MUZ Muziek
Het forum voor 's werelds enige universele hobby! Snaren of toetsen, vinyl of cd, eendagsvlieg of rasartiest, op de radio of op een festival! Hier kun je al je ongebreideld enthousiasme, maar ook je weldoordachte kritische noten kwijt over muziek
Overigens vind ik Callahan tekstueel wel ontzettend sterk. Hij speelt met taal, maar is tegelijkertijd direct, beeldend en soms ontwapenend simpel. Dit soort dingen zijn simpelweg geniaal:
Working through death's pain
Last night I swear I felt your touch, gentle and warm
The hair stood on my arms - how, how, how?
Show me the way, show me the way
Show me the way to shake a memory
Show me the way, show me the way
Show me the way to shake a memory
I flipped my forelock, I twitched my withers, I reared and bucked
I could not put my rider aground
All these fine memories are fucking me down
I dreamed it was a dream that you were gone
I woke up feeling so ripped by reality
Love is the king of the beasts
And when it gets hungry it must kill to eat
Love is the king of the beasts
A lion walking down city streets
I fell back asleep some time later on
And I dreamed the perfect song
It held all the answers, like hands laid on
I woke halfway and scribbled it down
And in the morning, what I wrote, I read
It was hard to read at first but here's what it said:
"Eid ma clack shaw zupoven del ba
Mertepy ven seinur cofally ragdah"
"Eid ma clack shaw zupoven del ba
Mertepy ven seinur cofally ragdah"
Show me the way, show me the way
Show me the way to shake a memory
Show me the way, show me the way
Show me the way to shake a memory
"Eid ma clack shaw zupoven del ba
Mertepy ven seinur cofally ragdah"
Show me the way, show me the way
Show me the way to shake a memory
Show me the way, show me the way
Show me the way to shake a memory
Working through death's pain
Last night I swear I felt your touch, gentle and warm
The hair stood on my arms - how, how, how?
Show me the way, show me the way
Show me the way to shake a memory
Show me the way, show me the way
Show me the way to shake a memory
I flipped my forelock, I twitched my withers, I reared and bucked
I could not put my rider aground
All these fine memories are fucking me down
I dreamed it was a dream that you were gone
I woke up feeling so ripped by reality
Love is the king of the beasts
And when it gets hungry it must kill to eat
Love is the king of the beasts
A lion walking down city streets
I fell back asleep some time later on
And I dreamed the perfect song
It held all the answers, like hands laid on
I woke halfway and scribbled it down
And in the morning, what I wrote, I read
It was hard to read at first but here's what it said:
"Eid ma clack shaw zupoven del ba
Mertepy ven seinur cofally ragdah"
"Eid ma clack shaw zupoven del ba
Mertepy ven seinur cofally ragdah"
Show me the way, show me the way
Show me the way to shake a memory
Show me the way, show me the way
Show me the way to shake a memory
"Eid ma clack shaw zupoven del ba
Mertepy ven seinur cofally ragdah"
Show me the way, show me the way
Show me the way to shake a memory
Show me the way, show me the way
Show me the way to shake a memory
Mja... En toch denk ik bij songwriters met talent voor 't schrijven van mooie zinnen niet snel aan Bill Callahan.
"Now which way do we go?" - Dorothy Gale
Berman is trouwens ook een ontzettende held. Goed die naam weer eens te horen. Heb ook erg genoten toentertijd van zijn dichtbundel Actual Air.
Ik vind de ( soms bijzonder lange ) teksten van Joanna Newsom vaak van 'n ongelooflijk hoog niveau.
Sommige teksten lezen bijna als een roman. Tjokvol prachtige zinnen.
Zoals deze:
Emily
The meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow
set to the sky in a flying spree, for the sport of the pharaoh.
A little while later, the Pharisees dragged a comb through the meadow.
Do you remember what they called up to you and me, in our window?
There is a rusty light on the pines tonight;
sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow, down into the
bones of the birches, and the spires of the churches, jutting out from the shadows;
the yoke, and the axe, and the old smokestacks, and the bale, and the barrow —
and everything sloped, like it was dragged from a rope, in the mouth of the south below.
We’ve seen those mountains kneeling, felten and grey.
We thought our very hearts would up and melt away,
from that snow in the nighttime,
just going and going
and the stirring of wind chimes
in the morning
in the morning
Helps me find my way back in
from the place where I have been —
And, Emily, I saw you last night by the river.
I dreamed you were skipping little stones across the surface of the water —
frowning at the angle where they were lost, and slipped under forever,
in a mud-cloud, mica-spangled, like the sky’d been breathing on a mirror.
Anyhow, I sat by your side, by the water.
You taught me the names of the stars overhead, that I wrote down in my ledger —
though all I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades, loosed in December,
I promised you I’d set them to verse, so I’d always remember
That the meteorite is the source of the light,
And the meteor’s just what we see;
And the meteoroid is a stone that’s devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee.
And the meteorite’s just what causes the light,
And the meteor’s how it’s perceived;
And the meteoroid’s a bone thrown from the void, that lies quiet in offering to thee.
*
You came and lay a cold compress upon the mess I’m in;
threw the window wide, and cried amen amen amen.
The whole world stopped to hear you hollering.
And you looked down, and saw, now, what was happening:
The lines are fading in my kingdom
(though I have never known the way to border them in);
so the muddy mouths of baboons and sows, and the grouse, and the horse, and the hen
grope at the gate of the looming lake that was once a tidy pen.
And the mail is late, and the great estates are not lit from within.
The talk in town’s becoming downright sickening.
In due time we will see the far butte lit by a flare.
I’ve seen your bravery, and I will follow you there
And row through the nighttime,
gone healthy,
gone healthy all of a sudden,
In search of the midwife
who could help me
who could help me,
help me find my way back in.
There are worries where I’ve been.
Say, say, say, in the lee of the bay
don’t be bothered.
Leave your troubles here,
where the tugboats shear the water from the water
(flanked by furrows, curling back, like a match held up to a newspaper).
Emily, they’ll follow your lead by the letter.
And I make this claim, and I’m not ashamed to say I knew you better.
What they’ve seen is just a beam of your sun that banishes winter.
Let us go! Though we know it’s a hopeless endeavor.
The ties that bind, they are barbed and spined, and hold us close forever.
Though there is nothing would help me come to grips with
a sky that is gaping and yawning,
there is a song I woke with on my lips,
as you sailed your great ship towards the morning.
*
Come on home. The poppies are all grown knee-deep by now.
Blossoms all have fallen, and the pollen ruins the plow.
Peonies nod in the breeze,
and as they wetly bow
with hydrocephalitic listlessness,
ants mop up their brow.
And everything with wings is restless, aimless, drunk and dour;
butterflies and birds collide at hot, ungodly hours.
My clay-colored motherlessness rangily reclines —
Come on home, now! All my bones are dolorous with vines.
Pa pointed out to me, for the hundredth time tonight,
the way the ladle leads to a dirt-red bullet of light.
Squint skyward and listen —
loving him, we move within his borders:
just asterisms in the stars’ set order.
We could stand for a century,
staring,
with our heads cocked,
in the broad daylight, at this thing:
Joy,
landlocked in bodies that don’t keep —
dumbstruck with the sweetness of being,
till we don’t be.
Told: take this.
Eat this.
Told: the meteorite is the source of the light,
And the meteor’s just what we see;
And the meteoroid is a stone that’s devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee.
And the meteorite is just what causes the light,
And the meteor’s how it’s perceived;
And the meteoroid’s a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee.
-
Respect.
Sommige teksten lezen bijna als een roman. Tjokvol prachtige zinnen.
Zoals deze:
Emily
The meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow
set to the sky in a flying spree, for the sport of the pharaoh.
A little while later, the Pharisees dragged a comb through the meadow.
Do you remember what they called up to you and me, in our window?
There is a rusty light on the pines tonight;
sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow, down into the
bones of the birches, and the spires of the churches, jutting out from the shadows;
the yoke, and the axe, and the old smokestacks, and the bale, and the barrow —
and everything sloped, like it was dragged from a rope, in the mouth of the south below.
We’ve seen those mountains kneeling, felten and grey.
We thought our very hearts would up and melt away,
from that snow in the nighttime,
just going and going
and the stirring of wind chimes
in the morning
in the morning
Helps me find my way back in
from the place where I have been —
And, Emily, I saw you last night by the river.
I dreamed you were skipping little stones across the surface of the water —
frowning at the angle where they were lost, and slipped under forever,
in a mud-cloud, mica-spangled, like the sky’d been breathing on a mirror.
Anyhow, I sat by your side, by the water.
You taught me the names of the stars overhead, that I wrote down in my ledger —
though all I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades, loosed in December,
I promised you I’d set them to verse, so I’d always remember
That the meteorite is the source of the light,
And the meteor’s just what we see;
And the meteoroid is a stone that’s devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee.
And the meteorite’s just what causes the light,
And the meteor’s how it’s perceived;
And the meteoroid’s a bone thrown from the void, that lies quiet in offering to thee.
*
You came and lay a cold compress upon the mess I’m in;
threw the window wide, and cried amen amen amen.
The whole world stopped to hear you hollering.
And you looked down, and saw, now, what was happening:
The lines are fading in my kingdom
(though I have never known the way to border them in);
so the muddy mouths of baboons and sows, and the grouse, and the horse, and the hen
grope at the gate of the looming lake that was once a tidy pen.
And the mail is late, and the great estates are not lit from within.
The talk in town’s becoming downright sickening.
In due time we will see the far butte lit by a flare.
I’ve seen your bravery, and I will follow you there
And row through the nighttime,
gone healthy,
gone healthy all of a sudden,
In search of the midwife
who could help me
who could help me,
help me find my way back in.
There are worries where I’ve been.
Say, say, say, in the lee of the bay
don’t be bothered.
Leave your troubles here,
where the tugboats shear the water from the water
(flanked by furrows, curling back, like a match held up to a newspaper).
Emily, they’ll follow your lead by the letter.
And I make this claim, and I’m not ashamed to say I knew you better.
What they’ve seen is just a beam of your sun that banishes winter.
Let us go! Though we know it’s a hopeless endeavor.
The ties that bind, they are barbed and spined, and hold us close forever.
Though there is nothing would help me come to grips with
a sky that is gaping and yawning,
there is a song I woke with on my lips,
as you sailed your great ship towards the morning.
*
Come on home. The poppies are all grown knee-deep by now.
Blossoms all have fallen, and the pollen ruins the plow.
Peonies nod in the breeze,
and as they wetly bow
with hydrocephalitic listlessness,
ants mop up their brow.
And everything with wings is restless, aimless, drunk and dour;
butterflies and birds collide at hot, ungodly hours.
My clay-colored motherlessness rangily reclines —
Come on home, now! All my bones are dolorous with vines.
Pa pointed out to me, for the hundredth time tonight,
the way the ladle leads to a dirt-red bullet of light.
Squint skyward and listen —
loving him, we move within his borders:
just asterisms in the stars’ set order.
We could stand for a century,
staring,
with our heads cocked,
in the broad daylight, at this thing:
Joy,
landlocked in bodies that don’t keep —
dumbstruck with the sweetness of being,
till we don’t be.
Told: take this.
Eat this.
Told: the meteorite is the source of the light,
And the meteor’s just what we see;
And the meteoroid is a stone that’s devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee.
And the meteorite is just what causes the light,
And the meteor’s how it’s perceived;
And the meteoroid’s a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee.
-
Respect.
"Now which way do we go?" - Dorothy Gale
Ik weet 't niet bij Newsom. Vind het een beetje té. Dan zie ik liever de stijl van iemand als Plath.
The Night Dances
A smile fell in the grass.
Irretrievable!
And how will your night dances
Lose themselves. In mathematics?
Such pure leaps and spirals ----
Surely they travel
The world forever, I shall not entirely
Sit emptied of beauties, the gift
Of your small breath, the drenched grass
Smell of your sleeps, lilies, lilies.
Their flesh bears no relation.
Cold folds of ego, the calla,
And the tiger, embellishing itself ----
Spots, and a spread of hot petals.
The comets
Have such a space to cross,
Such coldness, forgetfulness.
So your gestures flake off ----
Warm and human, then their pink light
Bleeding and peeling
Through the black amnesias of heaven.
Why am I given
These lamps, these planets
Falling like blessings, like flakes
Six sided, white
On my eyes, my lips, my hair
Touching and melting.
Nowhere.
The Night Dances
A smile fell in the grass.
Irretrievable!
And how will your night dances
Lose themselves. In mathematics?
Such pure leaps and spirals ----
Surely they travel
The world forever, I shall not entirely
Sit emptied of beauties, the gift
Of your small breath, the drenched grass
Smell of your sleeps, lilies, lilies.
Their flesh bears no relation.
Cold folds of ego, the calla,
And the tiger, embellishing itself ----
Spots, and a spread of hot petals.
The comets
Have such a space to cross,
Such coldness, forgetfulness.
So your gestures flake off ----
Warm and human, then their pink light
Bleeding and peeling
Through the black amnesias of heaven.
Why am I given
These lamps, these planets
Falling like blessings, like flakes
Six sided, white
On my eyes, my lips, my hair
Touching and melting.
Nowhere.
Op 
Ook mooi. Compleet andere stijl, inderdaad.quote:Op dinsdag 24 september 2013 01:32 schreef Maxerazzi het volgende:
Ik weet 't niet bij Newsom. Vind het een beetje té. Dan zie ik liever de stijl van iemand als Plath.
The Night Dances
"Now which way do we go?" - Dorothy Gale
Teksten teksten....ik let daar helemaal niet op joh 
Als er maar een paar mooie woorden en zinnen in zitten. En dan moet ik zeggen dat ik Bill niet zo sterk vind, met vaak wel cheesy woordgebruik. En dan zijn de Silver Jews inderdaad
(daar luister ik wel naar de teksten 
)
Maar over het algemeen...ik weet niet, het kost bij de meeste artiesten gewoon teveel moeite om de tekst goed te verstaan, mijns inziens En slechts 10% van de tijd dat ik muziek luister luister ik er geconcentreerd naar geloof ik (luisteren tijdens werk..etc)
Als er maar een paar mooie woorden en zinnen in zitten. En dan moet ik zeggen dat ik Bill niet zo sterk vind, met vaak wel cheesy woordgebruik. En dan zijn de Silver Jews inderdaad
(daar luister ik wel naar de teksten )Maar over het algemeen...ik weet niet, het kost bij de meeste artiesten gewoon teveel moeite om de tekst goed te verstaan, mijns inziens
En slechts 10% van de tijd dat ik muziek luister luister ik er geconcentreerd naar geloof ik (luisteren tijdens werk..etc)
"Some guys they just give up living and start dying little by little piece by piece"
last.fm | Rate Your Music | MusicMeter | top 100 nummers | top 100 albums | top 50 2013 | top 100 jazz | Onze-blog: pat-sounds
last.fm | Rate Your Music | MusicMeter | top 100 nummers | top 100 albums | top 50 2013 | top 100 jazz | Onze-blog: pat-sounds
Ik let ook nooit op teksten. Soms inderdaad ineens een flard waardoor je toch gaat luisteren.
Behalve bij Roosbeef en Eefje dan, daar luister ik juist wel.
Behalve bij Roosbeef en Eefje dan, daar luister ik juist wel.
quote:Op dinsdag 24 september 2013 01:17 schreef Maxerazzi het volgende:
Berman is trouwens ook een ontzettende held. Goed die naam weer eens te horen. Heb ook erg genoten toentertijd van zijn dichtbundel Actual Air.
Ligt eraan welk liedje. Bij een gewoon 'popliedje', oftewel een vrolijk opzwepend nummer zoals bijvoorbeeld Franz Ferdinand ze maakt let ik er niet op, maar bij trage, lome nummers a la To Build a Home van Cinematic Orchestra luister ik er wel naar.quote:
Ik let ook nooit op teksten. Soms inderdaad ineens een flard waardoor je toch gaat luisteren.
Behalve bij Roosbeef en Eefje dan, daar luister ik juist wel.
[i]Put me on a pedestal and I'll only disappoint you
Tell me I'm exceptional and I promise to exploit you
Give me all your money and I'll make some origami honey
I think you're a joke but I don't find you very funny[/i]
Tell me I'm exceptional and I promise to exploit you
Give me all your money and I'll make some origami honey
I think you're a joke but I don't find you very funny[/i]
En dat heeft mijns inziens dus ook met de verstaanbaarheid te maken. In lome nummers, bv ook wel geldend voor Bill, kan je ook veel makkelijker de tekst volgen. Die snellere nummers zijn vaak onverstaanbaar, en bovendien is het lastiger te volgen omdat het sneller gaat.quote:
[..]
Ligt eraan welk liedje. Bij een gewoon 'popliedje', oftewel een vrolijk opzwepend nummer zoals bijvoorbeeld Franz Ferdinand ze maakt let ik er niet op, maar bij trage, lome nummers a la To Build a Home van Cinematic Orchestra luister ik er wel naar.
"Some guys they just give up living and start dying little by little piece by piece"
last.fm | Rate Your Music | MusicMeter | top 100 nummers | top 100 albums | top 50 2013 | top 100 jazz | Onze-blog: pat-sounds
last.fm | Rate Your Music | MusicMeter | top 100 nummers | top 100 albums | top 50 2013 | top 100 jazz | Onze-blog: pat-sounds
Ja, ik kan ze vaak alleen meelallen omdat ze wat bekender zijn, maar dat is meelallen en niet interpreteren.quote:Op dinsdag 24 september 2013 09:34 schreef Norrage het volgende:
[..]
En dat heeft mijns inziens dus ook met de verstaanbaarheid te maken. In lome nummers, bv ook wel geldend voor Bill, kan je ook veel makkelijker de tekst volgen. Die snellere nummers zijn vaak onverstaanbaar, en bovendien is het lastiger te volgen omdat het sneller gaat.
[i]Put me on a pedestal and I'll only disappoint you
Tell me I'm exceptional and I promise to exploit you
Give me all your money and I'll make some origami honey
I think you're a joke but I don't find you very funny[/i]
Tell me I'm exceptional and I promise to exploit you
Give me all your money and I'll make some origami honey
I think you're a joke but I don't find you very funny[/i]
Ben ik het dus ook mee oneens. Zijn werk onder eigen naam - want ik vermoed dat je daar over spreekt - heeft meer bezinnende teksten. Die thema's kunnen misschien wat meer cheesy zijn, maar ik vind dat Callahan qua woordgebruik absoluut de dans ontspringt bij de meeste nummers (niet alle, zoiets als Faith/Void is wel plat).quote:
En dan moet ik zeggen dat ik Bill niet zo sterk vind, met vaak wel cheesy woordgebruik.
Zijn werk onder Smog is tekstueel gezien sowieso niet cheesy.
Indie of geen indie, ik zag dat de superdeluxe versie van "In Utero" van Nirvana nu op Spotify staat. Even terug naar 20 jaar geleden, heerlijk album!!!
Plaat van Drake is goed. Niets voor jullie waarschijnlijk, wellicht voor DO.
Niet zo goed als (de reissue van) In Utero natuurlijk.
Niet zo goed als (de reissue van) In Utero natuurlijk.
Aldus.
Zal er binnenkort eens naar luisteren, Z.
In Utero heb ik stiekem altijd beter/spannender gevonden dan Nevermind.
In Utero heb ik stiekem altijd beter/spannender gevonden dan Nevermind.
"Now which way do we go?" - Dorothy Gale
Er is ook een nieuwe Trentemoller! eventjes checken dalijk dus 
"If you're not happy wearing denim, you're a devil in disguise"
Dit blijf ik toch ook wel een ongekend pareltje vinden hoor van dit jaar:
Solex Ahoy! The Sound Map of the Netherlands, an album by Solex on Spotify
Solex Ahoy! The Sound Map of the Netherlands, an album by Solex on Spotify
"Some guys they just give up living and start dying little by little piece by piece"
last.fm | Rate Your Music | MusicMeter | top 100 nummers | top 100 albums | top 50 2013 | top 100 jazz | Onze-blog: pat-sounds
last.fm | Rate Your Music | MusicMeter | top 100 nummers | top 100 albums | top 50 2013 | top 100 jazz | Onze-blog: pat-sounds
Had ik al gezegd dat Reflektor het beste nummer van het jaar is?
"Some guys they just give up living and start dying little by little piece by piece"
last.fm | Rate Your Music | MusicMeter | top 100 nummers | top 100 albums | top 50 2013 | top 100 jazz | Onze-blog: pat-sounds
last.fm | Rate Your Music | MusicMeter | top 100 nummers | top 100 albums | top 50 2013 | top 100 jazz | Onze-blog: pat-sounds
Dat is Ya Hey of Stepquote:Op dinsdag 24 september 2013 17:01 schreef Maxerazzi het volgende:
Ik vind 't een héle goede song, maar de beste van het jaar? Neen.
