I'm going to live the life I sing about in my song I'm going to stand for right And always shun the wrong If I'm in the crowd Or if I'm alone On the street or in my home I'm going to live the life I sing about in my song
Every day, everywhere On that busy thoroughfare Folk may watch me, some may spot me Say I'm foolish, but I don't care I can't sing one thing And then live another Be a saint by day And a devil undercover I'm going to live the life I sing about in my song
I'm going to live the life I sing about in my song I'm going to stand for right And always shun the wrong If I'm in the crowd Or if I'm alone On the street or in my home I'm going to live the life I sing about in my song, yes!
Every day, every night I must always walk in the light Some mistake me, underrate me Because I want to do what's right I can't go to church And shout all day Sunday Go out and get drunk Stay Wasted all day monday I've got to live the life I sing about in my song
I'm going to live the life I sing about in my song I'm going to live the life I sing about in my song
1 Haitian Fight Song 11:57
2 Blue Cee 07:48
3 Reincarnation of a love bird 08:31
4 The clown 12:29
(Narrator: Jean Shepherd
Tenor Saxophone: Shafi Hadi)
Bonus Tracks
5 Passions of a woman loved 09:43
6 Tonight at noon 05:58
'A balada de um palhaço tornado triste'
Man, there was this clown, and he was a real happy guy, a real happy guy, he had all these greens and all these yellows and all these oranges bubbling around inside of him. And he had just one thing he wanted in this world, he just wanted to make people laugh, that’s all he wanted out of this world, we was a real happy guy...
Let me tell you about this clown, he used to a raise a sweat every night out on the stage and just wouldn’t stop, that’s how hard he worked, he was trying to make people laugh. He used to have this cute little gimmick where he had a seal follow him up and down a step-ladder, blowing Columbia the gem of the ocean out on a b-flat scale sears-roebuck a model thirteen twenty-two “A” plastic bugle, a real cute act, but they didn’t laugh, well you know, a few little things here and there, but not really, and he was booking out in all these tank towns, playing the rotary clubs, the Kiwanis clubs and the American legion hall; and he just wasn’t making it, but he had all these wonderful things going on inside of him, all these greens and yellows and all these oranges, he was a real happy guy, and all he wanted to do was to make these people laugh, that’s all he wanted out of this world, to make people laugh, and then something began to grow, something that just wasn’t good began growing inside of his head...
You know, it’s a funny thing. _____ something began to trouble this clown, you know little things, little things once in a while would happen, that would make that crowed begin to howl, but they were never the right things, like for example the time the seal got sick on the stage, all over the stage, the crowd just, just broke out, little things like that. And they weren’t suppose to … they weren’t supposed to be funny. This began to trouble him, and it bothered him. And this little thing began to grow inside of him. And all those greens and all those oranges and all those yellows, they just weren’t as bright as they used to be. And all he wanted to do was to make that crowd laugh, that’s all he wanted to do...
There was this one night _____ when he was playing at the rotary club. All these dentists, these druggists, all these postmen sitting around, and they were a real cold bunch, nothing was happening. He was leaving the stage when he stumbled over his ladder and fell flat on his face, just flat on his face. When he stands up and he’s got this bloody nose and he looks out at the crowd and that crowd is just rolling on the floor, he’s just knocked them flat out, this begins to trouble and even more. He begins to see something, he begins to see something...
And right about here is when things began to change, but really change. Not the least of which our clown changes his act. He bought himself a set of football pads, a yellow helmet with red stripes, hired a girl who dropped a 5-pound sac of flour on his head every night, maybe twenty feet up. Oh man!, what a pit, that just broke them up every night, but not like the buke. And all those colors, all those yellows, all those reds, all those oranges, a lot of gray in them now _____ And all he wanted was to make this crowd laugh, that’s all he wanted out of this world...
They were laughing alright, not like the buke but they were laughing, And all the dough started coming in. He was playing the big towns. Chicago, Detroit, and then it was Pittsburgh one night. A real fine town Pittsburgh, you know. But three quarters way through his act, a rope broke, down came the backdrop, right on the back of the neck, and he went flat and something broke, this was it. It hurt way down deep inside, he tried to get up. He looked out at the audience, and man, you should’ve, you should’ve, you should’ve seen that crowd. They was rolling in the aisle. This was bigger than the buke. This was bigger than the buke....
He really had them going, this was it, this was the last one, this was the last one. This was the last one. He knew now, man, he really knew now. But it was too late and all he had wanted was to make this crowd laugh, well they were laughing, But now he knew. That was the end of the clown. And you should have seen the bookings coming. Man, his agent was on the phone for 24 hours, The Palladium, MCA, William Morris. But it was too late...
He really knew now. He really knew. He really knew now. William Morris sent regrets...
Este quadro e alguns desenhos em papel, realizados em 1999 em Ovar,
foram apresentados
na exposição colectiva 'Arte Occupa' realizada na Casa Viva, Porto
em 2012
'
Ao pequeno número de experiências que fizera até então, no caminho para encontrar o meu próprio desígnio, veio juntar-se mais esta: a contemplação de tais formações, a entrega a tais configurações da natureza, irracionais, contorcidas e estranhas, liberta um sentimento de consonância do nosso íntimo com a vontade cujo poder deu origem àqueles efeitos. Sentimos, em breve, tendência para considerá-los disposições do nosso humor e supô-los criações nossas. Vemos abalar-se e desvanecer-se a demarcação existente entre nós e a natureza, e aprendemos a conhecer o estado de espírito pelo qual não sabemos já se as imagens, na nossa retina, são originadas por impressões oriundas do exterior, se do interior. Não há lugar algum onde, tão fácil e simplesmente, possamos fazer a descoberta do quão somos criadores, de quanto a nossa alma toma parte na perene criação do mundo, como através deste exercício. Mais ainda, em nós e na natureza, está operante uma e a mesma indivisível divindade e, se o mundo visível desaparecesse, qualquer pessoa teria aptidão para tornar a edificá-lo; porque, quer a montanha quer a torrente, a árvore e a folha, raíz ou flor, tudo o que na natureza foi moldado, está pré-formado dentro de nós e provém da alma, cuja essência é eternidade, cuja natureza não apreendemos, mas que se manifesta, principalmente, por impulsos amorosos e criadores.
Só anos mais tarde encontrei a confirmação destas reflexões, precisamente num livro de Leonardo da Vinci que refere quão agradável e profundamente estimulante se torna observar uma parede sobre a qual diversíssimas pessoas tenham escarrado. Perante aquelas manchas, sobre a superfície húmida, ele sentia o mesmo que o Pistorius e eu perante o fogo.
For all the fucked up children of the world...
... we give to you
Spacemen 3
Revolution:
"
Well look out
Well I’m sick
I’m so sick
Of a lot of people
Tryin’ to tell me
What I can and can’t do
With my life
And I’m tired
I’m so tired
Of a lot of people
In a lot of high places
Don’t want you and me
To enjoy ourselves
Well I’m through with people
Who can’t get off their arse
To help themselves change this government
And better this society
‘Cos it’s shit
But hold on a second
I smell burning
And I see a change
Comin’ ‘round the bend
And I suggest to you
That it takes
Just five seconds
Just five seconds
Of decision
To realise
That the time
Is right
To start thinkin’ about
A little…
Revolution!
''
'How does it feel?'
Spacemen 3
"
When I saw you, you looked so surprised And the oceans flowed through your blue-grey eyes And I stood and gazed Through hot summer days So tell me – how do you feel?
Well I dream of you the whole night through And I don’t even shut my eyes ‘Cos what I see, it’s pure heaven to me So tell me – are you for real?
We could make love and live as one And burn our fingers on the sun But I have seen what love denies I’ve drunk the teardrops from her eyes
We could make love and live as one And burn our fingers on the sun We could make love and live as one And burn our fingers on the sun
So tell me – how does it feel? So tell me – how does it feel? So tell me – how does it feel? How does it feel? How does it feel? How does it feel? Tell me, how does it feel? Tell me, how does it feel? Tell me, how does it feel? Tell me, how does it feel? Tell me, how does it feel? Tell me, how does it feel? Tell me, how does it feel? Well tell me, how does it feel?
'
Eis como morreu Marcel:
Um belo dia, pretendeu-se purificar Paris dos seus clochards. A assistência mais pública, que vela também pela boa apresentação das cidades, apareceu, com a polícia, na rua Monge, desejava-se apenas reintegrar esses velhos na vida, logo, primeiro que tudo, lavá-los, fazer deles criaturas apresentáveis. Marcel ergueu-se e seguiu-os, era um homem extremamente pacífico, mesmo depois de alguns copos continuava sensato e dócil. Esta intervenção deixava-o totalmente indiferente, possivelmente pensava que poderia encontrar a seguir o seu cantinho de rua, onde através das grelhas chega o calor do metro. Mas nos lavabos, repletos de chuveiros, da Saúde Pública, chega a vez dele, obrigam-no a passar por baixo de um chuveiro cuja água não estava certamente nem demasiado quente nem demasiado fria, só que era a primeira vez, desde há muitos anos, que ele se via nu, por baixo de um chuveiro. Antes que alguém tivesse tempo de perceber, de saltar, Marcel deixa-se cair, morrendo de imediato. Percebes o que quero dizer? Malina olha-me, um pouco inseguro, ele que nunca o é. Podia poupar-me uma história destas. Mas é como se sentisse outra vez esse duche, sei perfeitamente do que é que não deveriam ter lavado Marcel. Quando alguém vive na exalação da sua felicidade, quando alguém não tem muitas palavras além do "Deus lhe pague", não se deve correr o risco de o lavar daquilo que lhe faz bem, não se deve querer tornar um homem apresentável para uma vida nova, que não existe.
Eu: No lugar de Marcel, também teria morrido ao primeiro jacto de água.
Malina: Assim a felicidade teria sido sempre...
Eu: Por que hás-de estar constantemente a antecipar-te aos meus pensamentos? Estou realmente a pensar em Marcel neste momento, não, já quase não penso nele, é apenas um episódio, penso em mim e noutra coisa já, Marcel, era só para me ajudar.
Malina: ... Como os belos amanhãs do espírito, que nunca chegam...
Eu: Não me recordes constantemente o meu caderno escolar. Devia ter dentro outras coisas, mas queimei-o na casa da barrela. ainda me deve cobrir uma fina camada de felicidade, desde que nenhum jacto venha apagar um certo odor sem o qual não posso viver.
'
--
página 198
'Malina', 1971
Ingeborg Bachmann
tradução de Maria Fernanda Branco
Edições 70, 2ºedição
Carro de Fogo de Sei Miguel Rendez-Vous Festival 2011, Convento de Jesus, 5.Novembro.2011
"Tratam-se de partes de acontecimento em acontecimento simultâneo. É um todo orquestral, genuinamente: um todo que é mais e menos que a soma das suas partes. O Carro de Fogo é trabalhado, atravessado, por definidos critérios de voicing. As [minhas] músicas, na tradição cósmica do jazz evolutivo, são habitualmente coisas do light voicing, estruturas escritas mas ilusórias, onde o silêncio e a frase se equivalem sem maquinaria. Por sua vez, o Carro de Fogo apresenta-se em dark voicing, assumida máquina, vasto objecto sonoro. O Carro de Fogo é uma peça que é uma banda que é uma peça. E assim por diante e sucessivamente: eternamente, pelas vontades e pela vontade tecnológica." Sei Miguel
Formação: Sei Miguel - Trompete, Escrita e Direcção Pedro Gomes - Guitarra Rafael Toral - Oscilador André Gonçalves - Sintetizador John Klima - Baixo César Burago - Percursão Luís Desirat - Bateria