• Voto:
Ci sono modi e modi di gestire il proprio successo. C'è chi come Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain (e aggiungetene voi quanti volete) non riescono a reggere il peso e si arrendono inesorabilmente. Ci sono poi alcuni gruppi che arrivano troppo presto rispetto ad altri e vista l' incomprensione della gran parte del pubblico si sciolgono, per poi riformarsi puntualmente vent' anni dopo, magari con qualche nuovo membro (gli Stooges, le New York Dolls e così via). Infine ci sono quei gruppi che raggiunto un successo stratosferico non si arrendono al passare del tempo, lottano, arrancano, si trascinano sui gomiti ma dopo 10 anni li vedi ancora li, e dopo 20 pure, e dopo 30 ci provano ancora e magari ci riescono. A questa ultima categoria appartengono i Rolling Stone oggi, ancora capaci di passare su Mtv (non che sia un merito intendiamoci bene) e vi appartenevano fino ad una decina di anni fa i Grateful Dead.
Ora non starò a dirvi chi sono i Grateful Dead perchè se non li conoscete dovete solo digitare il loro nome su Debaser o su Wikipedia e avrete informazioni a sufficienza, e se ancora non avete ascoltato nulla di loro partite da Aoxomoxoa, Live/Dead, Anthem Of The Sun, non certo da questo disco.
Vi stavo dicendo che fino al 1995, anno della morte di Garcia e del conseguente scioglimento della band, i Grateful Dead ce l'avevano fatta. Erano passati attraverso la loro materia originaria (quell' acid- psichedelic sound che loro stessi avevano contribuito a creare alla fine degli anni '60), erano sopravvissuti all' indurimento del sound di inizio anni '70, avevano attraversato indenni gli anni del prog, del punk, della disco music e dell'heavy metal. E si erano trovati, un po' con il fiatone per la verità, nel 1987, dopo innumerevoli album live che ne testimoniavano la loro dimensione ideale (anche accompagnatori di Dylan in un tour testimoniato poi dallo scarso Dylan & The Dead), con Jerry Garcia afflitto dai soliti problemi di tossicodipendenza, dopo ben 7 anni dalla loro ultima fatica in studio.
Fu così che i Dead entrarono in studio per la loro penultima volta, speranzosi di ripetere il piccolo successo avuto con l' ultimo singolo pubblicato nel 1980: "Alabama Getaway".
Si trovarono invece dopo pochi mesi incredibilmente a celebrare il loro album più venduto di tutti i tempi, trainati dal singolo "Touch Of Grey", una sorta di autotributo rivisto in chiave anni '80, un po' simile ad alcuni rock-pop commerciali dei Dire Straits, ma sicuramente trasportati (penso io) anche dall'entusiasmo dei sopravvissuti dell'era psichedelica, che vedevano in loro una sorta di simbolo che resisteva ad ogni tempo. Da segnalare sono anche "L.A. Fadeaway", per notare quanto un buon rock blues possa essere rovinato, con la voce di Garcia modificata da qualche diavoleria elettronica e fastidiosi effettacci che fanno capolino ogni tanto. "Tons Of Steel" è a mio parere una delle composizioni più deboli, una sorta di ballatona energica alla Bruce Springsteen anni '80, quanto di più banale e commerciale ci possa essere. Infine le due composizioni migliori, una "Throwing Stones" che, seppure non esente dai difetti delle due precedenti si fa notare per un divertente e cantabilissimo ritornello. Per concludere "Black Muddy River", lenta e delicata ballata celebratoria che ricorda i Grateful Dead di American Beauty.
Insomma cosa dire in definitiva? L'album è senza dubbio un tentativo di avvicinarsi al sound che andava per la maggiore in quegli anni ma cercando di mantenere quel guizzo di personalità (vedi i diversi assoli di chitarra tipici del loro sound) per farsi riconoscere. Sinceramente sono dubbioso anch'io sul voto, in confronto ai capolavori prima citati meriterebbe un uno, uno e mezzo ad esser generosi. Ma è anche vero che non si può paragonare un album del genere ai lavori nel periodo di massimo splendore, sarebbe ingiusto e ingeneroso nei loro confronti. E così gli do un bel tre, incurante dell' orribile copertina, incurante del fatto che se Jerry Garcia fosse ancora vivo gli farebbe mangiare la polvere a quel pirata di Keith Richards e ai suoi soci, proprio come fece negli anni '80, proprio come fece addirittura (e qui spero di non scatenare un putiferio) in quei lontani anni '60.
Elenco tracce testi e video
01 Touch of Grey (05:49)
Must be getting early, clock are running late.
Paint by number morning sky, looks so phony.
Dawn is breaking everywhere, light a candle, curse the glare
Draw the curtains I don't care, cause it's alright
I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive.
I see you've got your list out, say your piece and get out.
Guess I get the jist of it, but it's alright
Sorry that you feel that way, the only thing there is to say
Every silver linings got a touch of grey
I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive.
It's a lesson to me, the eagles and the beggars and the seas,
the abc's we all must face, try to keep a little grace
It's a lesson to me, the deltas and the east and the frees,
the abc's we all think of, and ty to wean a little love
I know the rent is in arrears, the dog has not been fed in years
It's even worse than it appears, but it's alright
Cow is giving kerosene, kid can't read at seventeen
The words he knows are all obscene, but it's alright
I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive.
Shoe is on the hand that fits, there's really nothing much to it
Whistle through your teeth and spit, cause it's alright
Oh well a touch of gray, kinda suits you anyway,
And that was all I had to say, and it's alright
I will get by
I will get by
I will get by
I will survive
We will get by
We will get by
We will get by
We will survive
02 Hell in a Bucket (05:37)
Well I was drinkin' last night with a biker
And I showed him a picture of you
He said, "Pal get to know her, you'll like her
Seemed like the least I could do.
Cause when he's chargin' his chopper
Up and down your carpeted halls
You won't think it by contrast quite proper
Never mind how I stumble and fall.
You imagine me sipping champagne from your boot
For a taste of your elegant pride
I may be going to hell in a bucket, babe
But at least I'm enjoying the ride, at least I'll enjoy the ride.
Cause you're a sweet little softcore pretender
Somehow, babe, it got hot as it gets
With your black leather chrome spiked suspenders
And your chain and your whip and your pets
Well we know you're the reincarnation
Of the ravenous Catherine the Great
And we know how you love your ovations
To the Z-rated scenes you create.
You imagine me sipping champagne from your boot
For a taste of your elegant pride
I may be going to hell in a bucket, babe
But at least I'm enjoying the ride, at least I'll enjoy the ride.
You analyze me, tend to despise me, you laugh
When I stumble and fall
There may come a day when I'll dance on your grave
Unable to dance I'll still crawl across it
Unable to dance I'll still crawl
Unable to dance I'll crawl.
You must really consider the circus
It just might be your kind of zoo
I can't think of a place that's more perfect
For a person as perfect as you.
And it's not like I'm leaving you lonely
Cause I wouldn't know where to begin
Well I know you will think of me only
When the snakes come marching in.
You imagine me sipping champagne from your boot
For taste of your elegant pride
I may be going to hell in a bucket, babe
But at least I'm enjoying the ride, at least I'll enjoy the ride.
Ride, ride, ride
Ride, ride, ride
Ride, ride, ride
At least I'll enjoy the ride.
At least I'll enjoy the ride.
AT LEAST I'LL ENJOY THE RIDE.
04 West L.A. Fadeaway (06:39)
I'm looking for a chateau, 21 rooms but one will do
I'm looking for a chateau, 21 rooms but one will do
I don't want to buy it
I just want to rent it for a minute or two
I met an old mistake walking down the street today
I met an old mistake walking down the street today
I didn't want to be mean about it
I couldn't think of one good thing to say.
West L.A. fadeaway, West L.A. fadeaway
Big red light on the highway, little green light on the freeway.
Got a steady job moving items for the mob
Got a steady job moving items for the mob
Know the pay's pathetic
It's a shame those boys couldn't be more copasetic
West L.A. fadeaway, West L.A. fadeaway
Big red light on the highway, little green light on the freeway.
I need a West L.A. girl, already know what I need to know
I need a West L.A. girl, already know what I need to know
Lord, just how far to go.
West L.A. fadeaway, here's one chance you say.
She tries to live by the Golden Rule.
Said you treat other people right,
Other people probably treat you cool.
05 Tons of Steel (05:17)
I know these rails we're on like I know my lady's smile,
We see a dozen dreams in every passing mile.
Can't begin to count the trips she and I have made,
But I wish I had a dollar for each time we've both been down this grade.
And 100,000 tons of steel, made to roll.
The brakes don't work and this grade's too steep, her engine's sure to blow.
And 100,000 tons of steel, out of control,
She's more a rollercoaster than the train I used to know.
It's one hell of an understatement, to say she can't be beat.
She's tempermental, more a bitch than a machine.
She wasn't built to travel at speed or through mud slides.
These wheels are bound to jump the tracks before they burn like the ties
And 100,000 tons of steel, made to roll.
The brakes don't work and this grade's too steep, her engine's sure to blow
And 100,000 tons of steel, out of control
She's more a rollercoaster than the train I used to know.
Murphy sure out done himself to pick this stretch of track
I can only hope my luck is ridin' in the back.
Well I have pray to God this ain't the day we meet,
I've done about everything, but try dragging my feet.
And 100,000 tons of steel, made to roll.
The brakes don't work and this grade's too steep, her engine's sure to blow
And 100,000 tons of steel, out of control,
She's more a rollercoaster than the train I used to know.
Oh, oh I want to go down slow.
06 Throwing Stones (07:21)
Picture a bright blue ball just spinning, spinning free
Dizzy with eternity.
Paint it with a skin of sky, brush in some clouds and sea
Call it home for you and me.
A peaceful place or so it looks from space
A closer look reveals the human race.
Full of hope, full of grace, is the human face.
But afraid, we may our home to waste.
Theres a fear down here we cant forget hasnt got a name just yet
Always awake, always around singing ashes to ashes all fall down.
Now watch as the ball revolves and the nighttime falls
And again the hunt begins and again the bloodwind calls
By and by again, the morning sun will rise
But the darkness never goes from some mens eyes.
It strolls the sidewalks and it rolls the streets
It's taking turf, dividing up meat.
Nightmare spook, piece of heat, you and me, you and me.
Click, flashblade in ghetto night. rudies looking for a fight.
Rat cat alley roll them bones. need that cash to feed that jones
And the politicians throwing stones
Singing ashes, ashes all fall down.
Commissars and pin-striped bosses role the dice
Any way they fall guess who gets to pay the price.
Money green or proletarian gray, selling guns instead of food today.
So the kids they dance, they shake their bones
While the politicians throwing stones
Singing ashes, ashes all fall down.
Heartless powers try to tell us what to think
If the spirits sleeping, then the flesh is ink.
History's page will be neatly carved in stone
The futures here, we are it, we are on our own.
If the game is lost then we're all the same
No one left to place or take the blame.
We will leave this place an empty stone
Or this shinning ball, we can call our oun
So the kids they dance, they shake their bones
While the politicians are throwing stones
Singing ashes, ashes all fall down.
Shipping powders back and forth
Singing black goes south while white comes north
And the whole world is full of petty wars
Singing I got mine and you got yours.
And the current fashions set the pace.
Lose your step, fall out of grace.
And the radical he rant and rage, singing someone got to turn the page
And the rich man in his summer home,
Singing just leave well enough alone
But his pants are down, his covers blown
And the politicians are throwing stones
So the kids they dance they shake their bones
Cause its all too clear were on our own
Picture a bright blue ball just spinning, spinning free
Its dizzying, the possibilities. ashes, ashes all fall down.
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