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Affondare nella città fantasma
ovvero l'eterno canto di famiglie di scheletri
Signori e signore, vi presento La Morte.
La Morte mi è venuta incontro un giorno d'estate mentre spulciavo tra le bancarelle del mercatino di un paesino sperduto nella bergamasca, quando ancora credevo che il glam fosse solo un alieno dandy che giocava coi brillantini. Non sono stato io a cercare La Morte, è lei che ha trovato me, come l'Anello di Tolkien. In questo caso La Morte è sbucata fuori dalla copertina di un disco, aveva i capelli rosso scuro, il rossetto e gli occhi cerchiati di nero. La Morte era magra, nuda e mi chiamava nella sua città fantasma, Hunger City, sussurandomi una "Future Legend".
"E nella morte, mentre gli ultimi pochi cadaveri giacciono a marcire nella via melmosa"
, anche io con loro inizio ad affondare in questa via melmosa, squisitamente malata, perversa e decadente. La Morte inizialmente ha il falso aspetto sorridente e terrificante dei "Diamond Dogs", poi mostra il suo vero volto, e dietro il sorriso si nasconde la triade "Sweet Thing-Candidate-Sweet Thing Reprise", una disperazione profonda come il fango e le macerie di questa città fantasma, una solitudine delirante circondata da mille volti di burattini e di cadaverici fenomeni da circo. Tutto ciò che abbiamo voluto è un dolce gusto con gli artigli che ci prende e ci porta fino in fondo a questo viaggio allucinante nel corpo metà uomo e metà cane della Morte.
Ma è tempo di nascondere le cicatrici con il cerone, travestirci da "Rebel Rebel", indossare una chitarra rubata ai Rolling Stones e salire ancora una volta sul palco per fingere di essere nel pieno del "successo giovanile" ballando fino allo stremo un ultimo "Rock And Roll With Me" di lacrime.
Dopo l'ultimo ballo la metamorfosi è completa, adesso "We Are The Dead", noi siamo i morti e ci nascondiamo dietro i resti di questa Apocalisse, dietro le rovine di un amore dilaniato dai Cani Diamante, polizia segreta, fantasmi assassini della speranza, l'ultima che ci è rimasta è quella di soffocare in pace in questo inferno di giornali, sanguisughe, parenti, ballerine, finanzieri e Bambini Bancarotta. "Per tutto ciò che abbiamo visto, per tutto ciò che abbiamo detto noi siamo i Morti"
.
Siamo i Morti, siamo La Morte, siamo affondati, annullati, integrati, non-esistiamo in essa, e in essa siamo già nel "1984", e non ci importa nulla se un "Big Brother" ci ha aperto il cranio con i colpi di queste ultime danze martellanti di famiglie di scheletri, perché facciamo parte di esse all'infinito, finché esisterà la Morte, finché ci continuerà ad annichilire e soffocare con le lenzuola sporche della cocaina di queste canzoni...
...Avrei potuto scrivere che nel 1974 il cantante inglese David Bowie, dopo aver gettato via con un clamoroso suicidio il giocattolo Ziggy Stardust, scrisse un album a metà strada tra il glam e il soul, un concept album ispirato al libro di George Orwell "1984" e condito di suoni futuristici, suggestioni apocalittiche, sassofoni, chitarre lancinanti e voci dall'oltretomba... avrei potuto parlare del rapporto tra l'artista, la tecnica di scrittura cut-up di Burroughs e la cocaina... avrei potuto narrare di come Bowie inventò il dark... avrei potuto raccontarvi di un ex-mimo che ossessionato dai suoi stessi personaggi fugge a Los Angeles in cerca di nuove ispirazioni soul e funky... avrei potuto fare tutto questo, ma ad un mercatino di montagna ho incontrato una creatura metà uomo e metà cane, dai lunghi capelli rossi e dagli occhi tinti di nero, che mi ha portato con sé nella città dei manichini scheletrici e dei fantasmi truccati.
da "Sweet Thing Reprise"
"Is it nice in your snow storm, freezing your brain?
Do you think that your face looks the same?
Then let it be, it’s all I ever wanted
It’s a street with a deal, and a taste
It’s got claws, it’s got me, it’s got you"
Testi e traduzioni "rubati" a www.velvetgoldmine.it (sito ufficiale italiano di David Bowie)
Elenco tracce testi samples e video
01 Future Legend (01:08)
And in the death
As the last few corpses lay rotting on the slimy thoroughfare
The shutters lifted in inches in Temperance Building
High on Poacher's Hill
And red mutant eyes gaze down on Hunger City
No more big wheels
Fleas the size of rats sucked on rats the size of cats
And ten thousand peoploids split into small tribes
Coveting the highest of the sterile skyscrapers
Like packs of dogs assaulting the glass fronts of Love-Me Avenue
Ripping and rewrapping mink and shiny silver fox, now legwarmers
Family badge of sapphire and cracked emerald
Any day now
The Year of the Diamond Dogs
02 Diamond Dogs (05:58)
As they pulled you out
Of the oxygen tent
You asked for the latest party
With your silicon hump
And your ten inch stump
Dressed like a priest you was,
Todd Browning streak he was
Crawling down the alley on
Your hands and your knees,
I'm sure you're not protected
For it's plain to see
Diamond Dogs are poachers
And they hide behind trees
Hunt you to the ground they will,
Mannequins with kill appeal
Will they come?
I keep a friend serene
Will they come?
Oh, baby, come unto me
Will they come?
Well, she's come, been, and gone
Come out of the garden, baby
You'll catch a death in the fog
Young girls, they call them
The Diamond Dogs
In the year of the scavenger
Season of the bitch
Sashay on the board-walk
Scurry to the ditch
Just another future song
Lonely little Keats
There's gonna be sorrow
Try and wake up for tomorrow
The Halloween Jack
Is a real cool cat,
And he lives on top
Of Manhattan Chase
The elevators broke
So he slides down a rope
Onto the street below
Oh Tarzie, go man, go
Will they come?
I keep a friend serene
Will they come?
Oh, baby, come unto me
Will they come?
Well, she's come, been, and gone
Come out of the garden, baby
You'll catch a death in the fog
Young girls, they call them
The Diamond Dogs
Young girls, they call them
The Diamond Dogs
Who-who-who
Who-who-who
Who-who-who
Who-who-who will fuck you now?
04 Candidate (02:40)
I'll make you a deal like any other candidate.
We'll pretend were walking home cause your future's at stake
My set is amazing, it even smells like the street
There is a bar at the end where I could meet you and your friend.
Someone scrawled on the wall "I smell the blood of les tricoteuses"
Who wrote up scandals in other bars
I am having so much fun with the poisonous people
Spreading rumors and lies and stories they made up
Some make you sing and some make you scream
One makes you wish that you never been seen
But there's a shop on the corner selling papier mache
Making bullet-proof faces Charles Manson, Cassius Clay
If you want it, boys get it here thing.
So you scream out of line
"I want you! I need you! Anyone out there? Anytime?
Tres butch little number whines "Hey girlie, I want you
When it's good it's really good and when it's bad I go to pieces"
If you want it, boys, get it here, thing
Well, on the street where you live I could not hold up my head
For I put all I have in another bed
On another floor, in the back of a car
In the cellar of a church with the door ajar.
Well, I guess we must be looking for a different kind
But we can't stop trying til we break up our minds
'Til the sun drips blood on the seedy young knights
Who press on the ground while shaking in fright
I guess we could cruise down one more time
With you by my side, it should be fine
We'll buy some drugs and watch a band
Then jump into a river holding hands
06 Rebel Rebel (04:34)
Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo (x3)
You've got your mother in a whirl
She's not sure if you're a boy or a girl
Hey babe, your hair's alright
Hey babe, let's go out tonight
You like me, and I like it all
We like dancing and we look divine
You love bands when they're playing hard
You want more and you want it fast
They put you down, they say I'm wrong
You tacky thing, you put them on
Rebel Rebel, you've torn your dress
Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess
Rebel Rebel, how could they know?
Hot tramp, I love you so!
Don't ya?
Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo
You've got your mother in a whirl 'cause she's
Not sure if you're a boy or a girl
Hey babe, your hair's alright
Hey babe, let's stay out tonight
You like me, and I like it all
We like dancing and we look divine
You love bands when they're playing hard
You want more and you want it fast
They put you down, they say I'm wrong
You tacky thing, you put them on
Rebel Rebel, you've torn your dress
Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess
Rebel Rebel, how could they know?
Hot tramp, I love you so!
Don't ya?
Oh?
Doo doo doo-doo doo doo doo doo (x2)
Rebel Rebel, you've torn your dress
Rebel Rebel, your face is a mess
Rebel Rebel, how could they know?
Hot tramp, I love you so!
You've torn your dress, your face is a mess
You can't get enough, but enough ain't the test
You've got your transmission and your live wire
You got your cue line and a handful of ludes
You wanna be there when they count up the dues
And I love your dress
You're a juvenile success
Because your face is a mess
So how could they know?
I said, how could they know?
So what you wanna know
Calamity's child, chi-chile, chi-chile
Where'd you wanna go?
What can I do for you? Looks like you've been there too
'Cause you've torn your dress
And your face is a mess
Ooo, your face is a mess
Ooo, ooo, so how could they know?
Eh, eh, how could they know?
Eh, eh
09 1984 (03:27)
Someday they won't let you, so now you must agree
The times they are a-telling, and the changing isn't free
You've read it in the tea leaves, and the tracks are on TV
Beware the savage lure
Of 1984
They'll split your pretty cranium, and fill it full of air
And tell that you're eighty, but brother, you won't care
You'll be shooting up on anything, tomorrow's never there
Beware the savage lure
Of 1984
Come see, come see, remember me?
We played out an all night movie role
You said it would last, but I guess we enrolled
In 1984 (who could ask for more)
1984 (who could ask for mor-or-or-or-ore)
(Mor-or-or-or-ore)
I'm looking for a vehicle, I'm looking for a ride
I'm looking for a party, I'm looking for a side
I'm looking for the treason that I knew in '65
Beware the savage lure
Of 1984
Come see, come see, remember me?
We played out an all night movie role
You said it would last, but I guess we enrolled
In 1984 (who could ask for more)
1984 (who could ask for mor-or-or-or-ore)
(Mor-or-or-or-ore)
1984
1984
1984 (more)
1984
1984 (more)
1984
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