Existem músicas que permanecem. São mais do que prazeres. São memórias. São nossas e dos outros. Como em nenhuma outra arte, a Música é comunhão. Quer por estarmos num concerto, quer porque a ouvimos no conforto de casa.
Todos os fins-de-semana vão poder ouvir um álbum que me marcou. Esta semana cabe a Nikka Costa e ao LP Everybody Got Their Something.
If you a star, I be your milky way If you a bar, I drink up everyday If you the town, I be the talk If you the talk, Baby I be the walk
If you wanna dig, I be your gold baby If you wanna live, I be your old age You be the time, I be the clock You be the tick, I be the tock
If you wanna race, I run like crazy If you wanna ride, I drive you daily If you a beach, I be the sand You wanna give, I be your hand
Chorus You got me Stuck to You
If you a case, I be a jury If you a sin, I be your mercy If you the beat, I be the moves If you a tree, baby I be the roots If you a bride, I be your wedding If you a soul, I be Your Otis Redding If you a verse, I be your song If you a king, I be your kong
Chorus You got me Stuck to You
Clap hands come on Clap hands come on (come on) Clap hands come on (come on)
Never breakdown Hand for a breakdown I’m a fool I’m a clown She’s a fool She’s a clown But you Stuck me so good That’s right I been shot down
Never breakdown Hand for a breakdown I’m a fool I’m a clown She’s a fool She’s a clown But you stuck me so good That’s right I been shot down
Chorus You got me Stuck to You
Stuck it to me good now Baby I’m stuck to you
Clap hands come on Clap hands come on (come on) Clap hands come on You got me to (come on) You got me to Stuck to you
Do álbum Everybody Got Their Something. From the LP Everybody Got Their Something.
A semana não tem corrido bem. O peso de tudo, das coisas normais, emprego, mulheres, família, das coisas que chateiam, que chegam aquele ponto em que parece que todas as linhas do destino convergiram para fazer daquela semana um inferno, tudo isso encheu as medidas do meu copo. À minha frente, num bar qualquer, muito escuro - foi por isso que o escolhi -, um copo cheio de qualquer coisa muito forte, qualquer coisa que me possa arrastar para a merda em que pretendo afogar-me hoje à noite. A madeira do balcão tresanda a vómito e a sexo. Pergunto-me, num assomo de sanidade (?), que estaria ali a fazer. Tinha me perdido nas ruas e entrado no primeiro festival de neons azuis e vermelhos e amarelos que favorecesse o meu estado.
Estava quase a afundar de penalty o copo quando um grito estridente perguntou se eu estaria bem. Que é que ela (sim, era uma mulher, claro) acha? Não parece óbvio? Viro-me e uma barragem de som atropela-me. Bateria. Baixo. Guitarra. E. A . Voz. A gritar. Eufórica. Viva.
Durante muito tempo a barragem de som continuou e continuou. Sem parar na euforia, na vida.
No fim, ela saltou do palco, dirigiu-se a mim e disse todos nós temos as nossas coisas, rapaz. Acorda. Bebe. Deita-te ao rio. Mas fá-lo como uma pena. Tudo fica fácil a partir daí.
This week hasn’t been good. The weight of it all, of all these normal things, job, women, family, the things that bother, that slam into your life to the point that it seems that every thread of fate conspired to make that week into a living hell, everything filled my glass to the brim. In front of me, in some bar, very dark – that’s the way I wanted it -, a glass filled with something very strong, something to wash all this shit down and drown me in it. The wood on the counter smells of vomit and sex. I ask myself, in a sudden spurt of sanity (?), what am I doing there. I had lost myself on the streets and came in on the first festival of blue, red and yellow neon that got along with the mood I was in.
I was almost putting down the drink in one go when a shrieking cry asked if I was feeling good. Who does she think she is (yes, it was a woman, of course)? Isn’t it obvious? I turn and a tidal wave of sound rams into me. Drums. Bass. Guitar. And. The. Voice. Crying. Euphoric. Alive.
During a long time the tidal wave goes on and on. Non-stop euphoria and life.
In the end, she jumps from the stage and comes to me and says that everybody got their something, boy. Wake up. Drink. Throw yourself in the river. But do it like a feather. Everything is much easier from there.
My face to the sky Dreaming about just how high I could go and I'll know When I finally get there
Taking of my glasses Sun pokes through my lashes And somehow I know There's a time for every star to shine
Everybody got their something Everybody got their something Make you smile like an itty bitty child
People keeping score Say better hurry up and get yours Cause somebody else get your spot Before you even dropped
Seek and you shall find Everything in my own sweet time I'll take my chances With what I believe is only mine
Busy holding on So the roof don't fly Keep you from moving on So get it right Turn the tide over Like a love song Like a butterfly Believe if you hand it over You'll come out all right
Everybody got their something Everybody got their something Make you smile like an itty bitty child
Illuminate the silly things Shed some light on all that's wrong Everybody need it sometime Sometimes the only thing you got Is what makes you feel like You're something else altogether You have everything don't need Another reason to be something I've been on a ride And caught up in the landslide But I'm gonna spread my wings and fly...
Everybody got their something Everybody got their something Make you smile like an itty bitty child
There's a time for every star There's a time for every star..
