Regina Spektor, cantautrice americana di origini russe, si presenta al mondo nel 1999 con “11:11”, album di debutto costituito da una manciata di canzoni per voce e pianoforte (e qualche improvvisata percussione). Un disco indie, fatto con pochi soldi, ma molta dedizione e bravura, di cui sono state stampate pochissime copie ed è per questo introvabile in formato fisico.
Regina ha una formazione classica e utilizza il pianoforte non solo come accompagnamento, ma come parte integrante dei suoi pezzi, sfruttando tutta la comunicatività di questo strumento e ponendolo al servizio delle liriche come solo le cantautrici più capaci come Tori Amos e Fiona Apple sanno fare. Ma i paragoni con queste grandissime della musica terminano qui: il modo di cantare e suonare della Spektor è del tutto peculiare e ha anche altre influenze quali il nu-folk americano e le atmosfere da cabaret brechtiano dei Dresden Dolls (Amanda Palmer ha addirittura coverizzato “On the Radio” tratto da “Begin to Hope”).
Questo disco è costituito da storie di vita quotidiana, rese strambe e inquietanti dai filtri personali di Regina, che riesce a vedere tutto con gli occhi sognanti di una bambina (ascoltare “Building”, e la sorpresa nell’osservare quanto siano alti gli edifici che si costruiscono al giorno d’oggi, per credere). E se così una relazione amorosa che si svolge in un inquietante edificio dà uno spunto per una deliziosa opening track condita da giochi vocali molto particolari e tipicamente Spektoriani (“Love Affair”), ci ritroviamo catapultati in un mondo di personaggi folli e oscuri (“Mary Ann” e “Pavlov’s Daughter”) che sembrano usciti da un film di Tim Burton. L’esempio più lampante della bravura della Spektor a ritrarre spaccati di vita e a trasfigurarli in maniera inquietante è la ballata “Braille”, divenuta oramai un vero e proprio classico della cantautrice.
Le atmosfere sono jazz (d’altronde la seconda traccia “Re-Jazz” è una chiara dichiarazione d’intenti) e a tratti ricordano “Closing Time” di Tom Waits. Gli arrangiamenti risultano semplici, ma incisivi (la dolce “I Want to Sing” a cappella e la conclusiva “Sunshine” sono due gemme che brillano proprio per il loro essere semplici e dirette). Tuttavia non tutte le tracce riescono a mantenere il livello di quelle più riuscite e ci sono pezzi che, pur essendo simpatici, sembrano più delle b-side da completare (“Flyin’” e “Wasteside”). Ma da un debutto è pure normale aspettarsi un po’ di acerbezza; ciò non toglie che l’album sia veramente godibile e ci mostri un talento cristallino che non ha bisogno di superproduzioni per emergere. Questo e il successivo “Songs” saranno una buona preparazione per quello che poi sarà il capolavoro indiscusso e l’album perfetto di Regina Spektor ovvero “Soviet Kitsch”.
Braille
She was lying on the floor and counting stretch marks
She hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a god
So she named the baby Elvis
To make up for the royalty he lacked
And from then on it was turpentine and patches
From then on it was cold Campbell's from the can
And they were just two jerks playing with matches
'Cause that's all they knew how to play
And it was raining cats and dogs outside of her window
And she knew they'd be destined to become sacred road kill on the way
And she was listening to the sound of heavens shaking
Thinking about puddles, puddles and mistakes
'Cause it's been turpentine and patches
And cold, cold Campbell's from the can
And they were just two jerks playing with matches
'Cause that's all they knew how to play
All they knew how to play
Elvis never could carry a tune
And she thought about this irony as she stared back at the moon
She was tracing her years with her fingers on her skin
Saying why don't I begin again
With turpentine and patches
With cold, cold Campbell's from the can
After all I'm still a jerk playing with matches
It's just that he's not around to play along
I'm still an asshole playing with candles
Blowing out wishes, blowing out dreams
Just sitting here and trying to decipher
What's written in Braille upon my skin
Elenco tracce testi e video
03 Back of a Truck (05:54)
She lifted the monument in her monumental arms
She was the Mother Superior, with her carry-on luggage charms
She was this androgynous, powder-nosed girl-next-door
She had eaten her dog, and she was back for more
Back for more
Back for more
Oh, she was back for more
Some more
Yes please
Some more
Her gym teacher thought himself a sweat-socked demigod
And her geraniums thought themselves an alien pod
Her front porch gave way beneath her classified weight
And when an ambulance came, they said it's much too late
Oh, it's much too late
Oh, it's much too, much too late
Oh, it's much too late
How late?
Very late
Too late
Now, the people of New Guinea and the people of L.A.
Have been penpals for years, 'cause they both hate ballet
Only the pandas and bears have made a clean getaway
But the news bulletin claims it is gonna be okay
Now, Miss Lucy had a sweat shop where the immigrants worked
Problem was, they all turned to pumpkins at the 12 o'clock stroke
Promptly confiscated by police precinct number X
That was when the alien geraniums demanded the facts
No violence, of course
No violence, no violence, of course
Hey, hey, no violence, of course
Of course
Why yes
Of course
I-I mean, I mean, of course
Why yes, of, of course
Here the story gets hazy, and the hair gets too long
And the TV gets quiet, as we hear a real bad song
The mothers get whiskey, and the girlfriends get tongue
And there's a, a back of a truck selling smoke-filled lungs
And there's a back of a truck selling alien pods
And there's a, a back of a truck selling game show hosts
And there's a, a back of a truck selling the souls of the dead
And there's a back of a truck selling crumb-free bread
This is New York!
Now, there's a back of a truck selling the back of a car
And there's a back of a car selling roadway maps
And there are roadway maps selling the back of a head
Hey, how much for that back of a head, man?
Hey, wait a minute
Hey, wait a minute
Wait a minute, that—wait a minute, that's
Myy back of a head
Hey, you can't sell that, man, that's
Myy back of a head
Hey, hey sell it back to me, man, sell it back to me, hey, it's
It's my, muh-muh-muh-muh-muh-muh-muh-muh-muh-myyy
Oh
She lifted the monument in her monumental arms
She was the Mother Superior, with her carry-on luggage charms
She was this androgynous, powder-nosed girl-next-door
She had eaten her dog, and she was back for more
She had eaten her dowg, D-O-W-G
She had eaten her dowg, d-do-dowg, d-do-dowg, dowg, dowg, do
She had eaten her, eeaten, eaten her, ea-eaten, eaten her, ohhhh
Mmm, mmm-mmm
Ohh, ahhlalalalalalohhh
She
Wooo, woo-woo-woo, wooo, woo
Some more, yes please
Some more
Some more, yes please
Some more
04 Buildings (04:45)
He was a husband who drove his wife home drunk from the parties
He was a husband who drove his wife home
And in the car, he would lean her head gently against the side-door window
And in the bathroom, he would hold her hair back and hope
Saying, oh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
Ohh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
So tall these days
And in the morning, she'd wake up and
Crouch recollections all day, but
She would always, always wake up the next morning
He'd take one look at her and say,
"oh oh, it's okay"
And her conscience would issue yet another last warning
Saying, oh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
Ohh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
So tall these days
And she would ask for time
And she'd ask for time
And she'd ask for time
And she'd ask for time
And she would beg for time
And she'd beg for time
And call it a gift
And he would give her time
And he'd give her time
And he'd give her time
And he'd give her time
But time is not given and time is not taken
It just sifts through its sift
But time is not given and time is not taken
It just sifts through its sift...
Sifts through it's sift
Just sifts through its sift
Oh...
Sifts through its sift
Just sifts through its sift
When we had coffee and coffee and coffee and coffee
And coffee and coffee some more
He'd go to work, and she'd take a sick day and rot at the core
And by the time he came back, she'd scrubbed the bathrooms and made them smell like pine
It would be almost as if nothing had happened
And he'd give her time, oh,
oh, and he'd give her time
Saying, oh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
Oh, don't they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
Oh, they build buildings
So tall these days
And she would ask for time
And she'd ask for time
And she'd ask for time
She'd beg for time
And she would beg for time
And she'd beg for time
And call it a gift
And he would give her time
And he'd give her time
And he'd give her time
And he'd give her time
But time is not given and time is not taken
It just sifts through its sift
But time is not given and time is not taken
It just sifts through its sift...
Oh, sifts through its sift
Sifts through its sift
Ohhh-oo-ooooh
Oh, sifts through its sift
Sifts through its sift
He was a husband
Drove, Time
Home, Time
Car, oh, core
Core sick day
Pour coffee
Core warning
Last warning
He was a husband
Time, Pine
Scrub, Scrub
Bathroom, Lean
Hair, Back
Car, Window
Hope, Time Give
Don't they
Build buildings
Tall these days
05 Mary Ann (02:58)
Miss Mary Ann
Kept her man
In porcupine gloves
In porcupine gloves
And
On that day
As scheduled
They made porcupine love
Porcupine love
So stiff and stuck and prickly
He came in and then back out quickly
But, lord, not any quicker than according to plan
Like a soldier
One foot in front of the other
Miss Mary Ann
Had a man named Stan
Stan Buttler
He had no antlers
He had no center
He had no enter and he had no exit
His hair was short and prickly
He came in and then back out quickly
But, lord, not any quicker than according to plan
Like a soldier, one foot in front of the other
And
How he loved her apple pies
How he loved her meat loaf
How he loved her chicken breasts
How he loved her pudding
Served promptly at eight o'clock
Served promptly at seven
Served promptly at ten o'clock
And promptly at eleven
Heaven
Miss Mary Ann
Kept her cans in alphabetical order
Miss Mary Ann
Began to have some thoughts of murder
Miss Mary Ann
Began to think real hard about her future
Miss Mary Ann
Preferred her meat to be freshly butchered
Oh, she killed him rather quickly
Man, that woman was truly sickly
But, lord, not any sicker than according to plan
Like a soldier
One foot in front of the other
And
How he loved her apple pies
How he loved her meat loaf
How he loved her chicken breasts
How he loved her pudding
Served promptly at eight o'clock
Served promptly at seven
Served promptly at ten o'clock
And promptly at eleven
Heaven
Miss Mary Ann
Kept her man
In porcupine gloves
In porcupine gloves
And
On that day
As scheduled
They made porcupine love
Porcupine lo-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-achoo!
06 Flyin' (02:01)
I went flyin' out of my window
I went flyin' out of my window
Been caught doin' it once or twice
But it feels so real nice
Oh, it feels so real nice
Saw the earth and I saw the sky
Saw the earth and I saw the sky
Been caught doin' it once or twice
But it feels so real nigh
Oh, it feels so real nigh
Oh, it feels so real nigh
Went to school with them boring teachers
Who thought they was all my preachers
So I went starin' out of my window
I went starin' out of my window
Been caught doin' it once or twice
But it feels so real nice
Oh, it feels so real nice
Oh, it feels so real nice
That I might even do it again
One of them took me with him to sleep
Said not to make a peep
Said it'll be a secret we keep
So I didn't make a peep
Kissed my cheek and rubbed my feet
But his kissin' didn't taste so sweet
Told him I just wanted to sleep
So he got mad
And he got madder
And he got maddest of them all
Sent me flyin' out of his window
Sent me flyin' out of his window
Not caught once, not caught twice
And I've been flyin' ever since
And I've been flyin' in the sky
I've been flyin' ever since
And I've been flyin' in the sky
I've been flyin' ever since
And I've been flyin' in the sky
I've been flyin' ever since
And I've been flyin' in the sky
I've been flyin' ever since
And I've been flyin' in the sky
I've been flyin' ever since
And I've been flyin' in the sky
I've been flyin' ever since
And I've been flyin' in the sky
I've been flyin' ever since
Flyin' in the sky
I've been flyin' ever since
Flyin' in the sky
I've been flyin' ever since
I've been flyin' in the sky
I've been flyin' ever since
I've been flyin' in the sky
I've been flyin' ever since
And I've been flyin' in the sky
And I've been flyin' ever since
07 Wasteside (02:24)
I was sleeping by the wasteside of tomorrow
But it's better than sleeping by the wasteside of today
All the barbershops and funeral homes were open, oh
And the customers were coming
And the business was doing great
I was sleeping by the wasteside of tomorrow
Dreaming dreams and drooling on my bed
All the people in my town would be born
And they'd, and they'd get themselves a hair cut, and then
Promptly after they'd be dead
I was sleeping by the wasteside of tomorrow
When a drunk girl awoke me on the train
But I did not hear her mumbling
And I did not hear her stumbling
As I dubbed myself a passenger
And kindly stepped away
I was sleeping by the wasteside of tomorrow, of tomorrow
I was sleeping, I was sleeping by the wasteside
I was sleeping, I was sleeping by the wasteside of tomorrow
I was sleeping, ladies and gentlemen
I was sleee-eeeahhhh
I was sleeping by the wasteside of tomorrow
But it's better than sleeping by the wasteside of today
All the barbershops and funeral homes were open
And the customers were coming
And the business was doing so, so great
08 Pavlov's Daughter (07:45)
The gravediggers getting stuck in the machine
Picking getting slim, slimmer
I hear them say my name
Regin-ah, Regin-ah, Regin-ah-ah-ahh
Yes, I'm putting the boulder to my ear
And I still can't hear
What'dya think I was an amateur
Playin' with my tempa-cha-cha-cha-cha-ture?
If I hear another song about angels
If I see another feather on the dumb-box
I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey
Gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey now
If I hear another song about angels
If I see another feather on the dumb-box
I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey
Oh, get me some whiskey
Oh, get me some whiskey
Oh, get me some whiskey now
My name is Lucille
And I know
How you feel
I live downstairs
I hear you taking out your garbage
I hear you loving your girlfriend
I hear you loving yourself too
I hear you flushing your toilet
I hear you turning your thoughts off
And I, I turn mine off too
The only thing I hear is you
And you don't sound nice
And you don't sound right
And you don't sound good
And you don't sound right
My name is Lucille
And I know
How you feel
I live downstairs
I hear you taking out your garbage
I hear you loving your girlfriend
I hear you loving yourself too
I hear you turning your thoughts off
I hear you turning your thoughts off
And it gets quiet, quiet, oh
Quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet
Quiet, oh, quiet, oh
Quiet, quiet, quiet, qui, qui
Qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui
Qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, quiet
Quiet
Pavlov
Pavlov's daughter
Woke up in the morning
Heard the bell ring
And something deep inside of her
Made her want to salivate
So she lay there
Drooling on her pillow
So she lay there
The sun skimming her skin
And
Drooling on her pillow
Pavlov's daughter
Ohh, and it was far away
And hazy like a dream
Not a dream
But the ocean
Not the ocean
But forever
The gravediggers getting stuck in the machine
Picking getting slim, slimmer
I hear them say my name
Regin-ah, Regin-ah, Regin-ah-ah-ahh
Yes, I'm putting the boulder to my ear
And I still can't hear
What'dya think I was an amateur
Playin' with my tempa-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-ture?
If I hear another song about angels
If I see another feather on the dumb-box
I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey
Gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey now
If I hear another song about angels
If I see another feather on the dumb-box
I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey
Oh, get me some whiskey
Oh, get me some whiskey now
My name is Lucille
And I know
How you feel
I live downstairs
I hear you taking out your garbage
I hear you loving your girlfriend
I hear you loving yourself too
I hear you turning your thoughts off
I hear you turning your thoughts off
And I turn mine off too
The only thing I hear is you
And you don't sound nice
And you don't sound right
And you don't sound good
And you don't sound right
My name is Lucille
And I know
How you feel
I live downstairs
I hear you taking out your garbage
I hear you loving your girlfriend
I hear you loving yourself too
I hear you turning your thoughts off
I hear you turning your thoughts off
And it gets quiet, quiet, oh
Quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet
Quiet, oh, quiet, oh
Quiet, quiet, quiet, qui, qui
Qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui
Qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, qui, quiet
Quiet
As quiet as an ambulance staking out the neighborhood
Waiting for the blade to slip and that final blow
Nothing happens, it's a cruel joke
As ironic as a ticker tape parade over the rain forest
As ironic as a ticker tape parade over my head
As ironic as a ticker tape parade over my head
Going down stream
To where
It isn't
Even
Real
Rain
At
All
10 Braille (04:57)
She was lying on the floor and counting stretch marks
She hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a god
So she named the baby Elvis
To make up for the royalty he lacked
And from then on it was turpentine and patches
From then on it was cold Campbell's from the can
And they were just two jerks playing with matches
Cause that's all they knew how to play
And it was raining cats and dogs outside of her window
And she knew they'd be destined to become
Sacred roadkill on the way
And she was listening to the sound of heavens shaking
Thinking about puddles and puddles and mistakes
Cause it's been turpentine and patches
It's been cold, cold Campbell's from the can
And they were just two jerks playing with matches
Cause that's all they knew how to play
Elvis never could carry a tune
She thought about this irony as she stared back at the moon
She was tracing her years with her fingers on her skin
Saying why don't I begin again
With turpentine and patches
With cold, cold Campbell's from the can
After all I'm still a jerk playing with matches
It's just that he's not around to play along
I'm still an ass hole playing with candles
Blowing out wishes blowing out dreams
Just sitting here and trying to decipher
What's written in Braille upon my skin
She was lying on the floor and counting stretch
She was lying on the floor and counting stretch
She was lying on the floor, la la lying, la la lying on the floor, counting stretch
12 Sunshine (02:23)
Mr. Sunshine in the morning
In the morning light
Won't you come down from the ceiling
Oh, won't you stay the night
Baby, won't you stay
The night
In the summer I remember
Days so long and hot
These past weeks it has been raining
Now my song's a flood
Oh, baby, now my song
Is a flood
You've been driving down that same road
Road rage in your eyes
So won't you come down from the ceiling
Won't you hear my cries
Won't you hear my cries
Carico i commenti... con calma
