Ecco, c’è questa scrittrice statunitense, nata in Georgia nel 1925, Flannery O’Connors, morta a 39 anni di LES, lupus eritematoso sistemico, autrice di due romanzi e di qualche racconto, che pare abbia influenzato diversi rocker e songwriter (tra gli altri Nick Cave, Bruce Springsteen, Natalie Merchant, Lucinda Williams).
All’altezza del loro quarto album, i fratelli Timmins si sono imbattuti sulla scrittrice “campagnola” e “tomista zoticona”. La O’Connors infatti viveva in campagna, allevando pavoni, ed amava l’aquinate e la sua Summa Teologica.
Questa scrittrice, in barba al pubblico degli stati del Sud che scandalizzò enormemente, non si perde nei farraginosi labirinti della coscienza e nemmeno in veleggiamenti romantici. Ma insegue una visione integrale del mondo. Un reale concreto, che avverte come incompiuto e misterioso. Da contemplare in una visione anagogica, capace cioè di vedere i diversi livelli di realtà in ogni situazione e/o cosa. Livelli di un mondo costituito non da fatti, ma da relazioni.
Meriterebbe di essere ricordata anche solo per come commentò l’avvenimento che la aveva vista protagonista, a 6 anni, quando la TV di stato l’aveva ripresa per aver insegnato ad un pollo a camminare all’indietro. “Fu il momento culminante della mia vita. Tutto quello che è successo dopo, è stato un anticlimax” .
I tre fratelli Timmins, Margo cantante, Michael chitarrista e compositore, Peter batterista, più l’amico Alan Anton bassista, formarono i Cowboy Junkies a Toronto nel 1985. Dopo un estemporaneo esordio che omaggiava il Blues del Delta, con “The Trinity Session” (1988) scoprirono la loro vocazione per il Country alternativo, con lente ballate d’atmosfera, crepuscolari, finanche narcolettiche, che influenzeranno lo Slowcore (Codeine in primis). È qui che va ricercato il loro apice espressivo. “Trinity” fu registrato nella chiesa della Santissima Trinità di Toronto, in presa diretta, senza pubblico, in un sol giorno, spartendo equamente il materiale tra pezzi autografi e cover. Constava di trame esili, minimali, ma avvolgenti e melliflue, per una voce soave ed evanescente.
Poi, nel terzo lavoro, si erano avvicinati al cantautorato di Leonard Cohen.
Il quarto album, edito nel 1992, è questo “Black Eyed Man”, con un Michael Timmins che compie un lavoro di scrittura più personale, anche autoproducendo l’LP. Ci sono solamente due cover di Townes Van Zandt. Dalle ballate lente, nottiluche e desolate, passiamo a un suono più concreto, materiale e vivido, con un approccio strumentale più deciso. Country ballads, Blues e Folk, Dixeiland e Valzer, si fanno presenti tra la terra e il cielo, tra il bucolico e il mistico, scenari aperti sui protagonisti. Personaggi incarnati, veri e materiali in queste canzoni; non la vastità astratta delle idee o il tumulto delle emozioni. Ma personaggi. Gli uomini, le loro prigioni, la polvere dell’Oregon, la pioggia del Sud. E ancora Bobbie, Suzie, Marie, cavalli liberi nella prateria, donne sposate troppo giovani, Mrs. Annabelle assasinata a Trailer Park. I concetti non fanno storie o canzoni. La storia non è fatta di eventi, ma di relazioni, relazioni concrete tra persone.
Ogni dettaglio entra nell’opera. Il “Black Eyed Man” dovrebbe essere una sorta di liberatore ed invece è sospettato di “aver avvelenato l’acqua del pozzo”. Ma, suo malgrado, apprenderà che il punto d’arrivo è “giungere all’esperienza del mistero stesso”.
Il buon senso illuministico è insoddisfacente per gettar luce sul mondo. Anche i Cowboy sono interessati a ciò che è arduo, sfuggente, finanche incomprensibile. Guardano al passato, agli anni 30, per questo. Inseguono la loro “visione anagogica” che, nell’esegesi biblica, riguarda il legame segreto e la partecipazione dell’uomo alla vita di Dio, oltre il senso letterale, allegorico e morale delle Scritture.
Allora questi trovatori devoti al succo d’acero, come buoni storyteller parlano e cantano sempre del mondo intero. Ciò che l’artista crea proviene da un regno molto più vasto della sua mente, che, altrimenti, non avrebbe valore.
Il canto ineffabile di queste narrazioni, poi, è il loro suggestivo collante. L’interpretazione vocale di Margo è unica, sublime, sognante, voluttuosa ed eterea. Margo fonde sensualità ed innocenza, purezza e maturità, calore e freddezza.
Tra le canzoni, tutte di buonissimo livello, spiccano la conturbante “Townes Blues”, “This Street, That Man, This life” la loro canzone più bella, amara e dolcissima al contempo, con rintocchi di timpani estasianti, “To Live Is To Fly” superba rivisitazione da Van Zandt: «Vivere è volare, in basso e in alto, allora scrollati di dosso la polvere dalle ali ed il sonno dagli occhi».
Michael affermò: «Il disco ha un tema lirico preciso, che è quello dell’amore trovato, perso e tradito, il viaggio dell’uomo dall’occhio nero, un uomo perseguitato, senza volto, senza nome». Ricorda un personaggio della O’Connor, da “Parker’s Back”, “La schiena di Parker”. Un uomo del 1930/1940, un oppresso, un perdente, uno sconfitto cinicamente dalla vita, che si fece enigmaticamente tatuare la figura di un Cristo bizantino sulla schiena. Similmente, il “Black Eyed Man” appare quasi una figura messianica, tra le polverose strade dell’Alabama (Oregon Hill).
«Lo scrittore di narrativa deve rendersi conto che non è possibile suscitare la compassione con la compassione, l'emozione con l'emozione, o i pensieri con i pensieri. A tutte queste cose bisogna dare corpo, creare un mondo dotato di peso e di spessore». Così il musicista, così i fratelli Timmins. Un viaggio nelle regioni oscure del cuore dove si attende redenzione, ma non mancano mai i segni della grazia. Redenzione, allora, come non dover essere “la nostra storia” soltanto.
Elenco tracce testi e video
01 To Live Is to Fly (04:52)
(Townes Van Zandt)
Columbine Music ASCAP
Won't say I love you babe
Won't say I need you babe
But I'm going to get you babe
and I will not do you wrong
Living's mostly wasting time
and I waste my share of mine
but it never feels too good
so let's not take too long
You're as soft as glass and I'm a gentle man
we got the sky to talk about
and the world to lie upon
Days up and down they come
like rain on a conga drum
forget most, remember some
but don't turn none away
Everything is not enough
nothing is too much to bear
where you been is good and gone
all you keep's the getting there
To live is to fly low and high
so shake the dust off of your wings
and the sleep out of your eyes
It's goodbye to all my friends
It's time to go again
Think of all the poetry
and the pickin' down the line
I'll miss the system here
the bottom's low and the treble's clear
but it don't pay to think too much
on the things you leave behind
I may be gone but I won't be long
I'll be bringing back the melody
and the rhythm that I find
We all got holes to fill
and them holes are all that's real
some fall on you like a storm
sometimes you dig your own
But choice is yours to make
time is yours to take
some dive into the sea
some toil upon the stone
To live is to fly low and high
so shake the dust off of your wings
the sleep out of your eyes
02 Cowboy Junkies Lament (03:08)
(Townes Van Zandt)
Townes Van Zandt Music ASCAP
Baby hit the back door
breathin' real heavy
said the boys in the alley
wouldn't leave her alone
Mama did her make-up in a terrible hurry
she finally got ready
but the boys were gone
Mama don't you worry,
night's approachin'
there's a hole in heaven
where some sin slips through
just close your eyes and dream real steady
maybe just a little will spill on you
Dark don't lie
Dreams come true
Could be a few will see you through
Old lady Rose, lookin' down her nose
at lonely Miss Lily hiding in the hall
Lily's just praying for the trial to be over
lady Rose just waiting for the axe to fall
Show me off on the way to town
the sky's still shiny
and the earth's still brown
Tell the judge I'm ready for the vases
gonna dance in their faces
when the guitar sounds
Won't be long
I won't be gone
Been leaning toward the shadows all along
Those in the know say so it goes
you plan on reapin', you better sow
You plan on sleepin',
you better keep movin'
sleepin' ain't allowed around here,
you know
Snake eyes cry
Boxcars sigh
Seven's stuck in the middle
just wonderin' why
Dark don't lie
Dreams come true
All it takes is one or two
Maybe just a few will see you through
03 Murder, Tonight, in the Trailer Park (04:33)
Murder tonight in the trailer park
Mrs. annabelle evans found
With her throat cut after dark
Her pockets turned inside out
Her dresser drawers turned upside down
Anna's neighbour, peg, identifies the body
Lets out a hollow kind of sound
Homicide is tying yellow ribbons
Around her silver airstream
Red cherries slashing up the night
Cutting through that cordoned crime scene
There's been a murder
In the trailer park tonight
Murder tonight in the trailer park
Pack your things ann marie,
We're heading west
We're going to make a fresh start
I've been saving pennies,
Been looking forward to this day
No time for questions are you coming
Or are you going to stay?
Crosstown at the waterton
George evans is sitting tall and tight,
Buying drinks for all the regulars
Bragging about how them bones
Danced for him tonight
There's been a murder
In the trailer park tonight
Murder tonight in the trailer park
Faceless man counting crumpled bills,
Hotel neon fights the dark
Tv set in the corner, they're talking murder
On the late-night news
He turns down the sound,
Waits for the sports,
He only wants to know,
'did I win or did I lose'
There's been a murder
In the trailer park tonight
Murder tonight in the trailer park
06 A Horse in the Country (03:52)
(Michael Timmins)
The money would be pretty good
if a quart of milk were still a dollar
or even if a quart of milk were still a quart
And the hours, well, I don't mind
how they creep on by like an old love of mine
it's the years that simply disappear that are doing me in
Guess I married too young,
yeah, nineteen was just too young,
but sometimes you meet someone
and your guts just burn
It's not that I don't love him anymore
it's just that when I hear him
coming through that front door
my heart doesn't race like it did once before
But I've got a horse out in the country
I get to see him every second Sunday
He comes when I call him,
yeah, he knows his name
One day I'll saddle up
and the two of us will ride away
This weather I could almost stand
if the sun would shine a little brighter
or even if the sun would shine at all
But lately it just seems to me
that this life has lost its mystery
and these cold fall mornings seem to bite
just a little bit harder
And all my friends have settled down
become their mothers and their fathers
without a sound
Except for Cathy,
she bought a one-way subway ticket
and left us all behind
But I've got a horse out in the country
I get to see him every second Sunday
He comes when I call him,
yeah, he knows his name
One day I'll saddle up
and the two of us will ride away
This town wouldn't be so bad
if a girl could trust her instincts
or even if a girl could trust a boy
07 Black Eyed Man (03:15)
(Michael Timmins)
Black eyed man he took the blame
for the poisoning of the well
They found this shoes by the pulley
They found his fingerprints all over the pail
Black eyed man I'm warning you
the people around here
will not be fooled by a simple line or two
Yes your honour I do solemnly swear
that I saw him late last night,
dancing barefoot, bathed in light
and reaching for every star in sight
Yes I did go to him,
but completely against my will
and yes he did things to me
things of which I dream of still
Black eyed man I'm warning you
what I say is what you'll do
to hell with love and truth
I always meant to say I'm sorry
for all the things I said and did
'Sorry,' I feel better now, do you?
But you promised me the sky
and fell short a star or two
What else did you expect me to do?
Black eyed man he took the blame
for the poisoning of the well
They found his shoes by the pulley
They found his fingerprints all over the pail
With a noose around his neck,
cicadas trilling everywhere,
he says to the people gathered round him,
'it ain't the water that's not right around here'
Black eyed man I'm thirsty dear
be a love and bring some water here
drawn fresh from the well
10 Southern Rain (04:50)
(Michael Timmins)
The flies have quit their buzzing
Even Bear has stopped his barking
They all sense something brewing
up the James and headed this way
Bobby sips his morning coffee
Says `Have you finished with the funnies?
Looks like a storm's coming honey
guess we'll have to stay in bed today'
I've heard that into every life
a little rain must fall
If there's any truth to the saying,
Lord, let it be a southern rain
Marie was born in Macon, Georgia
She met a west coast lawyer
He plucked that sweet magnolia
and carried her to the hills of West L.A.
She says "I never thought I'd tire of a dollar
But this life has grown so hollow
Every night there's lipstick on his collar
and every morning I wash it away"
She heard that into every life
a little rain must fall
So she spends her evenings praying
for a little of that southern rain
Cars alive on city streets
of sparkling black water
like waves beneath my windows
never break just roll away
Tonight, this rain will be my lullaby
these cars, my dreams
to carry me home to stay
The wipers beat a rhythm
Truck spray obscures my vision
But I'm closing in on my destination
Two more hours and I'll be at your door
And it will never cease to amaze me
how a little rain can drive folks crazy
When I'd trade all my blue skies gladly
for your blue eyes, crooked smile
and a steady downpour
I've heard that into every life
a little rain must fall,
but you'll never catch me complaining
about too much of that southern rain
11 Oregon Hill (04:53)
(Michael Timmins)
The hoods are up on Pine Street,
rear ends lifted too
The great-grandsons of General Robert E. Lee
are making love with a little help from STP
Their women on the porches comparing alibis
Greasy eggs and bacon,
bumper stickers aimed to start a fight,
full gun racks, Confederate caps,
if you want some 'shine
well, you can always find some more,
but what I remember most is the colour of Suzy's door
And Suzy says she's up there
cutting carrots still
And Suzy says she's missing me
so I'm missing Oregon Hill
A river to the south
to wash away all sins
A college to the east of us
to learn where sin begins
A graveyard to the west of it all
which I may soon be lying in
'Cause to the north there is a prison
which I've come to call my home,
but some Monday morning no country song
will sing me home again
And Suzy says she's up there
cutting carrots still
And Suzy says she's missing me
so I'm missing Oregon Hill
Sunday morning, eight A.M.,
sirens fill the air
Sounds like someone made the river
Sounds like someone being born again
Me, I'm just lying here in Suzy's bed
Baptists celebrating with praises to the Lord,
rednecks doing it with gin
Me and Suzy, we're celebrating
the joy of sleeping in
because tomorrow I'll be home again
But Suzy says she'll wait there
cutting carrots by the window sill
And Suzy says, 'Always think of me
when you think of Oregon Hill'
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