- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Según la instrucción en la que he sido criada, es de buena educación agradecer los obsequios, por lo tanto, como individuo que ha disfrutado ★ de su génesis a su expiración, me siento en responsabilidad de destinar este medio para su difusión absoluta.
Blackstar es el primer corte, y desde su comienzo, evidencia la línea algo tétrica que va a hostigar el disco. En algunos momentos hasta se inclina al terreno musical religioso con vocales que se asemejan a cantos místicos, incluso fantasmal. A la vez que conmovedora es destructiva, ácida y mordaz por sus versos.
El vídeo es un pequeño filme al más estilo Bowie, disturbador, abstruso pero no del todo inaccesible.
In the villa of Ormen, in the villa of Ormen
Stands a solitary candle, ah-ah, ah-ah
In the centre of it all, in the centre of it all
Your eyes
On the day of execution, on the day of execution
Only women kneel and smile, ah-ah, ah-ah
At the centre of it all, at the centre of it all
Your eyes, your eyes
Ah-ah-ah
Ah-ah-ah
In the villa of Ormen, in the villa of Ormen
Stands a solitary candle, ah-ah, ah-ah
In the centre of it all, in the centre of it all
Your eyes
Ah-ah-ah
Something happened on the day he died
Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside
Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried
(I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar)
How many times does an angel fall?
How many people lie instead of talking tall?
He trod on sacred ground, he cried loud into the crowd
(I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar, I’m not a gangster)
I can’t answer why (I’m a blackstar)
Just go with me (I’m not a filmstar)
I’m-a take you home (I’m a blackstar)
Take your passport and shoes (I’m not a popstar)
And your sedatives, boo (I’m a blackstar)
You’re a flash in the pan (I’m not a marvel star)
I’m the great I am (I’m a blackstar)
I’m a blackstar, way up, oh honey, I’ve got game
I see right so white, so open-heart it’s pain
I want eagles in my daydreams, diamonds in my eyes
(I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar)
Something happened on the day he died
Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside
Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried
(I’m a blackstar, I’m a star star, I’m a blackstar)
I can’t answer why (I’m not a gangster)
But I can tell you how (I’m not a flam star)
We were born upside-down (I’m a star star)
Born the wrong way ‘round (I’m not a white star)
(I’m a blackstar, I’m not a gangster
I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar
I’m not a pornstar, I’m not a wandering star
I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar)
In the villa of Ormen stands a solitary candle
Ah-ah, ah-ah
At the centre of it all, your eyes
On the day of execution, only women kneel and smile
Ah-ah, ah-ah
At the centre of it all, your eyes, your eyes
Ah-ah-ah
'Tis A Pity She Was A Whore, toma título de una obra teatral de tragedia de John Ford y el propio Bowie la define como el resultado posible de "los vorticistas componiendo rock rock". Personalmente, implícitamente encuentro algún matiz No Wave. En ocasiones algo turbia pero coherente en su procedimiento.
Man, she punched me like a dude
Hold your mad hands, I cried
'Tis a pity she was a whore
'Tis my curse, I suppose
That was patrol
That was patrol
This is the war
Black struck the kiss, she kept my cock
Smote the mistress, drifting on
'Tis a pity she was a whore
She stole my purse, with rattling speed
That was patrol
This is the war
'Tis a pity she was a whore
'Tis a pity she was a whore
Man, she punched me like a dude
Hold your mad hands, I cried
'Tis a pity she was a whore
'Tis my face, I suppose
That was patrol
That was patrol
'Tis a pity she was a whore
Hold your mad hands, I cried
'Tis a pity she was a whore
'Tis my curse, I suppose
That was patrol
That was patrol
This is the war
Black struck the kiss, she kept my cock
Smote the mistress, drifting on
'Tis a pity she was a whore
She stole my purse, with rattling speed
That was patrol
This is the war
'Tis a pity she was a whore
'Tis a pity she was a whore
Man, she punched me like a dude
Hold your mad hands, I cried
'Tis a pity she was a whore
'Tis my face, I suppose
That was patrol
That was patrol
'Tis a pity she was a whore
Lazarus es el esclarecimiento total y la evidencia más amarga, un videoclip lacerante con algún giro burlesco hacia una espera ya digerida.
Look up here, I'm in heaven
I've got scars that can't be seen
I've got drama, can't be stolen
Everybody loves me now
Look up here, man, I'm in danger
I've got nothing left to lose
I'm so high it makes my brain whirl
I dropped my cell phone down below
Ain't that just like me
By the time I got to New York
I was living like a king
Then I used up all my money
I was looking for your ass
This way or no way
You know, I'll be free
Just like that blue bird
Now ain't that just like me
Oh I'll be free
Just like that blue bird
Oh I'll be free
Ain't that just like me
Sue (Or In A Season Of Crime), percusión ecléctica, caóticamente ordenada y perfectamente enlazada con el resto de temas.
Sue, I got the job
We’ll buy the house
You’ll need to rest
But now we’ll make it
Sue, the clinic called
The x-ray’s fine
I brought you home
I just said home
Sue, you said you wanted writ
“Sue the virgin” on your stone
For your grave
Why too dark to speak the words?
For I know that you have a son
Oh, folly, Sue
Ride the train I’m far from home
In a season of crime none need atone
I kissed your face
Sue, I pushed you down beneath the weeds
Endless faith in hopeless deeds
I kissed your face
I touched your face
Sue, Good-bye
Sue, I found your note
That you wrote last night
It can’t be right
You went with him
Sue, I never dreamed
I’m such a fool
Right from the start
You went with that clown
We’ll buy the house
You’ll need to rest
But now we’ll make it
Sue, the clinic called
The x-ray’s fine
I brought you home
I just said home
Sue, you said you wanted writ
“Sue the virgin” on your stone
For your grave
Why too dark to speak the words?
For I know that you have a son
Oh, folly, Sue
Ride the train I’m far from home
In a season of crime none need atone
I kissed your face
Sue, I pushed you down beneath the weeds
Endless faith in hopeless deeds
I kissed your face
I touched your face
Sue, Good-bye
Sue, I found your note
That you wrote last night
It can’t be right
You went with him
Sue, I never dreamed
I’m such a fool
Right from the start
You went with that clown
En Girl Loves Me se aprecia la inconcebible capacidad que tenía de reinventación y su eminente aptitud de innovación, entrelazando su inglés natal con el Nadsat, idioma de la naranja mecánica.
Cheena so sound, so titi up this malcheck, say
Party up moodge, nanti vellocet round on Tuesday
Real bad dizzy snatch making all the omeys mad - Thursday
Popo blind to the polly in the hole by Friday
Where the fuck did Monday go?
I'm cold to this pig and pug show
I'm sittin' in the chestnut tree
Who the fuck's gonna mess with me?
Girl loves me
Hey cheena
Girl loves me
Girl loves me
Hey cheena
Girl loves me
Where the fuck did Monday go?
I'm cold to this pig and pug show
Where the fuck did Monday go?
You viddy at the cheena
Choodesny with the red rot
Libbilubbing litso-fitso
Devotchka watch her garbles
Spatchko at the rozz-shop
Split a ded from his deng deng
Viddy viddy at the cheena
Girl loves me
Hey cheena
Girl loves me
Girl loves me
Hey cheena
Girl loves me
Girl loves me
Hey cheena
Girl loves me
Where the fuck did Monday go?
Where the fuck did Monday go?
Where the fuck did Monday go?
Girl loves me
Hey cheena
Girl loves me
Girl loves me
Hey cheena
Girl loves me
Where the fuck did Monday go?
Where the fuck did Monday go?
He decidido traducir la canción autodeterminadamente, muestro el primer párrafo de lo que he podido encontrar:
Woman so sound, so tipi up this boy, say
Party up man, nanti amphetamine round on Tuesday,,
Real bad dizzy natch making all the omeys mad - Thursday
Popo blind to the polly/money in the hole by Friday
Dollar Days a pesar de ser la más Glam de ★ va decayendo poco a poco hasta evocar retraimiento. Tiene giros jazzísticos que en general, se aprecía muy bien en todo el álbum.
Ash girls suffer me, I’ve got no enemies
I’m walking down
It’s nothing to me
It’s nothing to see
If I never see the English evergreens I’m running to
It’s nothing to me
It’s nothing to see
I’m dying to
Push their backs against the grain
And fool them all again and again
I’m trying to
We bitches tear our magazines
Those Oligarchs with foaming mouths come
Now and then
Don’t believe for just one second I’m forgetting you
I’m trying to
I’m dying to
Dollar days
Survival sex honour stretching tails to necks
I’m falling down
It’s nothing to me
It’s nothing to see
If I never see the English evergreens I’m running to
It’s nothing to me
It’s nothing to see
I’m dying to
Push their backs against the grain
And fool them all again and again
I’m trying to
It’s all gone wrong but on and on
The bitter nerve ends never end
I’m falling down
Don’t believe for just one second I’m forgetting you
I’m trying to
I’m dying to
I’m trying to
I’m dying to
I’m trying to
I’m dying to
I’m trying to
I’m dying to
I’m trying to
I’m dying to
I Can't Give Everything Away, la funesta y estremecedora despedida en la cual Bowie se concentra en el mensaje término de esta composición; un adiós que permanecerá de manera incesante en la memoria de toda persona que tenga el placer de poder escucharla y contemplarla.
I know something is very wrong
The pulse returns for prodigal sons
The blackout's hearts with flowered news
With skull designs upon my shoes
I can't give everything
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
Away
Seeing more and feeling less
Saying no but meaning yes
This is all I ever meant
That's the message that I sent
I can't give everything
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
Away
I know something is very wrong
The pulse returns for prodigal sons
The blackout's hearts with flowered news
With skull designs upon my shoes
The pulse returns for prodigal sons
The blackout's hearts with flowered news
With skull designs upon my shoes
I can't give everything
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
Away
Seeing more and feeling less
Saying no but meaning yes
This is all I ever meant
That's the message that I sent
I can't give everything
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
Away
I know something is very wrong
The pulse returns for prodigal sons
The blackout's hearts with flowered news
With skull designs upon my shoes
I can't give everything
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
I can't give everything
Away
I can't give everything
Away
Odio pecar de acaparadora en este momento tan suyo, sintiéndolo mucho lo haré, ya que me arrepiento. Lamento no haber dedicado más parte de mi tiempo a su arte, aún conociendo el notorio e inaudito talento que este alberga.
Por lo tanto, confío en que los lectores de este blog no cometan el mismo desacierto que ya he mencionado, y aprecien y respeten a David Bowie como el artífice y virtuoso que ha sido, es y será.
No he querido demorarme demasiado pues la herida sigue abierta, y espero, fríamente, que al escuchar esta obra de arte, os escueza.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
Demos las gracias por haber estado presentes cuando David Bowie vivía.
Y demos gracias a David Bowie por habernos cedido parte de su ánima en sus últimos momentos de vida.
