E' vero, lo vedo benissimo che ci sono già due recensioni di "August And Everything After", ma prego i più severi di chiudere un occhi principalmente per due motivi: 1. credo che ognuno abbia il suo modo di vivere e di leggere questo album; 2. questa non è propriamente una recensione, è un racconto, la storia di "Mr. Jones", così come narrata nella canzone e completata grazie all'aiuto delle interviste rilasciate da Adam e tradotte e raccolte amorevolmente nel sito http://crowsitalia.altervista.org. Che emerita cazzata, direte. Forse sì, ma credo che cercare di capire cosa avesse in testa Adam nel periodo in cui scrisse queste canzoni sia importante per capire l'album in sè. Poi questo racconto è comunque una mia opinione. In ogni caso, valutatela un po' come volete, per me è sufficiente l'averla pubblicata (sempre che me la passino). Chiedevo appunto ai più severi di chiudere un occhio principalmente per due motivi, perchè un terzo, riguardo al fatto che si tratta di un doppione, potreste trovarlo voi: magari vi piace.
Mr. Jones
La scritta al neon "New Amsterdam" lampeggiava male. La prima "e" dava fiochi segni di vita, la seconda invece se ne era andata, forse anche per sempre. I rumori da dentro il bar erano i soli del quartiere, se per quartiere intendiamo quell'agglomerato di baracche che circondava il "New Amsterdam". Faceva una gran tristezza, ma per una sbronza era più che sufficiente. Io e Marty entrammo a passo compassato, il solo che due ragazzi sfigati senza un'ombra di ragazza e con una voglia matta di annegarsi nell'alcool possano avere. All'interno non era male: le voci che avevamo sentito erano quelle di un vecchio chitarrista che gracchiava con la sua voce da fumatore sessantenne e del suo coretto di altre sessantenni, a ritmo di flamenco. Anche loro avevano visto tempi migliori.Prendemmo la via del bancone e sedemmo su due sgabelli, aspettando il barista, assorto in una fitta discussione con un tipo tutta barba e pancia. Parlavano amichevolmente, ma ero troppo scazzato per starli a sentire.
-Hey, l'hai vista quella?- fece Marty d'un tratto. Ammiccava con lo sguardo ad una di due ragazze che ballavano a centro pista. Non le avevo notate. Indossavano vestiti lunghi, ma larghi per permettere loro di muoversi. La gonne si agitavano convulsamente, sballottate a destra a sinistra dai movimenti delle ragazze. Marty parlava della danzatrice bruna, forse era carina, non lo so, quello che avevo bevuto cominciava ad entrarmi in corpo e mi annebbiava il cervello. Non so cosa fosse ma sembrava forte: "Offro io", aveva detto Marty.
Tutto aveva preso a muoversi a scatti, le luci si accendevano e si spegnevano a scatti, anche la chitarra andava a scatti. Le note arrivavano forti alle mie orecchie e mi tartassavano i timpani che imploravano il silenzio. Ma Maria era troppo bella per andarsene in quel momento. -Ti sta guardando- disse ancora Marty. E rideva. Doveva aver preso lo stesso che avevo bevuto io. -Non dire cazzate! Sta guardando te...- gli feci io, ed ero convinto di quello che dicevo. Eravamo molto tristi, perché per arrivare a quel punto, in quella misera situazione, dovevamo esserlo per forza. Eppure Maria era sul serio bella e non capivo se ammiccasse a me o a Marty, forse a nessuno dei due. Anzi, sicuramente. Ora si avvicina al chitarrista gracchiante, gli parla all'orecchio e dopo poco il tipo cambia canzone, sempre flamenco.
-Ti immagini Marty, se fossimo delle rockstar quelle ballerine ci salterebbero addosso-. A quel tempo ero convinto della maggior parte delle cose che dicevo. -Sai Marty, voglio comprarmi una chitarra grigia, te l'immagini che figata una chitarra grigia sul palco, con tutte le luci che la colpiscono e che con i riflessi illumina la stanza?- Ero partito, a quel punto. Marty prima mi guarda strano, un po' come a dire "Che cazzo stai dicendo", poi sorride, poi ride e dice: -Sì! Sì! Proprio come Bob Dylan!-. Non credo Bob Dylan abbia mai avuto una chitarra grigia, ma poco importava perché Marty aveva capito il concetto, perché Bob Dylan era famoso, e io volevo essere famoso. Non ditemi che non avete mai sognato di salire su un palco e cantare le vostre canzoni davanti ad un fottio di persone; beh, io sì, e l'idea, cazzo, mi fa impazzire! E voglio accendere la tv e vedermi là che sorrido alla telecamera con centinaia di danzatrici di flamenco attorno e 100000 persone davanti che mi guardano, urlano e si strappano i capelli per me. Voglio essere Bob Dylan e diventare famoso con la mia chitarra grigia e le mie danzatrici di flamenco. Voglio essere qualcuno di cui la gente si ricordi il nome. Voglio non aver più bisogno di suonare in quei pub del cazzo "capienza massima: 50 persone". "Noi siamo i Counting Crows!" voglio urlare e sentire le ragazzine piangere invocando il mio nome e pregando Dio di dare loro un orgasmo anche solo guardandomi. Non voglio più essere uno sfigato. Voglio la fama, voglio le donne, voglio che la gente ricordi chi sono: "Io sono Adam Duritz! E noi siamo i Counting Crows!", voglio poter urlare.
Tornai a casa tardi quella notte, presi lo stesso carta e penna per buttare giù qualcosa. La testa stava per scoppiarmi, ma dovevo per forza scrivere. Dovevo farlo subito, da sbronzo, o tutte quelle emozioni sarebbero fuggite via con la sbornia. E mentre scrivevo quella canzone, vedevo sul serio le cose che scrivevo. Mi vedevo davvero in TV, ma questa volta il palco era vuoto, nessuna danzatrice; solo io e la mia band e davanti a noi le stesse 100000 mila persone, e vi giuro che nel silenzio della mia casa lo urlai sul serio: "Io sono Adam Duritz! Noi siamo i Counting Crows! E questa... questa... è Mr. Jones! Sha la la la la la la!"
Elenco tracce testi samples e video
01 Round Here (05:31)
Step out the front door like a ghost
Into the fog where no one notices
The contrast of white on white.
And in between the moon and you
Angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.
I walk in the air between the rain,
Through myself and back again.
Where? I don't know
Maria says she's dying.
Through the door, I hear her crying
Why? I don't know
Round here we always stand up straight
Round here something radiates
Maria came from Nashville with a suitcase in her hand
She said she'd like to meet a boy who looks like Elvis
She walks along the edge of where the ocean meets the land
Just like she's walking on a wire in the circus
She parks her car outside of my house and
Takes her clothes off,
Says she's close to understanding Jesus
She knows she's more than just a little misunderstood
She has trouble acting normal when she's nervous
Round here we're carving out our names
Round here we all look the same
Round here we talk just like lions
But we sacrifice like lambs
Round here she's slipping though my hands
Oh, Sleeping children better run like the wind
Out of the lightning dream
Mama's little baby better get herself in
Out of the lightning
She says, "It's only in my head."
She says, "Shhh...I know it's only in my head."
But the girl on the car in the parking lot
Says: "Man, you should try to take a shot
Can't you see my walls are crumbling?"
Then she looks up at the building
And says she's thinking of jumping.
She says she's tired of life
She must be tired of something.
Round here she's always on my mind
Round here, Hey man, I got lots of time
Round here we're never sent to bed early
And nobody makes us wait
Round here we stay up very very very very late
I... I can't see nothing, nothing
Round here
(Ya) Catch me if I'm falling
(Ya) Catch me if I'm falling
(Will'ya) Catch me 'cause I'm falling down on you
I said I'm under the gun
Round here
Oh man, I said I'm under the gun
Round here
I can't see nothing, nothing
Round here
02 Omaha (03:39)
Start tearing the old man down
Run past the heather and down to the old road
Start turning the grain into the ground
Roll a new leaf over
In the middle of the night
There's an old man treading around in the gathered rain
Well mister, if you're going to walk on water
Could you drop a line my way?
Omaha
Somewhere in middle America
Get right to the heart of matters
It's the heart that matters more
I think you better turn your ticket in
And get your money back at the door
Start threading a needle
Brush past the shuttle that slides through the cold room
Start turning the wool across the wire
Roll a new life over
In the middle of the night
there's an old man threading his toes through a bucket of rain
Hey mister, you don't want to walk on water
You're only going to walk all over me
Omaha
Somewhere in middle America
Get right to the heart of the matters
It's the heart that matters more
I think you better turn your ticket in
And get your money back at the door
Start running the banner down
Drop past the color come up through the summer rain
Start turning the girl into the ground
Roll a new love over
In the middle of the day
There's a young man rolling around in the earth and rain
Hey mister, if you're going to walk on water
You know you're only going to walk all over me.
Omaha
Somewhere in middle America
Get right to the heart of matters
It's the heart that matters more
I think you better turn your ticket in
And get your money back at the door
Omaha
Somewhere in middle America
Get right to the heart of matters
It's the heart that matters more
I think you better turn your ticket in
And get your money back at the door
03 Mr. Jones (04:32)
Sha la la la la la la uh huh
I was down at the New Amsterdam
Staring at this yellow-haired girl
Mr. Jones strikes up a conversation
With a black-haired flamenco dancer
She dances while her father plays guitar
She's suddenly beautiful
And we all want something beautiful
Man I wish I was beautiful
So come dance the silence down through the morning
Sha la la la la la la la yeah uh huh yeahh
Cut up Maria!
Show me some of that Spanish dancin'
Pass me a bottle, Mr. Jones
Believe in me, help me believe in anything
'Cause I want to be someone who believes
Yeah
Mr. Jones and me
Tell each other fairy tales
And we stare at the beautiful women
"She's looking at you.
Ah, no, no, she's looking at me."
Smiling in the bright lights
Coming through in stereo
When everybody loves you
You can never be lonely
Well I wanna paint my picture
Paint myself in blue and red and black and gray
All of the beautiful colors are very very meaningful
Yeah well you know gray is my favorite color
I felt so symbolic yesterday
If I knew Picasso
I would buy myself a gray guitar and play
Mr. Jones and me
Look into the future
Yeah we stare at the beautiful women
"She's looking at you.
I don't think so.
She's looking at me."
Standing in the spotlight
I bought myself a gray guitar
When everybody loves me,
I will never be lonely
I will never be lonely
So I'm never gonna be
Lone...ly
I want to be a lion
Yeah everybody wants to pass as cats
We all want to be big, big stars,
But we got different reasons for that
Believe in me
Cause I don't believe in anything
and I want to be someone to believe,
To believe,
To believe
Yeeeaahh
Mr. Jones and me
Stumbling through the barrio
Yeah we stare at the beautiful women
"She's perfect for you,
Man, there's got to be somebody for me."
I want to be Bob Dylan
Mr. Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky
When everybody loves you,
Oh! Son, that's just about as funky as you can be
Mr. Jones and me
Staring at the video
When I look at the television, I want to see me
Staring right back at me
We all want to be big stars,
But we don't know why and we don't know how
But when everybody loves me,
I'm going to be just about as happy as I can be
Mr. Jones and me,
We're gonna be big stars
05 Anna Begins (04:31)
My friend assures me,
"It's all or nothing."
I am not worried,
I am not overly concerned....
My friend implores me,
"For one time only, make an exception."
I am not worried..
Wrap her up in a package of lies,
Send her off to a coconut island...
I am not worried,
I am not overly concerned....
'bout the status of my emotions,
"Oh," she says, "you're changing"
But we're always changing...
It does not bother me to say, "This isn't love..."
Cause if you don't want to talk about it
Then, it isn't love
And I guess I'm gonna have to live with that
But I'm sure there's something in a shade of gray
Or something in between,
And I can always change my name, if that's what you mean
My friend assures me
"It's all or nothing."
But I am not really worried
I am not overly concerned
You try to tell yourself
The things you try to tell yourself
To make yourself forget
To make yourself forget
I am not worried
"If it's love," she said "then we're going to have
to think about the consequences."
And she can't stop shaking,
And I can't stop touching her
And this time when kindness falls like rain
It washes her away
And Anna begins to change her mind
"These seconds when I'm shaking leave me shuddering for days," she says
And I'm not ready for this sort of thing
But I'm not gonna break,
And I'm not gonna worry about it anymore....
I'm not gonna bend,
And I'm not gonna break...
I'm not going to worry about it anymore
No, no, no, no, no
It seems like I should say
"As long as this is love..."
But it's not all that easy
so maybe I should
Snap her up in a butterfly net...
Pin her down on a photograph album...
I am not worried..
Cause I've done this sort of thing before.
But then I start to think about the consequences,
And I don't get no sleep in a quiet room
And this time when kindness falls like rain
It washes me away
And Anna begins to change my mind
Everytime she sneezes I believe it's love, and
Oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing
She's talking in her sleep,
It's keeping me awake...
And Anna begins to toss and turn...
And every word is nonsense but I understand and,
Oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing
Her kindness bangs a gong, it's moving me along
And Anna begins to fade away
It's chasing me away....
She disappears and,
Oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing
07 Rain King (04:15)
When I think of heaven
Deliver me in a black-winged bird
I think of flying
down into a sea of pens and feathers
and all other instruments of faith and sex and God
In the belly of a black-winged bird
Don't try to bleed me
cuz' I've been here before and I deserve a little more
I belong in the service of the Queen
I belong anywhere but in between
She's been crying , I've been thinking
And I am the Rain King
Well i said
Mama, mama, mama, why am I so alone?
I can't go outside
I'm scared I might not make it home
I'm alive, i'm alive
but I'm sinking in
If there's anyone at home at your place dalrin'
Why don't you invite me in?
Don't try to bleed me
I've been there before and I deserve a little more
I belong in the service of the Queen
I belong anywhere but in between
She's been lying
I've been sinking
And I am the Rain King
Hey, I only want the same as anyone
Henderson is waiting for the sun
Oh, it seems night endlessly begins and ends
After all the dreaming I come home again...
When I think of heaven
(Deliver me in a black-winged bird)
I think of dying
Lay me down in a field of flame and heather
Render up my body into the burning heart of
God in the belly of a black-winged bird
Don't try to bleed me
'cause I've been here before and I deserve a little more
I belong in the service of the Queen
I belong anywhere but in between
She's been dying
and I've been drinking and I am the Rain King.
well i said i am the rain king...
08 Sullivan Street (04:29)
Take the way home that leads back to Sullivan St.
Cross the water and home through the town
Past the shadows that fall down wherever we meet
Pretty soon now I won't come around
I'm almost drowning in her sea
She's nearly fallen to her knees
Take the way home
Take the way home that leads back to Sullivan St.
Where all the bodies hang on the air
If she remembers, she hides it whenever we meet
Either way now, I don't really care
Cause I'm gone from there
I'm almost drowning in her sea
She's nearly crawling on her knees
She's down on her knees
Take the way home that leads back to Sullivan St.
Where I'm just another rider burned to the ground
Come tumbling down
I'm almost drowning in her sea
She's nearly crawling on her knees
It's almost everything I need
I'm down on my knees
I'm down on my knees
09 Ghost Train (04:02)
I took the cannonball down to the ocean
Across the desert from sea to shining sea
I rode a ladder that climbs across the nation
Fifty million feet of earth between the buried and me
"How do you do?"
She said, "Hey, how do you do?"
She buys a ticket 'cause it's cold where she comes from
She climbs aboard because she's scared of getting older in the snow
Love is a ghost train rumbling through the darkness
Hold on to me darling I've got nowhere else to go
"How do you do?"
She said, "How do you do?"
I took the cannonball down to the ocean
Watched the diesel disappear beneath the tumbling waves
Love is a ghost train howling on the radio
"Remember everything." she said, "when only memory remains."
"How do you do?"
She said, "Hey, how do you do?"
Carico i commenti... con calma
Altre recensioni
Di cliffburton86
Il Rock non è solo LA musica rock. È la parola che non deve mancare nella musica.
Un masterpiece della musica rock in generale, realizzato da una band di gran classe, quali i Counting Crows.
Di nibhelim
"'Round Here' è un pezzo di una bellezza disarmante per composizione e testo."
"August And Everything After è un album sincero che canta la sensazione di conflitto tipica di una generazione disillusa, ma non superficiale."
