“The very thought of you and I forget to do
The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do
I’m living in a kind of daydream
I’m happy as a king
And foolish though it may seem
To me that’s everything
The mere idea of you, the longing here for you
You’ll never know how slow the moments go till I’m near you
I see your face in every flower
Your eyes in stars above
It’s just the thought of you
The very thought of you, my love
I see your face in every flower
Your eyes in stars above
It’s just the thought of you
The very thought of you, my love“.
Hoje, 13 de maio, a morte de Chet Baker completa a maioridade plena.
E quanta falta ele faz.
Sobre esse trompetista de jazz, qualquer coisa que se diga é pouco. Há inúmeras informações sobre ele disponíveis na rede, em livros etc.
Para matar um pouco as saudades, vale a pena ouvir “That old feeling” (música de Sammy Fain, letra de Lew Brown, links em inglês), do disco “Chet Baker Sings” (1956), que me foi presenteado por Edu Pedrasse:
“I saw you last night and got that old feeling
When you came in sight I got that old feeling
The moment that you danced by I felt a thrill
And when you caught my eye my heart stood still
Once again I seem to feel that old yearning
And I knew the spark of love was still burning
There’ll be no new romance for me. It’s foolish to start
‘Cause that old feelin’ is still in my heart
There’ll be no new romance for me. It’s foolish to start
‘Cause that old feelin’ is still in my heart“.
A cabo-verdiana Cesária Évora aguardou praticamente 50 anos para que o mundo a descobrisse. E seu reconhecimento se deu interpretando dois gêneros típicos da República de Cabo Verde, a “morna” e a “coladeira“, num – pode-se dizer – português, conhecido como “crioulo cabo-verdiano“.
Mas aqui ela canta, a meu ver, um jazz de altíssimo quilate.
De uma forma que me lembra One for My Baby (and One More for the Road), com Frank Sinatra (há um vídeo clássico, com “A Voz” cantando num balcão de bar).
“I’m feelin’ mighty lonesome Haven’t slept a wink I walk the floor an’ watch the door In between I drink Black coffee …
Love’s a hand-me-down brew I’ll never know a Sunday In this weekday room.
Been talkin’ to the shadows One o’clock ’til four An’ Lord how slow the moments go When all ya do is pour Black coffee …
Since the blues caught my eye I’m hangin’ out on Monday My Sunday dreams to dry.
You know a man is born to love a woman To work and slave to pay her debts Just because he’s only human To drown his past regrets In coffee and cigarettes.
I’m moonin’ all the mornin’ Mournin’ all the night In between it’s nicotine Not much heart to fight Black coffee …
Feelin’ low as the ground I’m waitin’ for my baby To maybe come around.
Gonna drown my past regrets In some coffee and a few cigarettes.
I’m moonin’ all the mornin’ Mournin’ all the night In between it’s nicotine And not much heart to fight Black coffee …
Feeling low as the ground It’s driving me crazy! Just waitin’ for my baby To maybe come around. Please come around Please come …“.
Meu irmão espiritual Edu Pedrasse (tomo dele o epíteto com o qual me honrou, no seu post “Mi sueño“) me concedeu o privilégio de ler o excelente “Verdade Tropical”, de Caetano Veloso.
Independentemente das celeumas originadas em face da personalidade de Caetano, é indiscutível que o livro é excepcional.
A sua capa:
Aprendi muito com ele. Em especial sobre canções compostas sob a influência da “Tropicália”. Muitas delas, após a leitura, eram ouvidas. E mais corretamente compreendidas, em especial porque o movimento tropicalista prima pela complexidade.
É certo que este blog vai cuidar desse livro novamente. Mas, agora, interessa relatar o seguinte: Caetano conta que, durante grande parte desse período, ouvia Mahalia Jackson (mais dados em inglês), uma das maiores cantoras norte-americanas de gospel, spirituals e hymns (hinos). Mas “é” o gospel, com todas as suas influências do jazz e blues.
Nada a ver com a mercancia que envolve essa música, no Brasil ou no mundo, tratada como algo descartável.
Defronte a 250.000 pessoas, cantou “I’ve Been ‘Buked, and I’ve Been Scorned“, no mesmo dia em que Martin Luther King, líder estadunidense pelos direitos civis, fez o seu inesquecível discurso “I have a dream“, em Washington (1963).
A dama cantou aos pés do jazigo de Martin, que fôra brutalmente assassinado.
E, quando ela se foi, cerca de 50.000 pessoas compareceram nas cerimônias do seu passamento.
Há muitos discos dessa diva no mercado (tenho a sorte de possuir vários). Destaco, especialmente, uma coletânea que abrange, de um modo geral, a sua carreira.
A capa do disco (são 36 canções):
Incrível.
E quando estive em New Orleans, adquiri, na loja da Virgin, o vol. 2, completando, assim, essa coletânea. Mais 36 maravilhas:
Pinço do vol. 1 a letra de ”Didn’t it Rain” (arranged by R. Martin) (vol. 1):
“Didn’t it rain, children
Talk ’bout rain, oh, my Lord
Didn’t it, didn’t it, didn’t it oh my Lord
Didn’t it rain?
Didn’t it rain, children
Talk ’bout rain, oh, my Lord
Didn’t it, didn’t it, didn’t it, oh my Lord
Didn’t it rain?
It rained 40 days, 40 nights without stopping
Noah was glad when the rain stopped dropping
Knock at the window, a knock at the door
Crying brother Noah can’t you take on more
Noah cried no, you’re full of sin
God got the key and you can’t get in
Just listen how it’s rainin’
Will you listen how it’s rainin’
Just listen, how it’s rainin’
All day, all night
All night, all day
Just listen how it’s rainin’
Just listen how it’s rainin’
Just listen how it’s rainin’
Some moaning, some groaning
Some groaning, some praying
Well, a whole
Didn’t it rain till dawn
Rain on my Lord
Didn’t it, didn’t it
Didn’t it, oh
Oh, my Lord
Didn’t it rain
Ooh, God sent a raven to spread the news
To hoist his wings and away he flew
And to the north, and to the south
And to the east, and to the west
All day, all night, all night, all day
Well just listen how it’s rainin’
Well just listen how it’s rainin’
Oh, listen how it’s rainin’
Some prayin’, some cryin’
Some runnin’, some moanin’
Will you listen how it’s rainin’
Just listen how it’s rainin’
Just listen how it’s rainin’
Didn’t it rain, children
Rain on my Lord
Didn’t it, didn’t it, didn’t it, oh
Oh, my Lord, didn’t it rain
Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain“.
Nesta quinta-feira iluminada, quero oferecer a vocês Jazz. Puro Jazz.
Alberta Hunter (em inglês. Desculpem, mas em português é ridículo) faz grande falta.
A capa de “Amtrak Blues“:
O Disco:
1. The Darktown Strutters’ Ball
2. Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out
3. I’ve Having a Good Time
4. Always
5. My Handy Man Ain’t Handy No More
6. Amtrak Blues
7. Old Fashioned Love
8. Sweet Georgia Brown
9. A Good Man Is Hard to Find
10. I’ve Got a Mind to Ramble
A letra de ”The Darktown Strutters’ Ball“:
“I’ll be down to get you in a taxi, honey
Better be ready about half past eight
Now honey, don’t be late
I want to be there when the band starts playing
Remember when we get there, honey
The two-steps, I’m goin’ to have ‘em all
Goin’ to dance out both my shoes
When they play the ‘Jelly Roll Blues’
Tomorrow night at the Darktown Strutters’ Ball… “
“All of me
Why not take all of me
Can’t you see
I’m no good without you
Take my lips
I want to lose them
Take my arms
I’ll never use them
Your goodbye left me
with eyes that cry
How can I go on dear without you
You took the part that
once was my heart
So why not take all of me“.
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