Introduzione:
Ipotizziamo che nel 1974 il cantante dei Genesis Peter Gabriel non fosse stato esattamente quello che era, ovvero un artista imbottito di talento (come d’altronde molti suoi compagni) però con idee, voglie, ambizioni e dubbi assai più complessi e problematici degli altri. Insomma, che sul futuro suo e del gruppo la stesse ancora pensando più o meno alla stessa semplice maniera dei soci suoi e cioè: forza con la Musica, quella con la M maiuscola, tutto il resto a seguire.
In tal caso non gli sarebbe mai venuto in mente di mollarli temporaneamente per un’ipotesi di carriera in ambito cinematografico presto abortita né, una volta tornato all’ovile, di chiedere/imporre d’essere l’unico paroliere del disco prossimo futuro, impostando ed adeguando lo stesso intorno ad un’unica, elucubrata vicenda sci-fi ambientata a New York, farcendolo di parole di testo a scapito delle porzioni strumentali (vitali per quell’ensemble dotato di un paio di eccellenti solisti, coadiuvati da una sezione ritmica sveglia e agile).
Quest’artificio del sottrarre l’inquietudine dell’artista Gabriel, il suo coraggio, le sue priorità del tempo, la sua presunzione al panorama dell’evoluzione/involuzione del suo gruppo sposta questo discorso chiaramente nel campo della fiction, della fantasia gratuita, del cazzeggio, dell’”autoerotismo progressivo“ si potrebbe dire, ma cos’altro raccontare a proposito di questo famoso album, epocale per non pochi, che non sia già stato detto e sottolineato? Essendo i fatti reali e la relativa, effettiva architettura dell’album già descritti minutamente in tantissime recensioni, biografie e interviste, proviamo dunque a giocare alterando il contesto di quel 1974 genesisiano, deformando la… genesi dell’opera per traguardarla da un inedito punto di vista.
Contesto:
Dunque: nella (ir)realtà che qui ci si diverte a tratteggiare si vuol tornare a quella fase di esistenza del gruppo, togliendole parecchia della sua crucialità, forzando l’inquadramento dei Genesis periodo 1974 quale quintetto progressivo più che mai coeso e carico, ogni musicista ben allineato e coperto verso l’obiettivo di continuare a migliorare la produzione musicale, e di riflesso la propria carriera, insistendo ed affinando ulteriormente ciò che si era a quel punto raggiunto, o almeno intuito. Non vi sono, in questa fiction, ragioni e risentimenti ad ostacolare il felice proseguimento della strada tracciata dai lavori precedenti, sempre più elaborati ed affascinanti, sempre più colmi di appaganti idee, struggenti melodie, trascinanti ritmi, sorprendenti dinamiche.
Come un sol uomo i cinque ci danno perciò dentro con composizioni, suoni, arrangiamenti e testi dopodiché, diligentemente accantonate le cose meno riuscite per privilegiare qualità ed efficacia, se ne escono con circa quarantacinque minuti imbottiti di fresche ed eccelse musiche, suddivise in dieci variegate e fascinose composizioni, articolate come segue a disegnare l’ipotetica scaletta del sesto album di carriera (e singolo!):
Lato A:
- “The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway” – 4’52”
- “Fly on a Windshield” – 2’47”
- “Broadway Melody of 1974” – 2’11”
- “In the Cage” – 8’15”
- “Back in N.Y.C.” – 5’49”
Lato B:
- “Carpet Crawlers” – 5’16”
- “Lilywhite Lilith” – 2’40”
- “Anyway” – 3’18”
- “The Lamia” – 6’57”
- “The Light Dies Down on Broadway” – 3’32”
Punti di forza e lacune:
I dieci brani elencati sono il meglio dell’album, purgati di tutti i riempitivi, delle intuizioni minori, quelle non ben sviluppate non credo per fretta ma piuttosto per frustrazione di qualcuno degli strumentisti; e poi degli accenni di musica concreta, degli schizzetti iper beatlesiani… di tutto ciò che è magari buono ma non memorabile.
Giudizio personale ovviamente… ciascuno vi potrà trovare omissioni, dimenticanze o sovrastime. L’opera effettiva è suddivisa in ventitré titoli per oltre novantaquattro minuti: in quest’ambito per certuni i siparietti vaudeville “Chukoo Cocoon” e “Counting Out Time” risulteranno irresistibili, mentre altri potrebbero avvertire come superflua a questo contesto la ripresa di “The Light Dies Down on Broadway” e magari optare su qualcosa estratto da “The Colony of Slippermen” (“The Raven”?) in sua vece. Eccetera eccetera: ma per i miei gusti il succo più dolce e sapido dell’Agnello è contenuto in queste dieci pagine.
Certo in questo modo il lavoro perde il filo conduttore e il fascino del Concept, la grandiosità dell’Opera Somma, però si ricompatta per il bene della Musica attraverso la messa in luce definitiva delle sue tante perle motiviche, dei suoi momenti autenticamente ispirati che in questa forma ricompattata si susseguono a stretta cadenza, qualificando il disco come il migliore in assoluto di carriera (del resto vi è parecchia gente che pensa comunque che lo sia, prolissità e riempitivi compresi).
Vertici dell’album:
Strutturato e compresso così, il disco è quasi tutto al vertice… ogni singolo episodio contenendo rimarchevoli e aggancianti pagine di peculiare talento genesisiano a cominciare dall’assolvente, brillante cadenza pianistica a mani sovrapposte e alternate, intente a staccare serratissimi bicordi, che inaugura l’incipit “The Lamb…”. Legioni di pianisti in erba si sono esercitati nel replicarla scoprendo che, come succede di norma per le invenzioni musicali di Tony Banks, le difficoltà tecniche sono presenti ma non illimitate, niente di insormontabile anche a livello dilettantesco ed addirittura elementari nel caso di una preparazione accademica, o comunque consistente.
Il genio di questo scorbutico, ma impagabile tastierista rock è diverso da quello degli Emerson e dei Wakeman: ciò che lo eleva ai massimi meriti è il talento compositivo e la capacità di creare forti suggestioni romantiche, in special modo attraverso pagine pianistiche ispirate come questa (e replicate più in là con eguale se non maggiore fascino su “Anyway”, “The Lamia”, “Carpet Crawlers”, a loro volta intuizioni di struggente efficacia sullo strumento a coda).
Riguardo il Banks organista e sintetista, come noto “In the Cage” è al proposito un vero suo festival, farcito com’è di straripanti assoli di antidiluviano, impagabile sintetizzatore monofonico ARP Pro Soloist in alternanza col serrato galoppo di vecchio e inarrivabile organo Hammond, nelle porzioni di accompagnamento alle lancinanti invocazioni di uno scatenato Gabriel.
Il quale canta benissimo, niente da dire: grande interprete, bellissimo timbro, grandissima varietà e lodevole convinzione. Cantava bene già a vent’anni sul primo album dei nostri, qui è eccezionale.
Il resto:
Nell’autentico “The Lamb…” l’assoluta qualità di parecchi suoi passaggi si ritrova parzialmente compromessa, primariamente dall’eccessivo fardello arrecato dalla verbosa, astrusa avventura di Rael, ma poi anche dal vistoso passo indietro qualitativo (rispetto al precedente “Selling England by the Pound”) in termini di tracking, suono e produzione, nonché infine dalla discreta latitanza di un chitarrista non del tutto a fuoco sul progetto.
I dischi dei Genesis non sono certo passati alla storia per le loro qualità di suono, sia “Nursery Crime” che “Foxtrot”, pur con tutti i loro meriti, avevano denunciato limitata pulizia e intelligibilità fra i vari strumenti. La chitarra di Hackett in special modo risultava sacrificata e asfittica a causa del suo suono inscatolato e poco risonante. Su “Selling…” magicamente tutto era andato a posto e Steve veniva fuori da padreterno, col suo corredo di distorsori, pedali del volume, flanger, echi e riverberi a rendere i guizzi solistici del suo strumento nella maniera più sublime.
Qui è diverso: le sue idee, pur generalmente utilizzate a complemento a quelle degli altri, perdono quasi del tutto l’effetto di ciliegina sulla torta che avevano nell’occasione precedente: il suono non è più così limpido e rotondo, ma soprattutto vi sono delle carenze di ripresa… quello di In the Cage sarà pure il migliore assolo dell’album ma a un certo punto si intacca pure, e pe run grossolano errore di produzione viene lasciato così com’è, poco professionalmente. Il peraltro famoso assolo finale su “The Lamia”, d’altro canto, non mi ha mai scaldato più di tanto: la chitarra è missata male (troppo alta), la sua cadenza è troppo meccanica, senza swing, e le melodie che crea sono si suggestive ma più per la base armonica su cui è appoggiata che per la loro genialità.
Giudizio finale:
Ho le mie idee sui Genesis: il vero, doppio “The Lamb…” lo inquadro come leggermente ma sicuramente inferiore agli altri classici del periodo con Gabriel, ad esclusione di “Trespass”. E lo trovo inferiore anche ad “A Trick of the Tail”, per me uno dei migliori in assoluto, grande consistenza e varietà motivica.
In questa ipotetica versione “Best of” a singolo supporto l’Agnello schizzerebbe come già accennato al primo posto del mio gradimento, e al diavolo la storia di Rael, tanto non è molto godibile e se la si pota un poco qui e là l’intrattenimento ne guadagna con pochi danni per le liriche.
Ho anche le mie idee su Gabriel: enorme frontman e cantante, perfetto (o quasi… un po’ troppo verboso e invadente) coi Genesis, ma la sua carriera solista non mi interessa. Lo trovo un poco deprimente dal 1977 (inizio della sua discografia da solista) in poi, ma soprattutto con doti da melodista insufficienti a farmelo amare. E’ proprio un batterista mancato... gran parte del suo repertorio solista è costituito da groove che si allungano ciclicamente per parecchi minuti, senza che succeda molto, che vi sia uno spostamento deciso di chiave musicale, un inciso geniale, un ritornello arrapante. Grand’uomo, come no, ma mi faccio guidare dal gusto com’è giusto e lo ignoro cordialmente (confortato anche da mio figlio, che una sera che era venuto a trovarmi e dopo la cena avevo messo su un dvd di Gabriel in concerto, all’aperto in una piazza francese, dopo un po’ ha esclamato lapidariamente: “Pa’, che palle!”).
Nulla di personale comunque: non mi interessano più di tanto neanche le carriere autoctone di Banks (unico mio struggente amore nei suoi confronti è per “A Curious Feeling”, fascinosissimo), di Hackett (boh, amo visceralmente solo “Spectral Mornings”, la canzone), Rutheford e Collins (per carità quest’ultimo… addirittura rovinoso per quanto negli anni ottanta ha pilotato il gusto internazionale verso il cattivo gusto).
Scusate queste ultime digressioni… erano sempre allo scopo di dire qualcosa di non scontato su questi cinque signori e questa loro famosa opera. Grazie dell’attenzione.
Elenco tracce testi e video
01 The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway (04:45)
The lamb lies down on Broadway
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
Early morning Manhattan,
Ocean winds blow on the land.
The Movie-Palace is now undone,
The all-night watchmen have had their fun.
Sleeping cheaply on the midnight show,
It's the same old ending-time to go.
Get out!
It seems they cannot leave their dream.
There's something moving in the sidewalk steam,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
Nightime's flyers feel their pains.
Drugstore takes down the chains.
Metal motion comes in bursts,
But the gas station can quench that thirst.
Suspension cracked on unmade road
The trucker's eyes read 'Overload'
And out on the subway,
Rael Imperial Aerosol Kid
Exits into daylight, spraygun hid,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
The lamb seems right out of place,
Yet the Broadway street scene finds a focus in its face.
Somehow it's lying there,
Brings a stillness to the air.
Though man-made light, at night is very bright,
There's no whitewash victim,
As the neons dim, to the coat of white.
Rael Imperial Aerosol Kid,
Wipes his gun-he's forgotten what he did,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
Suzanne tired her work all done,
Thinks money-honey-be on-neon.
Cabman's velvet glove sounds the horn
And the sawdust king spits out his scorn.
Wonder women draw your blind!
Don't look at me! I'm not your kind.
I'm Rael!
Something inside me has just begun,
Lord knows what I have done,
And the lamb lies down on Broadway.
On Broadway-
They say the lights are always bright on Broadway.
They say there's always magic in the air.
02 Fly on a Windshield (02:45)
There's something solid forming in the air,
and the wall of death is lowered in Times Square.
No one seems to care,
they carry on as if nothing's there.
The wind is blowing harder now,
blowing dust into my eyes.
The dust settles on my skin,
making a crust I cannot move in.
And I'm hovering like a fly,
waiting for the windshield on the freeway.
04 Cuckoo Cocoon (02:11)
Rael regains consciousness in some musky half-light. He is warmly wrapped in some sort of cocoon. The only sound he can hear is dripping water which appears to be the source of a pale flickering light. He guesses he must be in some sort of cave - or kooky tomb, or catacomb, or eggshell waiting to drop from the bone of the womb.
Wrapped up in some powdered wool - I guess I'm losing touch.
Don't tell me this is dying, 'cos I ain't changed that much.
The only sound is water drops, I wonder where the hell I am,
Some kind of jam?
Cuckoo Cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
There's nothing I can recognise; this is nowhere that I've known.
With no sign of life at all, I guess that I'm alone,
And I feel so secure that I know this can't be real
but I feel good.
Cuckoo cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
I wonder if I'm a prisoner locked in some Brooklyn jail
- or some sort of Jonah shut up inside the whale.
No - I'm still Rael and I'm stuck in some kind of cave.
what could've saved me?
Cuckoo cocoon have I come to, too soon for you?
Resigning himself to the unknown he drifts off into sleep.
05 In the Cage (08:14)
I got sunshine in my stomach
Like I just rocked my baby to sleep.
I got sunshine in my stomach
But I can't keep me from creeping sleep,
Sleep, deep in the deep.
Rockface moves to press my skin
White liquids turn sour within
Turn fast - turn sour
Turn sweat - turn sour.
Must tell myself that I'm not here.
I'm drowning in a liquid fear.
Bottled in a strong compression,
My distortion shows obsession
In the cave.
Get me out of this cave !
If I keep self-control,
I'll be safe in my soul.
And the childhood belief
Brings a moment's relief,
But my cynic soon returns
And the lifeboat burns.
My spirit just never learns.
Stalactites, stalagmites
Shut me in, lock me tight.
Lips are dry, throat is dry.
Feel like burning, stomach churning,
I'm dressed up in a white costume
Padding out left-over room.
Body stretching, feel the wretching
In the cage
Get me out of the cage!
In the glare of a light
I see a strange kind of sight;
O cages joined to from a star
Each person can't go very far;
All tied to their things
They are netted by their strings,
Free to flutter in memories of their wasted wings.
Outside the cage I see my brother John,
He turn his head so slowly round.
I cry out "Help!" before he can be gone,
And he looks at me without a sound.
And I shout out "John please help me !"
But he does not even want to try to speak.
I'm helpless in my violent rage
And a silent tear of blood dribbles down his cheek.
My little runaway.
In a trap, feel a starp
Holding still, Pinned for kill.
Chances narrow that I'll make it,
In the cushioned straitjacket.
Just like 22nd St,
And they got me by my neck and feet.
Pressure's building, can't take more.
My headache's charged. Earaches roar.
In this pain
Get me out of this pain.
If I could change to liquid,
I could fill the cracks up in the rock,
But I know that I am solid
And I am my own bad luck.
Outside John disappears and my cage dissolves,
And without any reason my body revolvess.
Keep on turning
Keep on turning
Keep on turning
Keep on turning
Keep on turning
Turning around
Just spinning around.
Down, down, down..........
06 The Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging (02:45)
When all this revolution is over, he sits down on a highly polished floor while his dizziness fades away. It is an empty modern hallway and the dreamdoll saleslady sits at the reception desk. Without prompting she goes into her rap: "This is the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging, those you are about to see are all in for servicing, except for a small quantity of our new product, in the second gallery. It is all the stock required to cover the existing arrangements of the enterprise. Different batches are distributed to area operators, and there are plenty of opportunities for the large investor. They stretch from the costly care-conditioned to the most reasonable mal-nutritioned. We find here that everyone's looks become them. Except for the low market mal-nutritioned, each is provided with a guarantee for a successful birth and trouble free infancy. There is however only a small amount of variable choice potential - not too far from the mean differential. You see, the roof has predetermined the limits of ac
tion of any group of packages, but individuals may move off the path if their diversions are counter-balanced by others."
"It's the last great adventure left to mankind"
- Screams a drooping lady
offering her dreamdolls at less than extortionate prices,
and as the notes and coins are taken out
I'm taken in, to the factory floor.
for the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.
Got people stocked in every shade,
Must be doing well with trade.
Stamped, addressed, in odd fatality.
That evens out their personality.
With profit potential marked by a sign,
I can recognise some of the production line,
No bite at all in labour bondage,
Just wrinkled wrappers or human bandage.
Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.
As he wanders along the line of packages, Rael notices a familiarity in some of their faces. He finally comes upon some of the members of his old gang and worries about his own safety. Running out through the factory floor, he catches sight of his brother John with a number 9 stamped on his forehead.
The hall runs like clockwork
Their hands mark out the time;
Empty in their fullness
Like a frozen pantomime.
Everyone's a sales representative
Wearing slogans in their shrine.
Dishing out failsafe superlative,
Brother John is No. 9.
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.
The decor on the ceiling
has planned out their future day
I see no sign of free will,
so I guess I have to pay,
pay my way,
for the Grand Parade...
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- All ready to use
it's the Grand Parade of Lifeless Packaging
- I just need a fuse.
07 Back in N.Y.C. (05:34)
No-one seems to take up the chase, and with the familiar faces fresh in his mind he moves into a reconstruction of his old life, above ground - Too much time was one thing he didn't need, so he used to cut through it with a little speed. He was better off dead, than slow in the head. His momma and poppa had taken a ride on his back, so he left very quickly to join The Pack.
I see faces and traces of home back in New York City -
So you think I'm a tough kid? Is that what you heard?
Well I like to see some action and it gets into my blood.
The call me the trail blazer - Rael - electric razor
I'm the pitcher in the chain gang, we don't believe in pain
'cos we're only as strong, yes we're only as strong,
as the weakest link in the chain.
Only after a spell in Pontiac reformatory was he given any respect in the gang.
Let me out of Pontiac when I was just seventeen,
I had to get it out of me, if you know what I mean, what I mean.
You say I must be crazy, 'cos I don't care who I hit, who I hit.
But I know it's me that's hitting out and I'm, I'm not full of shit.
I don't care who I hurt, I don't care who I do wrong.
This is your mess I'm stuck in, I really don't belong.
When I take out my bottle, filled up high with gasoline,
You can tell by the night fires where Rael has been, has been.
Now, walking back home after a raid, he was cuddling a sleeping porcupine.
That night he pictured the removal of his hairy heart and to the accompaniment of very romantic music he watched it being shaved smooth by an anonymous stainless steel razor.
As I cuddled the porcupine
He said I had none to blame, but me.
Held my heart, deep in hair,
Time to shave, shave it off, it off.
No time for romantic escape,
When your fluffy heart is ready for rape. No!
Off we go...
Your sitting in your comfort you don't believe I'm real,
You cannot buy protection from the way that I feel.
Your progressive hypocrites hand out their trash,
But it was mine in the first place, so I'll burn it to ash.
And I've tasted all the strongest meats,
And laid them down in coloured sheets (laid them down in coloured
sheets).
Who needs illusion of love and affection
When you're out walking the streets with your mainline connection?
connection.
As I cuddled the porcupine
He said I had none to blame, but me.
Held my heart, deep in hair.
Time to shave, shave it off, it off.
No time for romantic escape,
When your fluffy heart is ready for rape. No!
09 Counting Out Time (03:41)
The palpitating cherry-red organ was returned to its rightful place and began to beat faster as it led our hero, counting out time, through his first romantic encounter.
I'm counting out time,
Got the whole thing down by numbers.
All those numbers!
Give me guidance!
O Lord I need that now.
The day of judgement's come,
And you can bet that I've been resting,
for this testing,
Digesting every word the experts say.
Erogenous zones I love you.
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Found a girl I wanted to date,
Thought I'd better get it straight.
Went to buy a book before it's too late.
Don't leave nothing to fate.
I studied every line, every page in the book,
Now, I've got the real thing here, I'm gonna take a look, take a look.
This is Rael!
I'm counting out time, hoping it goes like I planned it,
'cos I understand it. Look! I've found the hotspots, Figs 1-9.
- still counting out time, got my finger on the button,
"Don't say nuttin - just lie there still
And I'll get you turned on just fine."
Erogenous zones I love you.
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Touch and go with 1-6.
Bit of trouble in zone No. 7.
Gotta remember all of my tricks.
There's heaven ahead in No. 11!
Getting crucial responses, dilation of the pupils.
"Honey get hip! It's time to unzip, to unzip, zip, zip-a-zip-a-zip.
Whipee!"
(Take it away Mr. Guitar)
- Move over Casanova -
I'm counting out time, reaction none to happy,
Please don't slap me,
I'm a red blooded male and the book said I could not fail.
I'm counting out time, I got unexpected distress from my mistress,
I'll get my money back from the bookstore right away.
Erongenous zones I question you -
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Without you, what would a poor boy do?
Without you, mankind handkinds thru' the blues.
10 Carpet Crawlers (05:14)
There is lambswool under my naked feet.
The wool is soft and warm,
-gives off some kind of heat.
A salamander scurries into flame to be destroyed.
Imaginary creatures are trapped in birth on celluloid.
The fleas cling to the golden fleece,
Hoping they'll find peace.
Each thought and gesture are caught in celluloid.
There's no hiding in my memory.
There's no room to void.
The crawlers cover the floor in the red ochre corridor.
For my second sight of people, they've more lifeblood than before.
They're moving. They're moving in time to a heavy wooden door,
Where the needle's eye is winking, closing in on the poor.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"You've got to get in to get out
You've got to get in to get out."
There's only one direction in the faces that I see;
It's upward to the ceiling, where the chambers said to be.
Like the forest fight for sunlight, that takes root in every tree.
They are pulled up by the magnet, believing that they're free.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"You've got to get in to get out
You've got to get in to get out."
Mild mannered supermen are held in kryptonite,
And the wise and foolish virgins giggle with their bodies glowing bright.
Through a door a harvest feast is lit by candlight;
It's the bottom of a staircase that spirals out of sight.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"You've got to get in to get out
You've got to get in to get out."
The porcelain mannikin with shattered skin fears attack.
The eager pack lift up their pitchers- the carry all they lack.
The liquid has congealed, which has seeped out through the crack,
And the tickler takes his stickleback.
The carpet crawlers heed their callers:
"You've got to get in to get out
You've got to get in to get out."
11 The Chamber of 32 Doors (05:40)
At the top of the stairs he finds a chamber. It is almost a hemisphere with a great many doors all the way round its circumference. There is a large crowd, huddled in various groups. From the shouting, Rael learns that there are 32 doors, but only one that leads out. Their voices get louder and louder until Rael screams "Shut up!" There is a momentary silence and then Rael finds himself the focus as they direct their advice and commands to their new found recruit. Bred on trash, fed on ash the jigsaw master has got to move faster. Rael sees a quiet corner and rushes to it.
At the top of the stairs, there's hundreds of people,
running around to all the doors.
They try to find, find themselves an audience;
their deductions need applause.
The rich man stands in front of me,
The poor man behind my back.
They believe they can control the game,
but the juggler holds another pack.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I'd rather trust a countryman than a townman,
You can judge by his eyes, take a look if you can,
He'll smile through his guard,
Survival trains hard.
I'd rather trust a man who works with his hands,
He looks at you once, you know he understands,
Don't need any shield,
When you're out in the field.
But down here,
I'm so alone with my fear,
With everything that I hear.
And every single door, that I've walked through
Brings me back here again,
I've got to find my own way.
The priest and the magician,
Singing all the chants that they have ever heard;
and they're all calling out my name,
Even academics, searching printed word.
My father to the left of me,
My mother to the right,
Like everyone else they're pointing
But nowhere feels quite right.
And I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust.
I'd rather trust a man who doesn't shout what he's found,
There's no need to sell if you're homeward bound.
If I choose a side,
He won't take me for a ride.
Back inside
This chamber of so many doors;
I've nowhere, nowhere to hide.
I'd give you all of my dreams, if you'd help me,
Find a door
That doesn't lead me back again
- take me away.
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Altre recensioni
Di Mr_Iko
Amo definirlo “Music-All”: uno spartiacque tra opera rock e il musical da rappresentazione su un palcoscenico di Broadway.
Nel caso non vi piacesse questo disco vi consiglio di rivolgervi ad un buon medico per una otoscopia.
Di Mariaelena
"Non copritemi gli occhi, mentre scrivo voglio poter dare un’occhiata alle farfalle di vetro che si sono posate sulle pareti".
È categoricamente impossibile tenere in gabbia un animale da palcoscenico con un’anima ribelle che grida libertà.
Di Old King Cole
"Oggi c'è chi parla di The Lamb come un classico del Prog: per me questa definizione è errata. The Lamb è qualcosa di più."
"Quel geniaccio di Peter Gabriel? Lo strumento principale di ‘The Lamb’ è la sua voce, che raggiunge finalmente il suo apice di tecnica e, soprattutto, di espressività."
Di STIPE
Gabriel era i Genesis e i Genesis erano Gabriel.
Il suono ottenuto in questo album rappresenta quanto di meglio la musica ha offerto fino a oggi.
Di paolofreddie
"Peter Gabriel sfoggia tutta la sua cultura e tutto il suo sapere per comporre le liriche."
"The Lamb è uno degli album più complessi e difficilmente analizzabili nella storia del prog ed è questo che accresce la sua natura interessante."
