Gruppo da molti sottovalutato, i Marillion esordiscono nel 1983 con questo LP dal titolo molto intrigante, che rispecchia pienamente le atmosfere struggenti delle canzoni.
Il "Copione per una lacrima di giullare" contiene sei non brevi capitoli, sui quali la voce di Fish (molto simile a quella di Peter Gabriel, ma lo stesso bella) si erge, ora lamentosa, ora rassegnata, ora oscura...
Veramente magistrali le parti strumentali, considerando che siamo di fronte ad un gruppo al suo primo lavoro. Tra le canzoni spiccano, oltre alla title-track, "The Web" (nella quale Rothery ci regala un assolo di chitarra stupendo e le tastiere di Kelly colorano un maestoso finale alla "The Musical Box"), e "Forgotten Sons", canzone variegata e abbastanza sperimentale, a mio giudizio un capolavoro, in quanto contiene tantissime atmosfere diverse collegate tra loro molto bene. Deprimenti i testi, che Fish interpreta esprimendo perfettamente tutta la loro drammaticità. Un disco dunque in piena tradizione progressive? No, non del tutto. Le sonorità eccessivamente elettroniche e pompose tipiche degli anni 80 "sporcano" inevitabilmente la musica dei Marillion, malgrado la loro ferrea volontà di apparire come una classica prog-band. Ma le idee ci sono, e non sono male: "Script" è l'esordio di un gruppo che crescerà, che farà un buon successo e darà spontaneamente inizio a movimenti che oggi chiamiamo prog-metal o metal sinfonico.
E a tutti quelli che svalutano Fish e compagni, o per la loro presunta somiglianza coi Genesis o perchè il loro singolo "Kayleigh" avrebbe venduto -troppo-, dico di ascoltarsi questo disco e provare a dire che questa musica, paragonata alle vagonate di merda che uscivano quotidianamente lungo il corso degli 80's, non è bella.
Elenco tracce testi e samples
01 Script for a Jester's Tear (08:42)
So here I am once more in the playground of the broken hearts
One more experience, one more entry in a diary, self-penned
Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and pride
Too late to say I love you, too late to re-stage the play
Abandoning the relics in my playground of yesterday
I'm losing on the swings, I'm losing on the roundabouts
I'm losing on the swings, I'm losing on the roundabouts
Too much, too soon, too far to go, too late to play, the game is over
T the game is over
So here I am once more in the playground of the broken heart
I'm losing on the swings, losing on the roundabouts, the game is over, over
Yet another emotional suicide overdosed on sentiment and pride
I'm losing on the swings, losing on the roundabouts, the game is over
Too late to say I love you, too late to re-stage the play
The game is over
I act the role in classic style of a martyr carved with twisted smile
To bleed the lyric for this song to write the rites to right my wrongs
An epitaph to a broken dream to exercise this silent scream
A scream that's borne from sorrow
I never did write that love song, the words just never seemed to flow
Now sad in reflection did I gaze through perfection
And examine the shadows on the other side of the morning
And examine the shadows on the other side of mourning
Promised wedding now a wake
The fool escaped from paradise will look over his shoulder and cry
Sit and chew on daffodils and struggle to answer why?
As you grow up and leave the playground
Where you kissed your prince and found your frog
Remember the jester that showed you tears, the script for tears
So I'll hold our peace forever when you wear your bridal gown
In the silence of my shame the mute that sang the sirens' song
Has gone solo in the game, I've gone solo in the game
But the game is over
Can you still say you love me
02 He Knows You Know (05:23)
(Derek Dick/Steve Rothery/ Pete Trewavas/ Micheal Pointer/Mark Kelly/Diz Minnett/Brian Jellyman)
He knows, you know, he knows, you know
Problems, problems, problems, problems
Light switch, yellow fever, crawling up your bathroom wall
Singing psychedelic praises to the depths of a China bowl
You've got venom in your stomach, you've got poison in your head
You should have listened to the priest at the confession
When he offered you the sacred bread
He knows, you know, he knows, you know, he knows, you know
But he's got problems
Fast feed, crystal fever, swarming through a fractured mind
Chilling needles freeze emotion, the blind shall lead the blind
You've got venom in you stomach, you've got poison in your head
When your conscience whispered, the vein lines stiffened
You were walking with the dead
He knows, you know, he knows, you know, he knows, you know
He's got experience
He's got experience, he knows, you know
But he's got problems
Problems, problems, problems, problems, problems, problems.
He knows...
Slash wrist, scarlet fever, crawled under your bathroom door
Pumping arteries ooze the problem, through the gap that the razor tore
You've got venom in your stomach, you've got poison in your head
You should have listened to your analyst questions when yo lay on his leather bed
He knows, you know, he knows, you know, he knows, you know
But he's got problems
Blank eyes, purple fever, streaming through the frosted pane
You learned your lesson far to late from the links in a chemist chain
You've got venom in your stomach, you've got poison in your head
You should have stayed at home and talked with father
Listen to the lies he fed
He knows, you know, he knows, you know, he knows, you know
But he's got problems
He knows, you know, he knows, you know, he knows, you know
He's got experience
He's got experience, he knows, you know
He knows, you know, you know, you know
You know, you know, you know, you know
Problems, problems, problems, problems, problems, problems
Don't give me your problems
03 The Web (08:52)
The rain auditions at my window, its symphony echoes in my womb
My gaze scans the walls of this apartment
To rectify the confines of my tomb
I'm the cyclops in the tenement, I'm the soul without the cause
Crying 'midst my rubber plants, ignoring beckoning doors
Clippings from ancient newspapers lie scattered cross the floor
Stained by the wine from a shattered glass
Meaningless words, yellowed by time, faded photos exposing pain
Celluloid leeches bleeding my mind
You've finished playing hangman, you've cast the fateful dice
Advice, advice, advice me
This shroud will not suffice
And thus begins the web
Attempting to discard these clinging memories
I only serve to wallow in our past
I fabricate the weave with my excuses
Its strands I hope and pray shall last
Oh please do last
The flytrap needs the insects, ivy caresses the wall
Needles make love to the junkies, the sirens seduce with their call
Confidence has deserted me, with you it has forsaken me
Confused and rejected, despised and alone
I kiss isolation on its fevered brow
Security clutching me, obscurity threatening me
Your reasons were so obvious
As my friend have qualified, I only laughed away your tears
But even jesters cry
I realise I hold the key to freedom
I cannot let my life be ruled by threads
The time has come to make decisions
The changes have to be made
I realise I hold the key to freedom
I cannot let my life be ruled by threads
The time has come to make decisions
The changes have to be made
Now I leave you, the past does have it's say
You're all but forgotten a mote in my heart
Decisions have been made, decisions have been made
I've conquered my fears, the flaming shroud
Thus ends the web
04 Garden Party (07:19)
Garden party held today
Invites call the debs to play
Social climbers polish ladders
Wayward sons again have fathers
Hello, Dad, hello, dad
Edgy eggs and queuing cumbers
Rudely wakened from their slumbers
Time has come again for slaughter
O on the lawns by still Cam waters
A slaughter, it's a slaughter
Champagne corks are firing at the sun again
Swooping swallows chased by violins again
Strafed by Strauss they sulk in crumbling eaves again
Oh God not again
Aperitifs consumed en masse
Display their owners on the grass
Couples loiter in the cloisters
social leeches quoting Chaucer
Doctor's son a parson's daughter
W where why not and should they oughta
Please don't lie upon the grass
Unless accompanied by a fellow
May I be so bold as to perhaps suggest Othello
Punting on the Cam is jolly fun they say
Beagling on the downs, oh please do come they say
Rugger is the tops, a game for men they say
I'm punting, I'm beagling, I'm wining, reclining, I'm rucking, I'm fucking
So welcome, it's a party
Angie chalks another blue
Mother smiles she did it too
Chitters chat and gossips lash
Posers pose, pressmen flash
Smiles polluted with false charm, locking on to Royal arms
Society columns now ensured, returns to mingle with the crowds
Oh what a crowd
Punting on the Cam, oh please do come they say
Beagling on the downs, oh please so come they say
Garden party held today they say
Oh please do come, oh please do come, they say.
05 Chelsea Monday (08:17)
Catalogue princess, apprentice seductress
Hiding in her cellophane world in glitter town
Awaiting the prince in his white Capri
Dynamic young Tarzan courts the bedsit queen
She's playing the actress in this bedroom scene
She's learning her lines from glossy magazines
Stringing all her pearls from her childhood dreams
Auditioning for the leading role on the silver screen
Patience my tinsel angel
Patience my perfumed child
One day they really love you
You'll charm them with that smile
But for now it's just another Chelsea Monday
Drifting with her incense in the labyrinth of London
Playing games with faces in the neon wonderland
Perform to scattered shadows on the shattered cobbled aisles
Would she dare recite soliloquies at the risk of stark applause
She'll pray for endless Sundays as she enters saffron sunsets
Conjure phantom lovers from the tattered shreds of dawn
Fulfilled and yet forgotten the St. Tropez mirage
Fragrant aphrodisiac, the withered tuberose
Patience my tinsel angel, patience my perfumed child
One day they really love you, you'll charm them with that smile
But for now it's just another Chelsea Monday
[Hello John, did you see The Standard about four hours ago?
Fished a young chick out of The Old Father
Blond hair, blue eyes. She said she wanted to be an actress or something
Nobody knows where she came from, where she was going
Funny thing was she had a smile on her face
She was smiling, what a waste]
Catalogue princess, apprentice seductress
Buried in her cellophane world in glitter town
Of Chelsea Monday
06 Forgotten Sons (08:23)
Armalite, street lights, nightsights
Searching the roofs for a sniper, a viper, a fighter
Death in the shadows he'll maim you, he'll wound you, he'll kill you
For a long forgotten cause, on not so foreign shores
Boys baptised in wars
Morphine, chill scream, bad dream
Serving as numbers on dogtags, flakrags, sandbags
Your girl has married your best friend, loves end, poison pen
Your flesh will always creep, tossing turning sleep
The wounds that burn so deep
Your mother sits on the edge of the world
When the cameras start to roll
Panoramic viewpoint resurrect the killing fold
Your father drains another beer, he's one of the few that cares
Crawling behind a Saracen's hull from the safety of his living room chair
Forgotten sons, forgotten sons, forgotten sons
And so as I patrol in the valley of the shadow of the tricolour
I must fear evil, for I am but mortal and mortals can only die
Asking questions, pleading answers from the nameless faceless watchers
That stalk the carpeted corridors of Whitehall
Who orders desecration, mutilation, verbal masturbation
I in the guarded bureaucratic wombs
Minister, minister care for your children, order them not into damnation
To eliminate those who would trespass against you
For whose is the kingdom, the power, the glory forever and ever, Amen
Halt who goes there, Death, approach friend
You're just another coffin on its way down the emerald aisle
When your children's stony glances mourn your death in a terrorist's smile
The bomber's arm placing fiery gifts on the supermarket shelves
Alley sings with shrapnel detonate a temporary hell
Forgotten Sons
From the dole queue to the regiment a profession in a flash
But remember Monday signings when from door to door you dash
On the news a nation mourns you unknown soldier, count the cost
For a second you'll be famous but labelled posthumous
Forgotten sons, forgotten sons
Peace on earth and mercy mild, Mother Brown has lost her child
Just another Forgotten Son
Ocio che non hai mica acceduto al DeBasio!
Per vivere con pienezza la vera esperienza dello stare sul DeBaser è bello esserci registrati.
Quindi
Accedi
o
Registrati
Roby86
16 apr 06I_lOVE_mUSIc
16 apr 06Luca-LJ
17 apr 06Enrico Rosticci
17 apr 06Enrico Rosticci
17 apr 06Old King Cole
17 apr 06Pibroch
17 apr 06Rasty
17 apr 06Old King Cole
17 apr 06Rasty
17 apr 06Grendel
18 apr 06Grendel
18 apr 06Varg Vikernes
18 apr 06Varg Vikernes
18 apr 06Old King Cole
18 apr 06Old King Cole
18 apr 06Grendel
18 apr 06Rasty
18 apr 06Old King Cole
18 apr 06Varg Vikernes
19 apr 06Varg Vikernes
19 apr 06squallor
21 apr 06del disco non hai capito nulla.
Grendel
21 apr 06Old King Cole
22 apr 06Luca-LJ
22 apr 06Grendel
22 apr 06Old King Cole
23 apr 06Old King Cole
23 apr 06Io ho detto "quel poco che conosco" perchè molti album dei D.T. non li ho mai ascoltati e quindi non so se somigliano o no a quelli dei Marillion. Poi nella rece ho esagerato, perchè i DT non sono l'unico gruppo Prog-Metal... comunque per Another Day fammi sapere, , ,
Luca-LJ
23 apr 06Rita68
24 apr 06Old King Cole
24 apr 06Ueeeeeh...
Anonimo
24 apr 06the green manalishi
11 lug 06bjork68
10 set 06Anonimo
18 ott 07Dr.Adder
10 mar 08Il disco a mio avviso non è un capolavoro, ma resta sempre bellissimo, certo in alcuni punti è un pò elementare.
Comunque lo preferisco a Misplaced Childhood, troppo patinato.
Ciao!
P.S-ottima la copertina!
Runner
22 lug 08JohannesUlver
3 ott 08mj64
23 set 09piendepei
7 mar 10mr.shit
18 ago 10mr.shit
18 ago 10mr.shit
18 ago 10mr.shit
18 ago 10mr.shit
18 ago 10mr.shit
18 ago 10mr.shit
18 ago 10scaruffoditurno
18 ago 10mr.shit
20 ago 10bluesboy94
23 ott 12