Årgang 01

Indkomstskatten afvikles over 6-7 år

Skattetryk af den størrelse er dødsensfarlig. Det fører til en forvridning af den økonomiske struktur. Mange mennesker mener ikke, det kan betale sig at arbejde og investere, medmindre det kan ske sort. Bedsteforældrenes ideer om skattebetaling efter evne er blevet til skattesnydning efter evne. Dette fører igen til forvridning af retsbegreberne og dermed sænkning af kulturstadet.

Skal man nå et stykke ad vejen, må man bruge de største genier i hver generation på noget så goldt og samfundsmæssigt urentabelt som skattearbejde. Staten må sætte kontrollanter på hver enkelt skatteyder for at følge ham i hans dagligfærd for at få fastlagt det nødvendige grundlag for den indkomstmåling, som er indkomstbeskatningens alfa og omega.

Antagelig er det lykkeligst for Danmark, at få forceret den pinefulde operation: Væk med indkomstskatten. En national lykke ville det være, om vi kunne komme mange år forud for de omgivende lande med hensyn til at sige den efterhånden uhumske olding det endelige farvel.

Igangsættelsen skal udråbes hurtigt gennem lovgivning, men der vil herefter hengå et lille års tid, før nedskæringen af de offentlige udgifter er så langt fremme, at indkomstskattelettelsen bliver aktuel.

På det tidspunkt er man imidlertid også kommet så langt frem, at man kan lade den altovervejende majoritet glide ud af indkomstskatten ved en bestemmelse om, at indkomstskatten opkræves som en enhedsskat på 50% af de indkomstdele, der overstiger 60.000 kr. skattepligtigt, mens beløb op til den nævnte grænse går helt fri for beskatning.

Når det er sagligt rigtigt at tage det store spring med det samme, beror det på, at netop i indkomstgrupperne op til 60.000 kr. er der enormt meget at hente ved at sløjfe indkomstoverførelsesordninger og frigøre tilskyndelserne til at tage overarbejde. Arbejdskraftbesparelserne i skattevæsenet bliver derhos selvsagt virkelig mærkbare, når det er 80% eller mere af befolkningen, der med et slag føres ud af indkomstskatteåget.

Står det til Fremskridtspartiet, bliver der ikke flere 15. maj´er, hvor den danske indkomstbeskatning kan holde runde fødselsdage.

!!!

!!!

Η συγκέντρωση ξεκίνησε στις 6. Η πορεία είχε γύρω στα 1100-1200 άτομα. Το ΚΚΕ ξεκίνησε λίγο νωρίτερα και προχώρησε μόνο του κάνοντας δικιά τους πορεία. (Είχαν γύρω στα 230-240 άτομα)
Οι υπόλοιποι προχώρησαν. (950 άτομα περίπου) Στα δικαστήρια γράφτηκαν συνθήματα και από ότι μου είπαν δεν σκόπευαν να κάνουν κάτι πέρα από αυτό. Πρέπει να έπεσε κανένα χτύπημα στην πόρτα των δικαστηρίων μέσα στα οποία ήταν μπάτσοι. Οι μπάτσοι βγήκαν έξω και εκεί που ήταν τεταμένη η κατάσταση ένας μπάτσος τράβηκε χειροβομβίδα κρότου λάμψης που έσκασε στα χέρια του χάνοντας 2 δάχτυλα. (Τις παραπάνω πληροφορίες τις πήρα από τρίτα άτομα αν και άκουσα τον κρότο.) Η πορεία συνεχίστηκε και στην κατάθεση στεφανιών υπήρξαν αρκετές λογομαχίες μεταξύ ΠΑΣΠ-ΠΑΣΟΚ και των αριστερών παρατάξεων-κομμάτων (Το ΚΚΕ είχε φύγει νωρίτερα και δεν ήταν εκεί)

υγ.Τα άτομα από το ΚΚΕ αρκετές φορές μου έχουν πει να μην κρύβω τα πρόσωπα από τις πορείες τους γιαυτό και στο πρώτο slide δεν τα έκρυψα.

I’ve never been to Bethlehem,

Nor walked by Galilee.

And the hills that knew my blessed Lord,

I may never live to see. 

But I’ve tried to trace His footsteps,

Across the Sacred Page. 

And by faith, I know He rules today,

As He has in every age.

O Faith, faith without it, 

You just cannot please the Lord.

Have faith, faith to doubt it, 

Brother you cannot afford.

For faith is the substance

Of things hoped for and yet not seen.

And lack of faith is why the church is so awfully lean.   –eab, 11/1973   

Today is a day of remembrance in Greece. It is as well a day of glory and a day of shame. Thirty five years ago, on November 17th 1973, the military regime that had taken over power back at 1967, dissolving what had been a fragile post-war parliamentary democracy, ordered the armed forces to end the revolt in the polytechnic school of Athens.

A revolt that had started almost spontaneously three days ago, on November 14th, with students from the polytechnic school taking over the campus and protesting against the military dictatorship, requesting the restoration of democracy. In the days to follow the people of Athens, floored the streets, joining in the demonstrations against the junta. “Bread-Education-Freedom” was their slogan and the public support that had embraced the riot, made some of them hope that they could actually win! An unarmed revolt, students with flowers and smiles, battling against the most repressive regime Greece has ever seen. And victory seemed possible!

On the night of November 17th 1973, a terrified by the popularity of the students, regime orders the army to seize the revolt. Armed tanks will flood the streets of Athens and the citizens will lock their doors too afraid to support their own children. The students of the Polytechnic school are abandoned alone, unarmed against armed tanks, soldiers and police officers, by a society that boasted about her democratic tradition, about her love for freedom. And the students will not retreat, will not surrender, they will stay on the front gate, singing the national anthem till the very end, holding a flag, watching an AMX 30 marching against them.

And many of them will die. Official reports still have not concluded how many died that night. Some say 24, some say 59, some say 76. The most tragic night in the history of Greece, a night that children stood up against death, against an enemy that was already within the walls for the past seven years, against a numb society that preferred to go to sleep rather than grab a freedom that seemed so close. Today is a day of remembrance. Politicians will pay tribute to the monument that exists in the yard of the Polytechnic school, teachers will give lectures in every school about the political and historic importance of that revolt, universities will not hold any of their classes.

Marches are organized in every major Greek city, with the bigger one in Athens ending up at the American embassy, protesting about the role and the support of the U. S. A foreign policy to the military regime and about its role to the tragic events of Cyprus that were to follow only a year later. Today we say, never again will we let innocent children die, trying to do the job of grown up men.

You can read about the events of November 17th here and here . The youTube video provided is from Greek national television and includes among others the wringing voice of one of the students, singing the national anthem through their amateur radio station, the moment the tank invades the campus. Translations available upon request.

01. årgang

Senest er det meddelt, at når amtsborgmesteren i Vejle amt, Aksel Buhl, til april går af efter kun fire år på posten, er han sikret 84.000 kr. resten af sine dage. Da en rigtig pæn erkendtlighed.

Normalt skal amtsborgmestre have siddet i otte år før de er berettiget til pension, men indenrigsministeriet har selvfølgelig ingen regel uden undtagelse. Har man før jobbet som amtsborgmester været sognerådsformand, ja, så flyder pengestrømmen.

Hvem betaler? Som altid: Du og jeg–!

I have posted a few songs in this blog that I call “chitthi” songs. In all those songs, the words “chitthi”, “daakiya” or “sandeshe” was mentioned prominently. These chitthis were written by near and dear ones staying in far flung areas.

Then there is another kind of “chitthi” songs, viz the plain old “love letters”. I had heard this song right from 1970s and this time, for a change,I not only knew about the singer (Kishore), I knew about the lyricist, music director and I even knew the name of the movie as well.

But even I was not aware that this movie had Dharmendra and Rakhi, and that this song is a “love letter”song. Rakhi treasures all the letters written to her by Dharmendra and she keeps reading those letters all the time. Though this song is sung by Kishore umar, but it is picturised on Rakhi who is seen reading all these letters.

I have not seen the movie, so I wonder if she is shown living alone in that huge house sprawled over acres of land. Did not she have some Ramu kaka kind of servents to take care of such real estate ?One will certainly go mad living alone in such a lonely deserted place.

The realisation that people no longer write letters also struck me. Nowadays, telecommunication facilities are so good that one can just take out one’s mobile phone and dial anyone anywhere in the world. As a result of such instant communication, people have forgotten the art of writing letters.

Love letters, rather than mobile phone calls used to be the means of communication among lovers those days. And writing letters to impress their lovers was considered a great skill. That skill has obviously gone into disuse nowadays, and perhaps for all times to come.

But letters have served their purpose for a few centuries, and they have given Bollywood movies a ver good topic to create wonderful songs. I do not think mobile phones can replace letters, as least as far as creating soul stirring Bollywood songs is concerned. That way, letters are like steam locomotives. Both of them are nearing extinction, but they have served their target audience with distinction, and while doing so, they have brought about a whole host of new feelings to the repertoire of mankind.

Song- Pal pal dil ke paas (Blackmail 1973) Singer-Kishore Kumar,Lyrics- Rajinder Krishan, MD- Kalyanji Anandji

Lyrics

pal pal dil ke paas, tum rahti ho
pal pal dil ke paas, tum rahti ho
jeewan meethi pyaas, ye kahti ho
pal pal dil ke paas, tum rahti ho

har shaam aankhon par, teraa aanchal lahraaye
har raat yaadon ki, baaraat le aaye
main saans letaa hoon, teri khushboo aati hai
ik mahkaa mahkaa saa, paighaam laati hai
mere dil ki dhadkan bhi, tere giit gaati hai
pal pal dil ke paas, tum rahti ho

kal tujhko dekhaa thaa, maine apane aangan mein
jaise kah rahi thi tum, mujhe baandh lo bandhan mein
ye kaisaa rishtaa hai, ye kaise sapne hain
begaane ho kar bhi, kyon lagte apne hain
main soch main rahtaa hoon, dar dar ke kahtaa hoon
pal pal dil ke paas, tum rahti ho

tum sochogi kyon itnaa, main tumse pyaar karoon
tum samjhogi deewaanaa, main bhi iqraar karoon
deewaanon ki ye baaten, deewaane jaante hain
jalne mein kyaa mazaa hai, parwaane jaante hain
tum yoon hi jalaate rahnaa, aa aa kar khwaabon mein
pal pal dil ke paas, tum rahti ho
jeewan meethi pyaas, ye kahti ho
pal pal dil ke paas… tum rahti ho

Διασχίζουμε το “3ήμερο του Πολυτεχνείου”. Για ακόμα μια χρονιά οι νέοι της γενιάς μου, θα φανούν  άσχετοι στα μάτια των έμπειρων και σχετικών. Παράλληλα οι δημοσιογράφοι θα βρουν και πάλι την ευκαιρία να οξύνουν την κατάσταση μέσω των ερωτήσεων και των ρεπορτάζ τους.

Πότε θα σταματήσει η κοροϊδία; Πότε θα ενδιαφερθούμε αληθινά;

Απόσπασμα του τραγουδιού “Ο Μπαρμπα-γιάννης και η απολησμονιά” από το νέο δίσκο των Active Member “Απ’ της φτιάξης μας τα λάθια”:

 Θα ‘θελα να με ρώταγες ποιος σκότωσε τον Άρη,

ποιος έδωσε τον Ράπτη και τον Καστοριάδη,

ποιος τον Λαμπράκη σκότωσε και ποιος τον Παναγούλη,

ποιος κρυβόταν πίσω από το μαύρο κουκούλι.

Τίνος Ρέμβη ήτανε η χουντομορταρία

 και ποιοι ανθρωποφύλακες στα κελιά τα κρύα.

Ποιοι λοιδωρούσαν τα παιδιά στο Χημείο

και ποιοι της λευτεριάς δεν περάσαν το πορθμείο..

Στίχοι: B.D.Foxmoor

Παραγωγή: B.D.Foxmoor

Blue Ash, “No More, No Less”
(Mercury SRM-1-666)
Original release: 1973
Reissued: October 28, 2008

Yeah, that’s about right. Blue Ash’s major-label debut, now on CD for the first time ever (danke, Collectors’ Choice!), is about as tight a pop album as you’re likely to hear, with each track yoked to a three-minute time limit, and arrangements and vocal harmonies cinched so snug we understand the Bowflex folks are studying its grooves as we speak.

The band hailed from Youngstown, Ohio, about 265 miles northeast of the actual town of Blue Ash, a humble suburban outpost (pop. 12,513 as of 2000; ranked in two editions of 50 Fabulous Places to Raise Your Family) they likely whipped past many times en route to Cincinnati. They were part of a ’70s rock contingent that included The Flamin’ Groovies, Badfinger, and, what the hey, Rockin’ Horse: rather than stretch the form to arena-strength super-sleaze, these groups kept it simple and bright, still reveling in their impressionable British Invasion youth (The Beatles, Who, et al) — although Blue Ash weren’t entirely averse to modern rave-ups, as evidenced on the rip-roaring “All I Want,” the snaggletooth’d lead of guitarist Bill “Cupid” Bartolin that propels “Let There Be Rock’s” Leiber/Stoller jailhouse strut, and the album’s opening slap-boom-bang, “Abracadabra (Have You Seen Her?).”

In power-pop terms, if we’re to speak the critical vernacular, Bartolin and bassist Frank Secich were Blue Ash’s Lennon/McCartney, penning all but three of “No More, No Less”’s 12 cuts. Lead belter Jim Kendzor scribbled himself a for-the-ladies smoov in “What Can I Do For You?” and the other pair came from third parties: the rare-Dylan “Dusty Old Fairgrounds” and, for kicks, Bartolin/Secich doppelgangers Lennon/McCartney’s “Anytime At All.” All carry the trademark Blue Ash tang: thorny jangle tickling the edges of Kendzor’s yelp on loan from Roger Daltrey, complemented by delicious Cupid leads and quartet harmonies compressed into one warm voice. Speaking of Daltrey, the group indulges a Who-ish fantasy in “Smash My Guitar,” hoping their heroes’ destructive luck rubs off. (Interestingly, two years later said BMOCs mused, perhaps in response, “I may go far if I smash my guitar” on The Who by Numbers.) Through Bartolin’s nimble paws, the instrument delivers its own eulogy and a final impassioned plea for life. To no avail, of course: it’s zealously thrashed to splinters upon a “big grey brick surrounded by microphones,” according to Secich’s accompanying essay. The track ended what was originally vinyl Side One, a break that gave Blue Ash ample time to invest in another six-string for the flip, which begins with the aforementioned “Anytime At All,” which if you ask humble moi doesn’t get covered enough.

I must admit to considerable ignorance of Blue Ash before this delectable beast power-popped into my life. I’m happy to report those days are over. As a listener, you could do far worse than “No More, No Less” (lest you question the unimpeachable palate of the late Paul Nelson, Mercury A&R man and the greatest of all rock writers). But if you happen to do better, SEND IT TO ME, because I think you’re lying.

(NOTE: Click the Blue Ash link above to check out music from the album.)

]]> http://kevrekidis.wordpress.com/2008/11/16/athens-polytechnic-uprising/ Sun, 16 Nov 2008 05:03:21 +0000 kevrekidis http://kevrekidis.wordpress.com/2008/11/16/athens-polytechnic-uprising/

Monument to the victims of the Athens Polytechnic Uprising, 17 November, 1973.

National Metsoveion Polytechnic School of Athens – Greece.
Monument to the victims of the Athens Polytechnic Uprising, 17 November, 1973.

In April 21, 1967, Greece had been under a military dictatorship (Junta), a regime which abolished civil rights, dissolved political parties and exiled, imprisoned and tortured politicians and citizens based on their political beliefs.
The Polytechnion Uprising is an outstanding event in recent Greek history. On November, 1973 students at the Athens Polytechnic School (Polytechneion) went on strike, barricaded themselves in the school campus and started protesting against the military regime. Events began on November 14th and ended on November 17th, 1973 with the unprovoked intervention of army tanks and the attack by the army and police against those besieged inside the Polytechnic Campus and the demonstrating supporters outside in Patission Street. These few days saw the growth of an impressive popular uprising centered at the Polytechnic School. The people of Greece and the country’s youth all rallied in support of the students, united around the ideals: Freedom, Democracy, Independence, Education and Social Progress. The toll of the Polytechnion uprising was tragic. Several demonstrators were killed; many more were arrested by the military police and were tortured for months in military prisons. The Junta fell a few months later and Polytechnion is being commemorated every year on November the 17th. The student uprising was a courageous and heroic act of resistance against the military dictatorship, and therefore a symbol of resistance to tyranny.

Εθνικό Μετσόβιο Πολυτεχνείο.

Το μνημείο του αγώνα των φοιτητών στο προαύλιο του Πολυτεχνείου.

Kevrekidis Photography at deviantART 

©2008 Jordan Kevrekidis

Pentru a ma tine de cuvant… si cu speranta ca lectorul meu nu se supara pentru publicarea operei sale, dau curs unui comentariu recent primit pe marginea articolului anterior:

“La urechile mele a ajuns asemeni unei melodii stridente şi pesimiste vestea candidaturii pentru Camera Deputaţilor a individului Adrian Năstase care se va folosi în cadrul acestor alegeri de un colegiu din Mizil. M-a întristat. Îl numesc individ şi nu persoană fiindcă persoana se defineşte în relaţie cu ceilalţi spre deosebire de el, Adrian Năstase, care se defineşte doar în raport cu sine însuşi, eventuala raportare la mase fiind conjuncturală, machiavelică, necesară doar pentru a obţine ceea ce oferă electoratul: votul.
Când am ascultat vestea candidaturii sale m-am regăsit asemeni momentului în care eram relaxat şi apatic, savurând notele muzicale ale Toamnei vivaldiene, cu expresia facială ştearsă şi inexpresivă. Aveam privirea pierdută undeva departe în căutarea unor soluţii reale pentru viitorul României, în aşteptarea Primăverii, compuse de acelaşi Vivaldi şi trăită cât se poate de real, anotimp care urmează cu siguranţă după cel mohorât şi rece, pentru a-mi face pe plac şi a audia într-un final toate Anotimpurile marelui compozitor. Dar cum să vină anotimpul primăverii când adresa Bombonelului este localizată într-un imobil luxos situat pe str. Zambaccian? Păcat că denumirea acestei străzi nu e una comună cu cea a vreunui anotimp. Cunoaşteţi cumva vreun anotimp cu denumirea Zambaccian?
Din nefericire, dacă (ex)tovarăşul Adrian Năstase va fi ales pentru Camera Deputaţilor, nu voi mai avea bucuria de a asculta Primăvara pentru că, în locul ei va rula o prelungă Toamnă, tristă, cu imagini lirice descrise de Bacovia, imagini ce se vor prelungi până la dezgustul şi amintirea anilor rataţi de România din perioada 2000-2004, perioadă în care stimabilul a îngrăşat ridicol realitatea cuvântului regresie, realitate ce a marcat ţara noastră în acei ani umbriţi de statura acestui personaj ce a involuat de la stadiul de zeu la cel de semizeu.
Ne mai putem lega şi de motivaţia pe care o are Adrian Năstase în încercarea de a ocupa un loc sub acoperişul Palatului Parlamentului? Desigur. E foarte importantă motivaţia… Are el motivaţia reprezentării celor care-l vor alege sau motivaţia sa are o dinamică ce face obiectul porţiunii ascunse a icebergului?
Asemeni majorităţii, sunt un cetăţean simplu, de rând, fără putere în această ţară. Nu pot împiedica candidatura acestui personaj pentru un loc comod în Camera Deputaţilor. Tot ce am putut să fac a fost să mă implic prin scrierea acestui Memoriu prin care le cer celor din Mizil care deţin puterea să nu-i ofere lui Năstase culoarea verde la semaforul din intersecţia în care se întrepătrund drumul care duce la periferia realităţii politice cu cel către Parlament pentru încă patru ani irosiţi pentru că nu se va întâmpla nimic semnificativ. Puterea e în mâinile lor. Ea constă în totalitatea voturilor pe care nu i le vor da prahovenii lui Adrian Năstase ca reacţie potrivită la guvernarea sa de subminare… a României.
De fapt ce a făcut Adrian Năstase în cei patru ani de guvernare? Nu ştiţi? Cred că ştim bine cu toţii! A trăit la stadiul de zeu muritor şi a vândut ce se mai putea vinde din ce avea România mai de valoare: petrolul. Apoi, când scârţâitul balamalelor nu ştiu cărui mediu de reeducare de la Jilava sau Rahova părea aproape, a inventat o capră ispăşitoare în persoana mătuşii Tamara, de acum simbolul cadavrului de sacrificiu pentru politicienii ce nu-şi pot justifica concret avuţia şi recurg la artificii care să-i scape de bulău. Că doar Năstase ştie să scrie, asta dacă nu o fi având ceva oameni care încing tastatura computerelor pentru a fabrica articolele care sunt postate ulterior pe blogul său pentru a-şi fascina cititorii cu strălucita lui enteligenţă de a ţese discursuri şi eseuri de sensibilizare a potenţialului electorat ce l-ar vota la anu’ când va candida pentru Preşedinţia României când va încerca să-l surclaseze pe marinar…
România reprezintă o naţiune creştină. Atât Bisericile (indiferent de confesiune) cât şi Parlamentul trebuie să ia poziţie fermă împotriva homosexualităţii şi a comportamentelor sexuale ce nu se armonizează cu valorile şi principiile creştine izvorâte din Sfânta Scriptură. Cum va putea oare România să lupte împotriva unor astfel de realităţi cu oameni ca Adrian Năstase în Parlament dacă unii ca el au deţinut şi poate mai deţin încă un stil de viaţă în care cultivă astfel de comportamente ce contravin valorilor şi intereselor românilor?
Una din soluţiile României este şi aceea ca data de 30 noiembrie a.c. să fie potrivnică unor candidaţi de factura încărcată de datorii neachitate faţă de România cum este specimenul Adrian Năstase. Haideţi să învăţăm să spunem NU unor astfel de personaje. Haideţi să votăm la aceste alegeri personaje ce sunt mai presus de orice bănuială şi incertitudine.

P.S. E important de ştiut puţin din istoria anului 1973 când Adrian Năstase a fost prins cu profu său… într-o ipostază ce pune sub semnul întrebării calitatea sa de fiinţă heterosexuală şi ne-ar face să credem că este un homosexual, probabil primul fost Prim Ministru HOMOSEXUAL. Dosarul său se află la Sibiu. Cică ar fi şi fotografii….”

da imensa criatividade e originalidade de um dos gênios - e mais engraçado (ou louco) - da tropicália, a crônica de como se fez uma das capas de disco mais premiadas da história da MPB:

Leiam até o fim, vale a pena, o texto é sensacional… e coloquem o disco como trilha sonora.

Todos os Olhos, de Tom Zé

Procura-se um motel. Na São Paulo de 1972 isso não é lá tão fácil de encontrar.
O jeito é pegar a rodovia Raposo Tavares e afastar-se alguns quilômetros da cidade para estacionar o Fuscão 1500 bordô ao lado de caminhões que descansam sob a placa “Retiro Rodoviário”. O rapaz tem 22 anos, é cabeludo, usa faixa na cabeça e calça boca-de-sino.
A moça tem vinte e poucos, é bonita, loira de cabelos compridos, tem os olhos claros, pinta de hippie e, assim como ele, é fã da Tropicália. Acessórios trazidos: uma máquina fotográfica alemã Praktika sem flash, quatro filmes Kodacolor ASA 100, dois abajures com lâmpadas de 100 W, fortíssimas, e uma caixa de… Bolinhas de gude?
Esses são os elementos usados na composição da foto da capa de Todos os Olhos, álbum do tropicalista baiano Tom Zé, lançado em 1973.
Tempo de ditadura. Toda a produção cultural, letras, músicas e arte-final do LP passam por censores antes de ir às lojas. Apesar da noite no “Retiro Rodoviário” não ser a única necessária para conseguir a foto da capa do disco, um ano depois dela Todos os Olhos vem ao mundo.
Os censores não atinaram para o que seria aquele fundo róseo com uma gema ao centro. Ainda bem. Tom Zé, o artista tropicalista, sabia que a circunferência no centro da capa era uma bolinha de gude. A repousar sobre uma parte verdadeiramente íntima do corpo humano, aquela mais abaixo do final das costas.
A idéia - de assombrosa afronta à censura - foi do poeta vanguardista Décio Pignatari, grande amigo de Tom Zé. Não eram tempos de brincar com a sorte. E toda a equipe de criação do álbum guardou muito bem o segredo.
Por ironia, logo após Todos os Olhos, Tom Zé caiu emum ostracismo e quase encerrou sua carreira. Em 1990, o americano David Byrne, ao pesquisar world music, descobriu o baiano. Produziu, então, o CD The Best of Tom Zé: Massive Hits e lançou-o nos EUA. Seria o início da retomada artística de Tom Zé, em franca atividade e produção até hoje. No encarte desse CD, torna-se pública a explicação do que está na capa de Todos os Olhos.
A transgressão vira troféu. Tom Zé torna-se cult. E o olho, róseo, pode enfim ser entendido como tal. E é uma das capas mais premiadas da música brasileira. Em 2001, quase 200 personalidades da música elegeram-na, na Folha de S.Paulo, a segunda melhor capa da MPB de todos os tempos, atrás apenas do primeiro disco dos Secos & Molhados, também de 1973.
O sutil e vitorioso acinte à ditadura ganha, naturalmente, a condição de capítulo fundamental na história da Tropicália - citado até em uma reportagem especial do jornal inglês The Guardian, em 2003.
E a história seria essa. Seria. Não fosse a revelação sobre o que, de fato, aconteceu naquela noite no “Retiro Rodoviário”. O suficiente para que se afirme: o olho de Todos os Olhos não é o que parece.
O protagonista do “Retiro” era Reinaldo Moraes. Ele trabalhava como assistente de estúdio na agência de publicidade E=mc2, que tinha como sócio Décio Pignatari, já um grande nome da poesia concretista. O chefe encomenda-lhe a foto. E tudo fica por conta do assistente. Inclusive providenciar a modelo.
“Queria muito participar desse jogo de afronta, queria muito executar uma idéia do Décio Pignatari, de quem eu era fã”, diz Reinaldo, 33 anos depois, já grisalho e não mais o “boy hippie marxista”, como se definia. Hoje, é escritor de inspiração beatnik, autor do desbocado Tanto Faz (Azougue Editorial), entre outros.
Aos 22 anos, e diante de tamanha missão, Reinaldo pensa em Vera (nome fictício), uma namorada bissexta, para modelo. Aproveitando um clima de reconciliação, lança um “sabe o Tom Zé?”, para introduzir o assunto.
No exato instante, o próprio Tom Zé, nascido e criado em Irará, sertão da Bahia, agonizava com a simples idéia de que se pedisse uma coisa dessas a uma moça:
– Fiquei apavorado quando o Pignatari me falou que tinham encontrado a modelo. E ele retrucou: “Como é que você quer traseiro sem modelo?”.
Vera, fã dos tropicalistas e de seu ripongo namorado Reinaldo, aceita o convite. E lá se vão, Vera e Reinaldo, de Fusca até o “Retiro Rodoviário”.
A sessão de fotos. No quartinho mal-arrumado do motel, Vera, empolgada, deita-se de costas na lateral da cama. No chão, as bolinhas de gude. Reinaldo posiciona os abajures na diagonal, de modo que a luz incida diretamente sobre o alvo. A lente é uma de 50 mm colocada no avesso para fazer a função de macro, e fica a apenas 20 centímetros do corpo da garota, já quase de cabeça para baixo.
Começam os problemas técnicos. A bolinha não pára. Cai, rola costas abaixo. Tentam-se novas posições. E mais outras. Nada da bolinha estacionar. Reinaldo descreve o desconforto:
- Ela ficou constrangida, quis parar, mas eu estava obstinado. Continuamos tentando. Foi bem complicado…
A bizarra cena transformou-se em mal-estar. Quando beirava o insuportável, uma das bolinhas parou quieta. Reinaldo descarregou cliques. Consumiu todos os filmes. Testou velocidades, posições da luz, enfim. Fez-se de tudo, menos sexo. Deixaram para trás um quarto cheio de bolinhas pelo chão, sem coragem de se olhar nos olhos.
No dia seguinte, Reinaldo leva o resultado para a apreciação na agência:
- Foi uma atitude poética. Como foto, algumas ficaram ótimas. Mas, mesmo nas melhores, era evidente do que se tratava.
Décio e Marcão, o diretor de arte da agência, ficam desolados. Décio, então, pede nova tentativa ao assistente. E lá vai Reinaldo falar de novo com Vera sobre Tropicalismo… Desta vez, nada de motel. Vão à casa de uma amiga. E, antes que repetissem a luta contra a obviedade fisiológica, uma nova idéia.
Vera tem a boca grossa. Lábios cheios de carne bem rósea. Vale tentar. Ela topa. Prefere. Senta-se no chão com a cabeça jogada na cama e faz biquinho. Uma bolinha é colocada e dali não sai. Os lábios contraídos formam frisos que em muito se parecem com o que devem parecer. Uma única série de cliques basta para, finalmente, realizar a idéia de Pignatari.
Aquele não era tempo de Photoshops, e a imagem é impressa sem retoques. Uma boca se fazendo passar por seu extremo oposto. Simples assim. Nos créditos do LP (reproduzidos em sua reedição em CD) constam: direção de arte de Marcão, fotografia de Reinaldo Moraes.
Vera não quis ver as fotos. Deixou pra lá. Depois de mais outras idas e vindas, também deixou Reinaldo pra lá. Ele soube que ela mora no interior de São Paulo, é dona de uma pensão e não se casou.
Já o autor da idéia, Décio Pignatari, recusa-se a comentar o fato. Interrompeu um telefonema, que atendeu desprevenido, ao ouvir as palavras Todos os Olhos:
- Olha aqui! Eu já falei muito desse assunto e não tenho mais nada pra dizer sobre isso, viu?
Desligou, solenemente, na cara. Procurado outras oito vezes em uma semana, mandou dizer pela secretária que não fala sobre isso.
Já Tom Zé ouve atenciosamente a verdadeira história da capa de disco mais importante de sua carreira. E cai numa gostosa gargalhada:
- Hahaha! Então me enganaram esse tempo todo! Filhos da puta, me enganaram! Hahaha! …E que alívio! A moça não precisa mais ter vergonha. E pode se congratular de ter sido personagem de uma rebeldia.
Ainda sob o choque da notícia, pede a capa à esposa, Neusa. Em silêncio, põe o vinil em frente aos olhos, analisa-o como se fosse a primeira vez, e matuta:
- …É. Agora que você falou, dá pra viajar. Mas a gente não duvidava não… Pode ser uma boca mesmo, hehehe… Pode ser que seja mesmo, hahaha… E até ontem isso aí era oficialmente outra coisa. thanks to mopho discos

Tom Zé - Todos os Olhos (1973)

Black Sabbath-1973-Sabbath Bloody Sabbath

1.    Sabbath, Bloody Sabbath
2.    National Acrobat, A
3.    Fluff
4.    Sabbra Cadabra
5.    Killing Yourself to Live
6.    Who Are You?
7.    Looking For Today
8.    Spiral Architect

Link de descarga: http://rapidshare.com/files/163276853/05-Black_Sabbath-1973-Sabbath_Bloody_Sabbath.rar

The ultimate story of revenge, Lady Snowblood (Shurayukihime) laid the groundwork for Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill films and proved to be the inspiration for several others. It is a blood-spattered and beautiful picture, directed by Toshiya Fujita with all sorts of fierce, blood-spurting glee. While many would argue and perhaps complain that this gem of a samurai exploitation flick is only getting attention because of Tarantino’s homage/rip-off, any awareness of Fujita’s little blood-fest is good news in my book.

Thematically, Lady Snowblood fits comfortably in the exploitation genre. It is a film about social change and victimhood as the characters react to incoming Western philosophies and new forms of rule. Like many exploitation films, Lady Snowblood uses violence and graphic content to draw notice to its central theme. Unavoidably, the graphic violence overshadows the theme and the blood-and-guts take over in full force.

The story is told through flashbacks and cutaways, adding a disjointed sense of reality to the plot. Meiko Kaji is the attractive Yuki Kashima, whose entire life is dedicated to retribution after the vicious murder of her father and sadistic rape of her mother. Yuki is born in a woman’s prison to her mother, Sayo (Miyoko Akaza). Sayo dies from childbirth but is able to tell her cellmates that Yuki is to be raised for the purpose of retaliation. Six years later, one of Sayo’s cellmates takes young Yuki to a priest, Dōkai (Kō Nishimura), for training.

After her training, Yuki hits the path of revenge to track down those who wronged her parents. We are shown, graphic novel-style, who Yuki is looking for: Takemura Banzō (Noboru Nakaya), Kitahama Okono (Sanae Nakahara), Shokei Tokuichi (Takeo Chii), and Tsukamoto Gishirō (Eiji Okada). Stripped of emotion, sadness, and anger, Yuki’s quest for vengeance takes hold of her entire life. It is all she is able to do, it is her birthright, it is her divine purpose. As a “child of the netherworld,” she tracks her prey and dispatches of them in magnificent, gruesome fashion as only she can.

Some critics misguidedly dismiss Kaji’s Yuki as a crude walking samurai sword. On the contrary, Meiko Kaji brings depth and multiple dimensions to her role. She remains a stoic, certainly, and is rightly passive in her expressions, but we must remember the culture and time period in which Lady Snowblood takes place. We also must remember the role of women in such a society. Yuki knows what is expected of her as a young woman of her time, but she also knows what her ultimate quest for justice requires of her. Her only expression comes at the conclusion of the picture when she finally allows herself to cry.

While there is indeed texture and substance to the character of Yuki Kashima, the core of Lady Snowblood is the bloodshed. And there is plenty of it. Much of the film features color dynamics of severe, vivid scarlet splashed on untainted white. There is almost always snow on the ground or flakes falling from the sky, which provokes an odd feeling of wholesomeness as counterpoint to Yuki’s violent adventure. Yuki’s wardrobe, too, is pure white and the blood splatters it like war paint.

The blood is a character in and of itself here. It gushes, spurts, pours, and bursts out of wounds. Arms are chopped off, bodies are sliced in half, and torsos are gutted liberally. The blood takes its time in greeting the air, almost always splashing out seconds after the sword breaks the skin. As though through a fire hose, the blood sprays everyone in range until there is nothing left. These extraordinarily ridiculous crimson displays are common in samurai exploitation (chambara), but perhaps no other film demonstrates such artistry with the dazzling red stuff.

Lady Snowblood is the decisive revenge movie. Centered on a character with nothing to live for but fierce, violent retribution, this is an exploitation picture with often-overlooked profundity and great action sequences. For a bloodthirsty good time, find a copy of this tonight.

9/10

Trailer:

Creatures of time for a moment,

Creatures of eternity for aye,

Living once and so briefly,

Then passing forever away.

But away to what is the question,

To freeze the very soul;

Away to the place where one had

Planned to make his final goal?

Or away to the unexpected? 

Away to the undesired?

Where the sky is never blessed

With a morning sun, newly fired.

Away to the region of sorrows and griefs,

Heretofore unknown,

Away to reap the abundant harvest

Of “wild oats” carelessly sown.

Away to a place without babies,

To divert from the problem at hand

Away to a scene, worse by far,

Than Alamo or Custer’s Last Stand.

Away to separation - Separation

- How sad that word, how sad!

Separation from a praying Mother,

Separation from a faithful Dad.

O God, may I die as the righteous,

Peaceful, Calm, Prepared.

And come to the brink of the river,

Knowing I have not spared.   -eab, 11/1973

Written in Nevada, Ohio

In what’s becoming a familiar story among enthusiasts of every stripe, I found it on eBay.  The price was right–less than the cost of a decent DVD player.  It was rust-free and ninety-five percent complete, if the photos were to be believed.  And, perhaps most importantly, it was on a piece of land with a couple hundred other cars, and all of them were in line for the crusher thanks to a land-grab by a greedy condo developer.  Okay, so maybe the sob story wasn’t 100% true, and it was over two thousand miles away besides, but I was sold nonetheless.  It was the right car at the right time, and I loaded up my truck and trailer and set out in pursuit.  Most car guys would understand.  A few might shake their heads in pity, but they’d understand, and at least be proud of me for going for it.

Of course, no trip is without its hardships.  A blown exhaust gasket on my tow vehicle, a rented trailer with a bent axle that began chewing up tires a hundred miles from home, a late spring snowstorm and a sudden spike in the cost of diesel all conspired against me.  But I braved the hardships, arrived before the crusher came and loaded up my prize, keyless and dirty from sitting for fifteen years in the Arizona mountains.  My portable air compressor failed and I broke a winch cable getting it onto the trailer, but it was off the ground soon enough, and I trekked home with my new acquisition riding high on the trailer behind me.  I had triumphed over the odds.

I felt like I was in a parade most of the way, as passers-by glanced up at my prize.  A fellow with a ‘33 Ford street rod even admired it in Oklahoma.  When I got home, I aired up the tires to roll it back off of the trailer and three of the four ancient bias-plies actually held air.

And there she was, in my garage, a picture of car-guy triumph: my very own 1973 Ford Pinto wagon, ready to fix up.

Insert skritching record-player needle sound effect here.

Excuse me?  A Pinto?  Suddenly, a lot of those car guys who were nodding knowingly are just looking confused. Even the street rod guy assumed I had gathered the Pinto up just to cannibalize its front suspension for a street rod.  But no, I wanted a Pinto–specifically, a first-generation Pinto station wagon–and I went to great lengths to get it.  I didn’t do it because the car’s an incredible investment, or even because it’s particularly rare (although unmolested early Pintos are getting rather thin on the ground these days, and this was the first model available with front disc brakes); I put myself through two weeks of labor because I wanted it.  This was the car I wanted, and it doesn’t matter whether anyone else thinks it’s worth it.  This is about more than money.

“Yeah, but it’s a Pinto,” some of you are still saying.  Oh, shut up.  The very first car I remember riding in was a Pinto.  My mom had a ‘74 wagon, in orange with an orange interior and matching orange hubcaps, and I loved that car.  My age was measured in single digits but I was already a car guy, and I bonded with that Pinto.  I even had a yellow plastic toy Pinto for a while.  That car stood out as an icon of my childhood, and whether or not it was objectively a Great Car or not didn’t–and doesn’t–matter.  It’s a reminder of a happy time in my life and I want to have one before they’re all gone.  End of story.

The Car Guy in me is happy to defend the Pinto–before the exploding gas tank flap, it was a pretty respectable car.  Early Pintos were decent performers, well-built and even offering decent fuel economy and performance for the time.  There was a reason it was a great-selling car for a while, after all.  Bet you didn’t know that the original Pinto was lighter and quicker than a contemporary MGB GT, did you?

But after all of that, it doesn’t matter if you’re convinced that the trek was worth it or not anyway.  What matters is that I got the car I wanted, and it’s in my garage.  Everybody should.  Don’t be apologetic for the cars you like–if its uncool, but it’s special to you,  that’s good enough for me.  Every car is somebody’s favorite car, after all.

CAPITAL CITY ROCKETS - Little Bit O’Fun / Breakfast In Bed (Elektra 1973)
USA Midwest quintet featuring the singer of the bubblegum band Music Explosion, Jamie Lyons.
Produced by Michael Rosa.

A manera de epílogo para nuestra serie de posts dedicados a la icónica banda de rock progresivo Aphrodite’s Child, hagamos el día de hoy una pequeña semblanza de la carrera de su segundo miembro más importante, junto con el ya comentado Vangelis: Demis Roussos.

Artemios Ventouris Roussos (adoptó el seudónimo Demis tras incursionar en la música) nace en 1946, de padres griegos, en la ciudad de Alejandría. A fines de la década de 1950, su familia decide regresar a Grecia debido a la inestabilidad provocada en Egipto por la Guerra del Sinaí. Es en la tierra de sus antepasados en donde Demis inicia una carrera musical, participando desde la adolescencia en algunas bandas pequeñas, hasta que se encuentra con Vangelis Papathanassiou y Loukas Sideras para formar Aphrodite’s Child.

Tras la separación del grupo, cada uno de sus miembros sigue un camino propio. Vangelis se dedica a la experimentación musical, tomando un enfoque más orientado a la composición y el New Age. Roussos, por su parte, va más con lo tradicional, siguiendo un rumbo dedicado al Pop y el Rock suave. Adoptó una imagen completamente nueva –se le vio con una barba tupida, algunos kilos de más (ha luchado con el sobrepeso desde entonces) y una vestimenta compuesta de túnicas- , y comenzó a grabar sus propios temas tan pronto como AC dejó de existir.

Una de sus primeras canciones, de gran fama tanto en Europa como en América (debe ser el mayor éxito que ha alcanzado en México pues resulta, hasta la fecha, muy fácil de escuchar en la radio, especialmente la versión que el mismo Demis grabó en español) es Forever and Ever, original de 1973.

Otros de sus temas  gozaron de gran fama en el viejo continente, pero no tanto en nuestras latitudes americanas. Un ejemplo claro es la excelente My Friend the Wind, también de 1973. Aquí la tenemos:

Goodbye, My Love, Goodbye es una canción cuyo nombre no le resultará muy familiar a nuestros visitantes mexicanos, pero sí su melodía. Y es que ha tenido varios covers nacionales durante la década de 1970 y hasta fechas recientes (el primer grupo en “coverearla” fueron Los Jinetes; otro ejemplo es la versión de Estela Nuñéz… y creo que hasta existe una versión en el cuestionable ritmo de… *gulp*… ¡duranguense!…  :|)

Demis Roussos es todo un políglota, y ha grabado canciones tanto en inglés como en griego, español, alemán, francés, portugués y hasta japonés (y estos son nada más los lenguajes que yo sé que habla; lo más seguro es que también domine muchos otros). Aquí podemos escucharlo cantando en nuestro idioma la pieza Morir al Lado de mi Amor (1977; se conoce como en inglés como Because).

Demis no piensa en el retiro. Hasta hoy, continúa cantando, grabando y presentándose en vivo como siempre lo ha hecho.  Su discografía sigue creciendo, y su voz deleitando a todos sus fanáticos alrededor del mundo…

Fuentes/Referencias: http://www.demisroussos.net/ ; http://www.vangelismovements.com/magic.htm ; http://www.billboard.com ; http://www.cancionesdelayer.com ; http://en.wikipedia.org ; http://www.youtube.com ; http://www.lastfm.es/music

In which The Gay Recluse loves Truffaut.

So tonight we watched Day for Night, Francois Truffaut’s 1973 movie about movie-making. Although “day for night” apparently (because what do we know?) refers to a film technique by which a day shot is made to look like the night, it also — at least in the English translation (in French it’s La Nuit Américaine) — encapsulates the sense of confusion and wonder that surrounds any kind of theatrical endeavor in which the pedestrian and tedious hours of the day give way to the giddy swirl of art and performance. Truffaut perfectly captures both the illogical side of making art — the logistical hassles, the crazies, the money troubles — and the pleasures — the camaraderie, the affairs, the laffs — that so often make the inevitable return to “real” life seem so burdensome, particularly for those (like Truffaut, evidement) who only truly live for their art. Truffaut himself stars as the director of the film-within-a-film, and is a pleasure to watch with Jean-Pierre Léaud and Jacqueline Bisset, both of whom radiate a certain early 1970s hedonism built around great-looking hair. It should also be noted that the leading man in the film-within-the-film is an older “ladie’s man” who doesn’t really shock anyone on the set by bringing his younger gay lover along for the ride. (This is really a minor sub-plot, but the de facto manner in which it’s presented is yet another reason to love this film, which resonates with a truth built around the idea that the theatrical world has always lived by different rules than the outside.) Finally for cat lovers, the film has one of the most adorable sequences ever in which the film crew tries to get a kitten to drink milk from a saucer left outside a door. Serious awws and lolz! When the movie abruptly (but appropriately) ends, we feel the same kind of wistful longing to live outside of ourselves for the sake of art, and dread the sad prospect of returning to the work that is everyday life.

The War Begins:

We join Carling, Tyler, Norris and the Lieu as they come upon Keisha Davies, a nine year old girl who has been thrown off a roof. When Sam pulls back the cover over the body, he discovers that she’s the same girl that rode by him singing the Sandman song in the last episode. Carling informs them that two witnesses saw one Angel Ramirez throw Keisha off the roof. Lieu tells Sam that a Puerto Rican throwing a black girl off a roof will cause bedlam. Annie reveals that Keisha used to help Angel when he was working in her building.

Do You Believe?:

Tyler and Carling leave the scene to help Skelton pick up Angel. Chris informs his fellow detectives that Ramirez fled into the church and Father Tim is refusing to let them in to pick up Angel. Carling tells the Father about how Angel was seen throwing a little girl off of a roof. Sam tells him that if he’s innocent, he’ll have nothing to worry about. The priest finally gives in and the detectives discover a piece of cloth from the girl’s dress in his pocket. Father Tim tells Tyler to be fair because a man’s soul’s at stake. 

The First Blow:

As Tyler and Carling move to put Ramirez in the car, a black man walks up to the car and throws a pipe bomb underneath. The man takes off and the bomb blows up, letting Angel go free. 

Homeless Guys Know a Lot:

Back at the precint, Tyler and Norris talk about how the Lieu is going to bust some heads around the town looking for Angel. Tyler tells her that he should be dead when one of the vagrants who’s exiting the cells tells him that he may be dead because it would explain a lot. 

Sam Meet Frank, Frank Meet Sam:

Lieutenant Hunt tells his people that nobody Pearl Harbors the 125. Tyler asks what happened to finding Angel Ramirez and stopping what could turn out to be a race war when Lieu says the war began when that girl hit the pavement. At this point, a black man steps into the precint with two other black men in handcuffs. He claims that they’re the ones that bombed the detectives. As he reaches into his pocket for his credentials, alll the cops think he’s going for a gun. When Tyler focuses on the man, he realizes that it’s Detective Fletcher Bellow (or Clams), his mentor 2008. Carling disarms the detectives and then discovers that Clams is a detective in the Bronx precint. Clams asks for a shot at interrogating the two punks he brought in to find out if they know where Angel can be located. 

Frank Meets His Wife:

Bellow asks the men if the BLA (Black Liberation Army) has Angel. When they refuse to answer, the other detectives start taunting them until they finally reveal that the BLA has put a price on Ramirez’s head. At this point, Annie comes in and lets Clams know that a Denise Watkins is at the precint to see him.

Going Against Your Own People:

Sam accompanies his future mentor to find a young black woman who accuses them of intimidating the two black men in their room and Clams for not protecting his own people. She reveals that she’s the gang members lawyer. After they leave Watkins, Tyler almost tells Bellow that he and Denise will end up married.

Sam Gets a New Partner:

After running into Watkins, Bellow and Tyler run into the other detectives gearing up for the Angel Ramirez manhunt. Carling tells Sam that they’re been granted the option to shoot-to-kill since they found that cloth on Ramirez. When Tyler asks Lieu why they’re judging the man without all the evidence, Hunt tells him that no one kills children in his kingdom. Once all the detectives leave, Clams tells Tyler that his people are going to make a mess of things. Tyler suggests that they work together to find Ramirez before the other detectives from the 125. Bellow starts to freak out because if he works with a white detective to persecute his own people, he’ll be ostracized. Tyler finally gets Frank to agree to work with him, but Bellow refuses to hug Sam.

Searching For an Angel:

Tyler and Bellow return to Father Tim’s church to ask him where they can find Angel Ramirez. The Father asks Sam why he left the faith in exchange for information on Ramirez. Tyler tells him that his father left when he was four and he prayed every day that he’d come back so he can say goodbye. When he never returned, he finally lost the faith. The priest tells him that Ramirez was seeing someone and then tells Tyler that his looking for an Angel is God’s way of saying that he wants Tyler back on the team.

Frank and Sam Get to Know Each Other:

During a stake-out, Bellow and Tyler get to know each other. Frank tells him that his father left his family when he was 10. After that, he acted out until he joined up with the police and finally straightened out. Tyler tells him that he entered the force when a black cop taught him right from wrong after he got caught stealing candy on a dare. As Sam starts to see the grown up Frank in the man before him, a call comes over the radio telling them that Angel Ramirez has been spotted.

Take No Prisoners:

As they travel to said location, Tyler passes a homeless man holding a sign that reads, “If this is purgatory then how do I get to heaven?” As Sam notices the man, he hears an EKG machine in the background. Bellow finally brings him back to reality and the two detectives see a man hiding behind some pallets. As they approach to see if it’s Angel, they’re taken prisoner by the BLA. 

Frank and Sam Meet the “Man”:

Tyler and Bellow are taken to the BLA’s headquarters where they’re told that the BLA are going to trade the detectives’ lives for Angel Ramirez. Suede starts to free-style and Sam makes a comment that he’s pretty good at it. Suede forces Tyler to freestyle before Bellow gets a third nostril. When the gun is cocked, Tyler starts to recite “Ice Ice Baby”. At this point, Denise comes down and tells Suede that “he” would like to see the cops. 

Manipulating the “Man”:

While they’re walking to see “him” Bellow asks Denise out for some clams. She turns him down and lets them in to see Brother Lovebutter (played by Whoopi Goldberg). Bellow is shocked that the Brother on the radio is actually a sister. When Lovebutter tells the detectives that the BLA is out to avenge Keisha’s death with blood. Tyler tells her that only God should judge-not humans. Bellow tells Lovebutter that anyone involved in finding Angel with the BLA will be arrested for being accomplices. Once they finally agree for Lovebutter to maintain radio silence for 24 hours. Lovebutter allows Sam and Frank to ask Angel to call them. At this point, Angel calls and starts to go into the story of how Keisha “fell” off the roof. Lovebutter switches lines and Sam hears LT Hunt’s voice telling him to get off the airwaves and get a location on Angel. Once they get the Lieu off the air, Angel has hung up. After they’re off the air, Sam reveals that Angel was at the Port Authority to catch a bus. 

Finding an Angel:

Bellow, Tyler, Lieu, Carling, and Skelton arrive at the Port Authority at the same time. All detectives see Angel’s jacket and run after the person in it. Once they all catch up, they discover that it’s actually a pregnant woman in the jacket and that Angel has already hopped a bus. 

Remembering the Lullaby Girl:

They take Marta back to the precint and tell her that even though Angel is her boyfriend, they need to know where he’s hiding. Tyler tells her that the only way to save his life is to let them bring him in so that the BLA doesn’t kill him. Bellow tells her that he and Tyler both grew up without a father and that he’d rather not let Marta’s child grow up fatherless. She finally tells them that he wanted to pay proper respect to Keisha by attending the memorial. 

Officer Down:

The detectives arrive at the memorial at the same time as Suede and the BLA. As they look around for Angel, Sam starts to hear people saying farewell to him. He picks up a paper at his feet and discovers that NYC cop died in the line of duty-possibly Sam. Once his hallucination ends, the BLA notices Angel on top of the roof. 

Chasing Butterflies:

Tyler and Bellow run up the stairs to find Hunt and Carling questioning Angel while pointing their guns at him. In order to protect the man-and his innocence-Tyler pulls his gun on Hunt and Bellow pulls his on Carling (who redirected his at Tyler). The Lieu asks why Sam’s aiming for him (”Have you died and gone to moron heaven?”). Tyler states that he’s not going to drop his weapon until he’s sure Angel won’t be killed and that the Lieu will hear out his story. Lieu tells Tyler that he better get off the roof so they can take care of business. At this point, Angel starts explaining his side of things. Keisha was with him while he was on the roof painting. She came up to the roof to show him a butterfly that she had caught in the park. The butterfly flew from Keisha’s hands and she chased after it-right off the roof. He tried to stop her by pulling on her dress-and ripping it-but he was too late.

Getting Justice:

Carling states that even an ex-con will weave an intricate story in order to not go back to jail. Bellow tells him to shut up while Hunt ponders if Ramirez is lying or not. Gene approaches the corner and tells Tyler that the only thing that could solve the race war is justice. He tells Sam that the only truth people want to hear is that Angel killed Keisha. Gene turns around and shoots Angel and the people below immediately calm down. Sam climbs in the ambulance with Angel’s body while the other detectives stay back to disperse the crowd. 

Cheating Death:

In the ambulance, Sam tells Angel that the ambulance is taking him to the bus station where  he’ll hop a bus with Marta to Michigan. Angel tells Tyler that he’s an answer to his prayers and he hopes Sam’s will be answered one day.

Saying Goodbye and Hello:

Back at the precint, Hunt punches Tyler and tells him that if he pulls his gun on the Lieu again,  he’ll be knocked back to 1933. Frank comes up to Sam and tells him he saw Denise again. Sam states that he has to keep going after the sister because life’s about chasing butterflies. Once he wraps up things at the precint, Sam returns to the church where he runs into the bum again. The man tells him that he’s there for the funeral. This kicks Sam into a vision where he sees everyone that’s important to him attending-even Father Tim is officiating. Tyler slowly walks to the casket, opens it, and sees….that it’s really Frank Bellow’s funeral-not his. The vision ends and the bum comes up to him and lets Sam know that they heard his prayers and let him say goodbye to his father-they just chose the better father to say goodbye to. The man leaves the church with Keisha in hand-leaving Sam in the middle of the church. This whole episode has catapulted Sam back into the faith. 

(1922-1999) Representante cualificado de la línea estalinista del Partido Comunista húngaro, en 1950 entró en el Comité Central del Partido y entre 1953 y 1955 fue Vicepresidente en el Gobierno de Imre Nagy. Al ser destituido éste el 8 de abril de 1955, fue designado Primer Ministro. Fue Hegedüs en calidad de responsable del Gobierno quien el 28 de octubre de 1956 solicitó formalmente, mediante nota diplomática, la intervención de las fuerzas armadas soviéticas para sofocar la insurrección. Con el tiempo se hizo muy crítico con el poder soviético y en 1968 condenó explícitamente la intervención armada del Pacto de Varsovia en Checoslovaquia para terminar con la “Primavera de Praga”. Pocos años más tarde, en 1973, fue expulsado del Partido Socialista Obrero Húngaro por planteamientos contrarios al régimen de Kádár.

Generalmente, cuando se habla de los Bee Gees, automáticamente pensamos en música disco. Nos llegan a la mente imágenes de una atiborrada pista de baile, los trajes blancos al estilo Travolta y –por supuesto- la ya clásica esfera de espejos…

Y, después de todo, ¿por qué no? ¿Qué no fueron los Bee Gees una agrupación puramente destinada al tan amado –ejem… y, también, tan odiado… de hecho, jamás me ha podido gustar- género Disco? ¡Claro que no! La historia de los hermanos Gibb va más allá de lo que el emblemático estilo de la década de 1970 nos ha hecho creer.

Los Bee Gees surgen a principios de los años 60 (fue en esta década cuando comenzaron a ganar notoriedad, pues ya se habían iniciado informalmente desde 1957/1958), resultado de la unión de los hermanos Barry, Maurice y Robin Gibb. Viviendo un tiempo en Australia –la familia Gibb era originaria de Manchester, Inglaterra-, el trío de hermanos aprovechó su talento musical de forma temprana para realizar algunas presentaciones en televisión, apareciendo bajo diversos nombres hasta finalmente ser conocidos como Bee Gees (en referencia a las iníciales formadas por la frase “Brothers Gibb”).

Para 1967, después de alcanzar un ligero éxito en Australia, los Gibb habían regresado a Inglaterra, en donde lograron conseguir un contrato con la disquera Polydor. Su primer single, New York Mining Disaster 1941 fue un hitazo en el Reino Unido y Estados Unidos. Los hermanos habían comenzado en grande… y con el pie derecho.

Desde ese momento y hasta 1973, los BGs cosecharon una notable cantidad de éxitos que los colocó entre el gusto del público: Words, To Love Somebody, Massachusetts, World, I Started a Joke, la bella How Can You Mend A Broken Heart?, Don’t Forget to Remember, First of May, y muchos otros (hay algo que he notado de las canciones grabadas durante este periodo, y es que la mayor parte de ellas tiene un corte melancólico, de gran tristeza… Tal vez es cosa mía, pero siempre he tenido ese sentimiento… )

La temporada suave de los BGs terminaría en 1975, cuando comenzaron a experimentar cantanto en tono de falsete. Este año marcó la salida del álbum Main Course… Con él, la época Disco había comenzado para los hermanos Gibb…

En fin, escuchemos una breve selección de la “primera época” de esta agrupación. He elegido algunos de los temas que me parecen más característicos de ese sonido dulzón con el que contaban en aquellos años. Empecemos con Don’t Forget to Remember (1969).

Vamos ahora con Words, una canción de 1968 que resulta conocida para el público de México, pues Johnny Dinamo realizó en su momento un estupendo cover conocido como Palabras.

…Y, ya de 1971, pasemos con How Can You Mend A Broken Heart?. Con su letra cargada de tristeza y sentimentalismo, uno podría pensar que fue compuesta en un momento de gran depresión por parte de Barry y Robin –sus autores- pero, en realidad, prácticamente la improvisaron de la nada en cuestión de minutos :|…

Bueno… Así concluye el post de hoy. Creo que salió con una extensión algo mayor de la que acostumbro generalmente . Los invito a que busquen más temas de los primeros años de los Bee Gees. Lamentablemente, el éxito que alcanzaron con la música Disco ha provocado que estos temas pasen a un segundo plano. No dejemos que esto ocurra: sigamos descubriendo toda su obra, pues siempre valdrá la pena escuchar canciones como estas…

…Ok, rematemos con I Started a Joke, de 1968:

Fuentes/Referencias: http://www.officialbeegees.com ; http://www.beegees-world.com/ ; http://www.columbia.edu/~brennan/beegees/ ; http://www.songfacts.com ; http://en.wikipedia.org ; http://www.youtube.com

Thank you for letting me treat you like a KING…
And Thank you for treating me like a QUEEN!
Let us grow old together…until we are 103
Thank you for being YOU, and loving me as ME. ~Heather

Huston siempre trata de contar una película parecida, esos famosos perdedores, pero sumergiéndose de lleno en la estética y el espíritu del momento en el que la rueda. The Mackintosh man es una película seminal en el sentido más amplio de la palabra, donde el guión de Walter Hill, hermano amargo y seco del que escribió el año anterior para La huida de Peckinpah, ayuda a colocar parte de las bases de un cine, el de los espías modernos, que hoy día sigue usando Europa como tablero de juego de acceso fácil y escondiendo al héroe moral de siempre bajo una máscara, la de Paul Newman, sobria y desapasionada. Los esquemas sólo se rompen del lado del villano, un desagradable James Mason que cambia la megalomanía de siempre por un punto de vista mucho más realista y menos atractivo: el malo no es demoníaco, simplemente es un cínico muy práctico. La frialdad de la partenaire femenina, Dominique Sanda es el reflejo del espíritu gélido de toda la película, un intento consciente de narrar una historia clásica de espías del modo más voluntariamente antirromántico posible.

Fanshawe

Here is a Laxmikant Pyarelal song full of verve and enthusiasm. Such songs were typically the preserve of Asha Bhonsle, but this particular song has been sung by Lata and Minoo Purushottam, and the result is a song that was very popular during its days.

The picturisation is just as hectic. This song is not picturised on the leading ladies but on two bit actresses. The leading ladies (Sharmila Tagore and Rakhi) in fact are among the spectators watching this dance as is Rajesh Khanna. I can identify one of the dancers as Padma Khanna, and I have no idea who is the other one. But it must be said that such a vigorous dance is just the right exercise to keep in shape. Singing and dancing this song daily will certainly do a world of good to any aspiring weight loser.

Song- Main yaar manana ni (Daag 1973) Singers-Lata, Minoo Purushottam, Lyrics-Sahir Ludhianvi, MD-Laxmikant Pyarelal

Lyrics

yaar hi meraa kapdaa lattaa yaar hi meraa gahnaa
yaar mile to izzat samjhun kanjri ban kar rahnaa

hmmm hmmm
ni main yaar manaanaa ni chaahe log boliyaan bolen
ni main yaar manaanaa ni chaahe log boliyaan bolen
ni main yaar manaanaa ni chaahe log boliyaan bolen
main to baaz na aanaa ni chaahe zahar sautanen gholen
main to baaz na aanaa ni chaahe zahar sautanen gholen
ho mukhdaa uskaa chaand kaa tukdaa kadd saru kaa bootaa
mukhdaa uskaa chaand kaa tukdaa kadd saru kaa bootaa
uski baanh kaa har halkoraa lagtaa swarg kaa jootaa
ni main yaar manaanaa ni chaahe log boliyaan bolen
main to baaz na aanaa ni chaahe zahar sautnen gholen

yaar mile to
o yaar mile to jag kyaa karnaa yaar binaa jag soonaa
yaar mile to jag kyaa karnaa yaar binaa jag soonaa
jag ke badle yaar mile to yaar kaa mol doon doonaa
main to nai sharmaanaa ni
main to nai sharmaanaa ni
chaahe log boliyaan bolen
chaahe log boliyaan bolen
main to sej sajaanaa ni chaahe zahar sautnen gholen
main to sej sajaanaa ni chaahe zahar sautnen gholen
thirak rahi mere pair ki jhaanjhar jhanak rahaa meraa choodaa
thirak rahi mere pair ki jhaanjhar jhanak rahaa meraa choodaa
ud ud jaaye aanchal meraa khul khul jaaye joodaa
ni main yaar manaanaa ni chaahe log boliyaan bolen
main to baaz na aanaa ni chaahen zahar sautne gholen

baith akeli
ho baith akeli karti thi main deewaaron se baaten
baith akeli karti thi main deewaaron se baaten
aaj milaa wo yaar to bas gayi phir se sooni raaten
main to jhoomar paanaa ni
main to jhoomar paanaa ni
chaahe log boliyaan bolen
chaahe log boliyaan bolen
nach ke yaar rijhaanaa ni chaahen zahar sautnen gholen
nach ke yaar rijhaanaa ni chaahen zahar sautnen gholen
bichhde yaar ne pheraa daalaa preet suhaagan huyi
bichhde yaar ne pheraa daalaa preet suhaagan huyi
aaj mili jo daulat uskaa mol naa jaane koyi
ni main yaar manaanaa ni chaahe log boliyaan bolen
main to baaz na aanaa ni chaahe zahar sautnen gholen