barrio, estas tardes, esos ratos....
Velvet Underground - femme fatale (live)
martes, 4 de marzo de 2008
Scissors For Lefty - Ghetto Ways
El primer post de esta semana quisiera dedicarlo a este grupo: Scissors for Lefty.
El tema es Ghetto Ways y el video es totalmennte 70´s con un toque retro-hortera que a mi me pone los pelos de punta.
Siempre he sido bastante hortera, aunque ahora mola más decir Friki, me van las camias de grandes cuelos... entre otras cosas....
Y ls silbiditos, lalalas, grititos y demás horteradas.
El que no disfrute ee esa vena que muchos tenemos dentro puede saltars el video...
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