• Versione 2 Voto:
L’assalto al cielo compete al santo, ma pure al buffone. Che non è male mordicchiare l’azzurro per poi risputarlo addosso ai poveri di spirito (categoria alla quale mi onoro di appartenere).
L'assalto al cielo compete a tutti. E ognuno per salire fa come vuole, c’è chi usa la scala, c’è chi salta, c’è chi chiude gli occhi…poi c’è pure chi scompiglia significati soffiandoci sopra come fa il vento.
Che proprio da un tipo di vento origina, etimologicamente, la parola buffone.
Oh, attenti bambini, l’argomento di oggi è il paradiso/inferno dell’eccentricità inglese, quella cosina da niente che i più accorti dicono nipotina della malinconia e cugina della saggezza.
Questo paradiso/inferno ha un nome buffo, anzi buffissimo...
E questo nome è Bonzo dog doo-dah band, ovvero il più perfetto paradigma della parolina magica che contiene al suo interno. Quale parolina? Bonzo? Dog? Doo-dah? Band? Ma, vedete voi, che in fondo son magiche tutte quante. Io però voto per quella con il trattino.
Che poi, per dire, Bonzo dog doo dah band come si traduce? La band dada del cane bonzo? La bonzo band del cane dada? La banda cane del bonzo dada? Il cane bonzo della band dada? Oh, il problema non sussiste, tanto suona bene in qualsiasi modo.
E comunque immaginate: il quartetto Cetra e lo zio Frank che suonano insieme al party del cappellaio matto; il perfetto prato all’inglese che si fa discarica di ogni detrito o quisquilia musicale, l’assalto notturno al deposito strumenti della banda del paese.
“Gorilla”, il primo album, è uno stordente gas leggero che fuoriesce dalle stanze dell’alchimista come le bolle di sapone dal cerchietto. Solo che poi quelle bollicine quando esplodono non fanno solo puf.
Si parte con una specie di sigla televisiva degna dei G.A.S.A.D (Gruppi a sinistra dell’altra domenica), si prosegue con una cosuccia alla Beatles impreziosita (?) da stille rococò e sberciata da un orgasmo basso tuba.
Poi arrivano “Nella vecchia fattoria”, un crooning da comic opera, una scemenza salterina , un dixieland da battello…e un sacco di amenità varie…
Ecco se pensate ad un orrido ed inascoltabile pateracchio siete fuori strada.
Che tutto è attenuato da una bizzarra atmosfera da the delle cinque e da una follia quasi dolce. E tutte quelle stramberie, tenute insieme dal gusto infantile per il gioco, alla fine se ne filano via lisce in guisa di canzoncina. Come se il caos rifiutasse di darsi importanza.
E l’impressione è quella di stare su una nuvola. Solo che poi da quella la nuvola pende un calzino bucato
Diverso il discorso per il successivo, “The doughnut in granny greenhouse”, maggiormente dedito a un canone (anche se canone si fa per dire) pop rock. Certo non manca (e come potrebbe?) l’effetto trombone su marcetta o pernacchia su carillon, ma alla delizia quasi ottocentesca del precedente si è sostituito ben altro piglio.
E insieme alla solita chincaglieria superscema compaiono fantastici finti rock e finti blues (leggasi parodia) e anche momenti molto avantgarde dove lo zio Frank, con uno strappo, allunga decisamente sul quartetto Cetra e i Beatles par quasi s’apparentino ai Soft Machine patafisici, ovvero quelli dei primi due album.
Che dire, ad esempio, della conclusiva “Mustachioed daughters”, dove voci recitanti s’adagiano su un sottofondo comico tribale squarciato dalla rumoristica e da organetti horror? E di “We are normal” che è circo , sarabanda, orchestrina, gloriosa gioia free form e furioso rock’n ‘roll?
Ma poi alla fine, esattamente come per “Gorilla”, prevale una sensazione di assoluto psichedelico e queste canzoncine provocano lo stesso spaesamento di una “I am the walrus”(Beatles) o di una “Flaming” (Floyd barrettiani). Del resto gli anni son quelli.
Poi certo, i Bonzo andavan visti dal vivo. Si narra infatti di concerti favolosi (tutti diversi l’un dall’altro) e di una band di quattro o cinque elementi che sul palco aumentavano fino a venti/trenta. Di guizzi verbali, incursioni nel grottesco e tributi al non senso. Di astrusi manichini robot e di un milione di clownerie…peccato non esserci stati.
Elenco tracce testi e video
01 We Are Normal (04:49)
We
We are (ar ar ar ar ar...)
We
We are...
And, uh, here come some normals...
they look like normal... Hawaiians.
Well, uh, you didn't mention what month.
You think you're normal?
Yes, quite normal.
OK, here comes one.
Go inside! (tee hee hee)
Well it's, ah, it's not for me to deter really, is it? I mean
it's for a psychiatrist to deter these things, isn't it?
I like dehre food, and dey arr veddy nice people.
Ooh, itsalright, innit?
That a face?
Smart. It's your backside.
Oh, they're just typically normal.
No! This is not manly!
Well, it is unusual. Well, it's like a rabbit! He's got a head onhim like a rabbit!
I don't know, it's just not like normal people do.
You're not runnin' around in your underpants are you?
We are normal and we want our freedom
We are normal and we want our freedom
Wir sind gew�hnlich, wir sind zufrieden
We are normal and we dig Bert Weedon, ha ha!
We are normal and we want
Our freedom
Our freedom
Freedom!
Freedom!
Freedom!
We are normal and we want our freedom!
02 Postcard (04:23)
Oh, I do like to be beside the sea
Drinking bear sits in Silver's Arcade
Sips imaginary lemonade
Amusement Pork!
Writing letters home
What a lovely view-EE-ooo (blah blah blab blab) (Dear Mom)
"What the Butler Saw" was a bit of a drag
The captain says he's going to heave, too
Bored with Bingo, we went for a swim
Fat sea cows with gorgonzola skin
Semi-nude!
After lunch, we grabbed our trunks
And we all got cramp!
Trousers rolled, the sea is cold
But it's good for chillblains
On the prom, white plimsolls and blue shorts
Brass band playing by the tennis courts
Love-fifteen! Love fifteen year olds
What a lovely view-EE-ooo, I've written at last
What's the rudest one? Just for a laugh
Just married and it sticks out for a mile!
We wish you were here
We wish you were here
We wish you were here
We wish you were here
We wish you were here
We wish you were here
We wish you were here
We wish you were here
We wish you were here
We wish you were here
We wish you were here
We wish you were here
We wish you were here
It rained yesterday, so we stayed indoors
The food's all right, I'm okay, hope you are same
Wish you were always, your loving son Anthony
I hope I get bronze this year
08 Trouser Press (02:18)
[Spoken]: One, two, three, kick!
Come on everybody, clap your hands
Ooh, you're looking good
Are you having a good time? I sure am
Do you like soul music?
(No)
Well, do the trouser press, baby! One, two three!
[Sung]
Trouser press fever! Wooh!
Trouser press fever! Wooh!
Trouser press fever! Wooh!
Trouser press fever! Wooh!
Give it all you can
It's much better than
A pre-fabricated concrete cold bunker!
[Spoken]: You're so savage, Roger.
Press those trousers!
Ecstasy boost, ecstasy
[Sung]
The coffee increases shirt crease
Turn up for the books now
Trouser it to me
Don't hang me up now
(Cheering)
[Spoken]: The programme you have been listening to is a one-act play in eight parts by G. G. Dunnett for eighteen albatrosses and reservoir. The part of Old Bill was played by a frying pan. The other part of Old Bill was played by Sir Rupert Carpet who found a pair of swimming trunks on his head and was surprised... (fades out)
09 My Pink Half of the Drainpipe (03:34)
You who speak to me across the fence
Of common sense
How your tomato plant will win a prize,
won't that be nice,
And by the way, how's your wife?
Your holidays were spent in Spain
You went by train
You'll go again
Have you seen me bullfight poster on the wall?
Do you know the appy memory it recalls?
Here's a photograph of me and my son, Ted
That's me cousin with his hanky on his head!
We booked in at our otel just after two
And met a family from Bradford that we knew
Oooh, a melody! Burp!
My pink half of the drainpipe
Separates next door from me
My pink half of the drainpipe
Oh, Mama!
Belongs to me
Rodney's vain saxaphone solo, as promised
My pink half of the drainpipe
Semi-detach-ed, ah!
My pink half of the drainpipe
Oh, Mama!
Belongs to moi
I have a sister in Toronto who's a nurse
And I've had a bit of bother laying turf
It's life, not books, that taught me all I've learned
Woop, in the b'oven my rice pudding's getting burned!
Ere, have you seen the new attachment on me drill?
I must have the cat put down, cause he's ill
Hey, neighbour!
My pink half of the drainpipe
I may paint it blue
My pink half of the drainpipe
Keeps me safe from
you!
I'm a wobbly jelly, you're a pink blancmange
I'm a sherry trifle, you're a chocolate sponge
Your dad wears a paper hat, mine inflates balloons
Whoops! Boodly boop! Pop! Here comes a spoon!
My pink half of the drainpipe
Separates me from the incredibly fascinating story of your life and every day to day event in all it's minute and tedious attention to detail... And was it a Thursday or a Wednesday? Or, oh, no, it wasn't though. Oh, who cares anyway because I do not
So Norman, if you're normal, I intend to
be a freak for the rest of my life, and I shall baffle you with cabbages and rhinoceroses in the kitchen, incessant quotations from "Now We Are
Six" through the mouthpiece of Lord Snooty's giant, poisoned, electric head.
SO THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERE!
11 Rhinocratic Oaths (03:22)
After his second wife passed away, Percy Rawlinson seemed to spend more and more time with his alsatian owl.
His friends told him "You should get out more, Percy, or you'll wind up looking like a dog, ha ha."
He was later arrested near a lampost.
At his trial some months later he surprised everyone by mistaking a policeman for a postman and tearing his trousers off with his bare teeth.
In his defence he told the court "It's hard to tell the difference when they take their hats off."
Mrs Betty Pench was playing the trombone when she heard a knock on the door.
"I wonder who that is at eleven o'clock in the morning" she thought, but cautiously opened the door and instead of the turbanned ruffian she had expected, she found a very nice young man.
"Mrs. Pench, you've won the car contest, would you like a triumph spitfire or 3000 in cash?" He smiled.
Mrs. Pench took the money. "What will you do with it all? Not that it's any of my business," he giggled.
"I think I'll become an alcoholic," said Betty.
With a geranium behind each ear and his face painted with gay cavalistic symbols, six foot eight seventeen stone police seargent Geoff Bull looked jolly convincing as he sweated and grunted through a vigorous triscutine at the Fraga Gogo Viachella.
His hot surge trousers flapped wildly over his enourmous plastic sandals as he jumped and jumped and gyrated towards a long-haired man.
"Uh, excuse me, ma'am, I have reason to believe you can turn me on."
He leered suggestively.
As if by magic dozens of truncheons appeared and they mercilessly thrashed him.
Poor Geoff, what a turnout for the books.
Much as he hated arguments or any kind of unpleasantness, Ron Shir thought things had gone too far when, returning from a weekend in Clapton, he found that his neighbour had trimmed the enourmous hedge dividing their gardens into the shape of a human leg.
Enraged and envious beyond belief, Ron seized his garden shears and clipped his white poodle Leo into a coffee table.
"That'll fix it," thought Ron, but he was wrong.
The following Wednesday his neighbour had his bushy waist-length hair cut and permed into a model of the Queen Elizabeth and went sailing.
Everywhere he went, people said "Hooray!"
Sometimes you just can't win.
Carico i commenti... con calma
