Dichiarazione spontanea:
Ammetto reo-confessamente, confidando nella clemenza della Corte testè riunita, che fino a qualche settimana addietro del buon Sixto, oltrechè Diaz (detto anche solamente) Rodriguez e del Suo sommessamente imprevedibile disco d'esordio oramai obnubilato dall'inesorabilmente ammantante polvere spazio-temporale risalente à quasi quattro decenni or sono, non né sapevo absolutely alcunché.
Mi chiedo, e chiedo à Voi cortesi Signori DeGiurati, come ciò sia stato possibile indi come possa essere accaduto chè il mio pigramente ectoplasmatico mononeurone (chè per brevità d'ora innanzi chiamerò Ecto) non né abbia finora sentito l'urgenza conoscitiva: tra i sette/otto milioni di gruppi, relative note biografiche, discografie, line-ups e facezie varie che hanno più o meno liberamente solcato il personale (empty)cranio fino ad ora, della splendida interpretazione vocal-musicofila fornita dal meticcio bellimbusto in quaestionem non risulta èsservi traccia alcuna.
Cristosant_! Eppure l'Ecto, presente in numero variabile in ciascuno di Noi, viene, sempre più spesso nostro malgrado senza farne esplicita richiesta, messo al corrente quotidianamente di-tutto-di-tutti: travolti da ogni longitudine, come innocenti quanto esili fuscelli arborei esposti alle più tumultuose intemperie, dalle peggiori eresie poste in musica (un paradigmaticamente contemporaneo nome à caso: il caso umanissimo Marco Carta e l'accolita di talentuosi "Amici" à latere); contestualmente il sistema si dimentica volutamente, perlomeno fino a quando non possa trarne motivo di sudicio lucro, di erudirci, riportandone i mirabili fasti, della indubitabile qualità intrinseca di personaggi et opere (davvero) senza tempo come questo magnetico "Cold Fact".
Sono indignato ma altresì (in)conscio della mia reo-colpevolezza di fondo: avrei dovuto scandagliare con atteggiamento ancor più Cistercense l'aere circumstante; spero pertanto, Cari Sign(i)ori ivi riuniti per discuter della adeguata pèna mèco infliggere, di poter porre seppur tardivo et sommamente inefficace medicamentoso rèmedio tramite questa scalcagn(i)ata de-paginae.
Elementi probatori:
"Cold Fact", ovattato, spumeggiante, multiforme debutto del buon Rodriguez, venne realizzato nell'anno di grazia 1970 e nonostante la Sua inevitabile arcaicità suono-strutturale suona tutt'oggi inaspettatamente quanto magnificentemente fresco, godibilmente variegato, ricco di fantasiose quanto inattese soluzioni et sfumature come pochi dischi (anche attuali/ssimi) possono fre-pregiarsi di estroflettere alla medesima maniera; inizialmente, assuefatti come oramai siamo a registrazioni scintillanti [narcotizzati dal "come" e non dal "cosa"] capaci di esaltare qualsivoglia trascurabile suono-quisquìlia, nell'origliare la struttura compressa, quasi inscatolata, in apparenza monofonica del suono emesso, ci si deve profondere in un ulteriore (ma abbondantemente ripagato) sforzo prima di poter assaporare compiutamente le cangianti et appassionanti atmosfere in esso contenute. Dodici brevi/brevissime squisite canzoncine (raramente si và aldilà dei tre minuti), che qualcun_ ha osato raffazzonatamente definire come sorta di Beck ante-litteram: fossi nel buon Rodriguez m'innervosirei alquanto!
Mi si lasci testimoniare chè il pregiato e diversificato pastiche psychedelic-folk-pop-rock-soul-blues ivi rappresentato fa barba, capelli e ceretta integrale tutta alla produzione del quantunque interessante, perlomeno nelle primigenie fasi, Mr. Hansen; il bridge centrale della trasognata "Sugar Man" ci precipita in un instabile buco nero privo di suono-gravità e dai davvero indefinibili confini spazio-temporali; le strutture acustiche apparentemente semplici ma terribilmente attraenti ed efficaci di "Hate Street Disguise" e/o "Crucify Your Mind" oppure l'incendiario chitarrismo para-Hendrixiano della 'cattiva' "Only Good For Conversation" lasciano impietosamente e definitivamente ammaliati; al tutto si sommi quella agrodolce, malinconicamente felice, sensazione di irripetibilità che ne accresce esponenzialmente il già di per se elevato valore intrinseco.
Arringa offensiva:
Signori! Due sono le questioni: o questa evanescente et trascurabile reliquia ha dato il definitivo colpo di grazia generando il conchiusivo game over (insert coin, please) al rimbecillito Ecto, indiperciò costui dovrà esser dichiarato tanto infermo di mente quanto innocente oppure urge che la qvi presente (sfinita a morte) Corte assegni il massimo della pena per siffatti gravissimi accadimenti: a termini di legge la prevista sanzione da applicarsi sarà l'ascolto reiterato delle "evoluzioni canore" del folk-apocalittico Marco Carta ad infinitum.
Appello desperado:
Ecto: abbiate pietàs di mé(co).
Elenco tracce testi e samples
01 Sugar Man (04:40)
Sugar man, won't you hurry
'Cos I'm tired of these scenes
For a blue coin won't you bring back
All those colors to my dreams.
Sugar man met a false friend
On a lonely dusty road
Lost my heart when I found it
It had turned to dead black coal.
Silver magic ships you carry
Jumpers, coke, sweet Mary Jane
Sugar man you're the answer
That makes my questions disappear
Sugar man 'cos I'm weary
Of those double games l hear
02 Only Good For Conversation (02:25)
My pocket don't drive me fast
My mother treats me slow
My statue's got a concrete heart
But you're the coldest bitch I know
In the factory that you call your mind
Graveyard thoughts of stone
A master thief I wouldn't enter there
You've nothing I would care to own, so help me
You're pretending that you got it made
I know you know you know no truth
You're still serving cookies and kool-aid
You're so proper and so cute
My pocket don't drive me fast
My mother treats me slow
My statue's got a concrete heart
But you're the coldest bitch I know, so help me
03 Crucify Your Mind (02:30)
Was it a huntsman or a player
That made you pay the cost
That now assumes relaxed positions
And prostitutes your loss?
Were you tortured by your own thirst
In those pleasures that you seek
That made you Tom the curious
That makes you James the weak?
And you claim you got something going
Something you call unique
But I've seen your self-pity showing
And the tears rolled down your cheeks.
Soon you know I'll leave you
And I'll never look behind
'Cos I was born for the purpose
That crucifies your mind.
So con, convince your mirror
As you've always done before
Giving substance to shadows
Giving substance ever more.
And you assume you got something to offer
Secrets shiny and new
But how much of you is repetition
That you didn't whisper to him too.
05 Hate Street Dialogue (02:30)
Woman please be gone
You've stayed here much too long
Don't you wish that you could cry
Don't you wish I would die.
Seamy, seesaw kids
Childwoman on the skids
The dust will choke you blind
The lust will choke your mind.
I kiss the floor, one kick no more
The pig and hose have set me free
I've tasted hate street's hanging tree
I've tasted hate street's hanging tree.
Instrumental
I kiss the floor, one kick no more
The pig and hose have set me free
I've tasted hate street's hanging tree
I've tasted hate street's hanging tree.
The inner city birthed me
The local pusher nursed me
Cousins make it in the street
They marry every trick they meet.
A dime, a dollar they're all the same
When a man comes in to bust your game
The turn key comes, his face a grin
Locks the cell I'm in again.
I kiss the floor, one kick no more
The pig and hose have set me free
I've tasted hate street's hanging tree
I've tasted hate street's hanging tree
I've tasted hate street's hanging tree
I've tasted hate street's hanging tree...
06 Forget It (04:40)
But thanks for your time
Then you can thank me for mine
And after that's said
Forget it.
Don't be inane
There's no one to blame
No reason why
You should stay here
And lie to me.
Don't say anymore
Just walk out the door
I'll get along fine
You'll see.
But thanks for your time
Then you can thank me for mine
And after that's said
Forget it.
If there was a word
But magic's absurd
I'd make one dream come true.
It didn't work out
But don't ever doubt
How I felt about you.
But thanks for your time
Then you can thank me for mine
And after that's said
Forget it.
07 Inner City Blues (02:20)
Going down a dirty inner city side road
I plotted
Madness passed me by, she smiled hi
I nodded
Looked up as the sky began to cry
She shot it.
Met a girl from Dearborn, early six o'clock this morn
A cold fact
Asked about her bag, suburbia's such a drag
Won't go back
'Cos Papa don't allow no new ideas here
And now he sees the news, but the picture's not too clear.
Mama, Papa, stop
Treasure what you got
Soon you may be caught
Without it
The curfew's set for eight
Will it ever all be straight
I doubt it.
7 jealous fools playing by her rules
Can't believe her
He feels so in between, can't break the scene
It would grieve her
And that's the reason why he must cry
He'll never leave her.
Crooked children, yellow chalk
writing on the concrete walk
Their King died
Drinking from a Judas cup,
looking down but seeing up
Sweet red wine
'Cos Papa don't allow no new ideas here
And now you hear the music
but the words don't sound too clear.
Mama, Papa, stop
Treasure what you got
Soon you may be caught
Without it
The curfew's set for eight
Will it ever all be straight
I doubt it.
Going down a dusty, Georgian side road
I wonder
The wind splashed in my face
can smell a trace
Of thunder.
08 I Wonder (02:30)
I wonder how many times you've been had
And I wonder how many plans have gone bad
I wonder how many times you had sex
I wonder do you know who'll be next
I wonder l wonder wonder I do
I wonder about the love you can't find
And I wonder about the loneliness that's mine
I wonder how much going have you got
And I wonder about your friends that are not
I wonder I wonder I wonder I do
I wonder about the tears in children's eyes
And I wonder about the soldier that dies
I wonder will this hatred ever end
I wonder and worry my friend
I wonder I wonder wonder don't you?
I wonder how many times you been had
And I wonder how many dreams have gone bad
I wonder how many times you've had sex
And I wonder do you care who'll be next
I wonder I wonder wonder I do
09 Like Janis (02:33)
And you measure for wealth by the things you can hold
And you measure for love by the sweet things you're told
And you live in the past or a dream that you're in
And your selfishness is your cardinal sin.
And you want to be held with highest regard
It delights you so much if he's trying so hard
And you try to conceal your ordinary ways
With a smile or a shrug or some stolen cliche.
'Cos emotionally you're the same basic trip
And you know that I know of the times that you've slipped
So don't try to impress me, you're just pins and paint
And don't try to charm me with things that you ain't.
And don't try to enchant me with your manner of dress
'Cos a monkey in silk is a monkey no less
So measure for measure reflect on my said
And when I won't see you then measure it dead.
'Cos don't you understand, and don't you look about
I'm trying to take nothing from you
So why should you act so put out for me?
10 Gommorah (A Nursery Rhyme) (02:20)
Come on down and see me
You know my name well
I'm everything you've read
I've got it to sell.
The ladies on my street
Aren't there for their health
Welfare checks don't pave
The road to much wealth.
The cats and the rat things
Go bump through the night
They'll come do a dance thing
Just turn off your light.
Gommorah is a nursery rhyme
You won't find in the book
It's written on your city's face
Just stop and take a look.
A story of pure hate
With pictures between
A tale for your kids
To help them to dream.
Sleep now little children
Don't lose your way
'Cos tourists don't see things
In the clearness of day.
Gommorah is a nursery rhyme
You won't find in the book
It's written on your city's face
Just stop and take a look.
11 Rich Folks Hoax (03:05)
The moon is hanging in the purple sky
The baby's sleeping while its mother sighs
Talking 'bout the rich folks
Rich folks have the same jokes
And they park in basic places.
The priest is preaching from a shallow grave
He counts his money, then he paints you saved
Talking to the young folks
Young folks share the same jokes
But they meet in older places.
So don't tell me about your success
Nor your recipes for my happiness
Smoke in bed
I never could digest
Those illusions you claim to have going.
The sun is shining, as it's always done
Coffin dust is the fate of everyone
Talking 'bout the rich folks
The poor create the rich hoax
And only late breast-fed fools believe it.
So don't tell me about your success
Nor your recipes for my happiness
Smoke in bed
I never could digest
Those illusions you claim to have going.
12 Jane S. Piddy (02:38)
Now you sit there thinking feeling insecure
The mocking court gesture (jester) claims there is no proven cure
Go back to your chamber, your eyes upon the wall
'Cos you got no one to listen, you got no one to call
And you think I'm curious
Drifting, drowning in a purple sea of doubt
You wanna hear she loves you,
but the words don't fit the mouth
You're a loser, a rebel, a cause without
But don't think me callous
Dancing Rosemary, disappearing sister Ruth
It's just your yellow appetite
that has you choking on the truth
You gave in, you gave out, outlived your dream of youth
And I can't get jealous
So go on, you'll continue with your nose so open wide
Knocking on that door that says Hurry come inside
But don't bother to buy insurance 'cos you've already died
And you can't be serious
I saw my reflection in my father's final tears
The wind was slowly melting, San Francisco disappears
Acid heads, unmade beds, and you Woodward world queers
I know you're lonely
I know you're lonely
I know you're lonely...
Spoken:
Thanks for your time
And you can thank me for mine
And after that's said
Forget it.
Bag it, man
(Okay)
Carico i commenti... con calma
