on the beach *

Fonte de Telha

* acho que o Neil Young não diria melhor.

Cityside

souvenirs

Cada vez gosto mais de lojas de discos em segunda mão.

"Beatnick Records" - Montréal

"Walking down the Trans-Canada Highway " *

... e depois do fjord de Saguenay, no Quebec.

* being  Young, again.

"Out on the Trans-Canada highway" *

* being Neil.

Here and Now

SBSR (90.4 FM) 9h55m

 

Canção de liberdade. Ano da Liberdade. 

E as guitarras de Neil Young e Stephen Stills debatendo vida em liberdade (minuto 3 e minuto 5).

Especial.

Alentejo

Laurel Canyon, L.A.

 

o que não faz é regressar a Portugal... (um crime não o ter visto ao vivo)

Oh wow! 🤯 https://t.co/pEtb3crABY

— Discogs (@discogs) 4 de dezembro de 2019

por este andar é a única praia que vamos ter este ano

raio do tempo...

The Endless River

Tive um amigo do 10º ao 12º ano com quem me pisgava das aulas para ir ouvir discos para a Baixa.

Apanhávamos o 28 ou o 32 e, em meia-hora, desembarcávamos no maravilhoso mundo da Valentim de Carvalho. Também percorríamos a BiMotor e, mais tarde, embora por pouco tempo, a Virgin, no edifício onde era o Éden. Mas a rainha do paraíso era a Valentim, do Rossio.
Dois andares, escadas rolantes, filas e filas com vários lados de CD's, com tudo no sítio e devidamente catalogado. No andar de cima era o ponto de escuta, com um sofá de pele e aparelho de estereofonia, e a livraria.
Era para lá que nos raspávamos quando já não aguentávamos a Secundária. E, aos poucos, lá fui começando a minha colecção de música. Lambendo primeiro todos os Pink Floyd, depois tudo o que havia de relevante dos anos 60: os Jimi Hendrix, os Zeppelin, os Doors, The Who, os Claptons todos (antes e depois dos Cream), os Jefferson Airplane, os Velvet, os Creedence e os CSN&Y, porque Beatles e Stones já eram do domínio caseiro. 
Com esse amigo passei horas intermináveis à procura de raridades, e a ensaiar na minha guitarra eléctrica os temas dos Floyd que aprendia de ouvido ou nos livros de pautas, também comprados na Valentim e que não se vendiam em mais lado nenhum. E ele, que só queria bateria, acompanhando, fazendo o ritmo com baquetas imaginárias ou com lápis e canetas. Às vezes uma pandeireta. Chegámos a prometer que iríamos alugar uma hora num estúdio, com outros dois marmanjos, para tocar umas coisas e ver o que dava.
Depois fui para a Faculdade e nunca mais o vi.
Encontrei-o anos e anos mais tarde, uma ou duas filas atrás de mim no concerto dos Portishead + Arcade Fire no Meco. Where else ?
Prometemos que nos voltaríamos a encontrar.
Combinámos que seria no lançamento do último disco dos Pink Floyd, para o comentar. Não aparecemos.

2 Clássicos (um novo e outro velho)

As escadinhas de Sto. Espírito da Pedreira. 

Subi-as porque vinha na Rua do Crucifixo para a Nova do Almada e queria ir ao Chiado.

E aí: "Louie Louie" !, abriu em Junho.

É uma loja de discos como sonhamos, e mora a meio dessas escadinhas muito lindas como são em Lisboa. Ali temos espaço e tempo e parece que é proibido e já não pode haver. Espaço ou tempo. Pago por isso. E trago os discos comigo num saquinho pequeno.

E no fim, ao cimo das escadinhas, ainda encontrar uma amiga ao telefone. Surpresa linda que é a vida !

Almoçamos ?

Waging Heavy Peace - 2

«Cros had also taken me to the Airplane House, where Jefferson Airplane lived. There I met Grace Slick, who was beatiful, sang great, was topless, and blew my mind. That was the first time I met her. The whole San Francisco scene was something I had never seen. It was overwhelming. (...)

So anyway, we're in Butano Canyon at Steve and Leo's place, and the tragedy at Kent State had just happened. Time magazine had a picture of the girl, Allison Krause, after the National Guard had killed her and three other victims. We were looking at it together. She was lying there on some pavement with another student kneeling down looking at her, as I remember.

(foto: John Filo)

These people were our audience. That's exactly who we were playing for. It was our movement, our culture, our Woodstock generation. We were all one. It was a personal thing, the bond we held between the musicians and the people of the culture: hippies, students, flower children, call them what you will. We were all together.
The weight of that picture cut us to the quick. We had heard and seen the news on TV, but this picture was the first time we had to stop and reflect. It was different before the Internet, before social networking to say the least. So full of this feelings of disbelief and sadness. I picked up my guitar and started to play some chords and immediately wrote "Ohio"; four dead in Ohio. The next day, we went into the studio in LA and cut the song. Before a week had passed it was all over the radio. It was really fast for those times; really fast. All the stations played "Ohio." There was no censoring by programmers. Programing services were not even around; DJs played whatever they wanted on the FM stations. We were underground on FM. There was no push-back for criticizing the government. This was America. Freedom of speech was taken very seriously in our era. We were speaking for our generation. We were speaking for ourselves. It rang true. The U.S government has still not apologized to the families of the fallen four of Ohio.»

Waging Heavy Peace - 1

"That was CSNY to me. The connection with our generation was profound, and we could feel it. I loved all those guys. A lot has changed since those innocent times. We are different today. We were not bound by chemistry the same way as the Springfield was. We were all friends, experiencing a phenomenon together.

Crosby was forever the catalyst, always intense, driving us further and further. Just looking in those eyes made me want to deliver from the heart. He so believed in what we were doing. Graham was the consummate professional, always there with his parts, cheering us on as we jammed, writing the songs we became best known for. Stephen, my brother, always the soulful, conflicted one, was battling unseen demons and many-colored beasts through the days and nights, contributing an edge that was unmistakable.

The combination of that energy all at once - with our audience ! - that was CSNY was to me at its best.

But then came the fame, the drugs, the money, houses, cars, and admirers; then the solo albums. I had to break away. I had so much to give, so many songs in me, so many ideas and sounds in my head. I had to do it. The band didn't break up; it just stopped. It did not regenerate itself. It stopped functioning, like it had a lapse or a heart attack or something. No new songs came forward from anyone. We were all doing our own things. We needed a reason to get together and a purpose behind our music. In the end, we became a celebration of ourselves, and there was no way to keep that going. It doesn't regenerate. We had a golden time, and then we lost our way. Be great or be gone."

Like a Hurricane

Há música. Há poesia.
E há furacões.
Como este. Como uma canção cheia de solos, pode depois ter ainda o solo maior aos 3 minutos que dura a eternidade de mais 6 minutos, a jorrar da Old Blackie do Neil Young. E como ventava naquele palco e coração. Dos sonhadores.
Before that moment you touched my lips / That perfect feeling / when time just slips /Away between us / on our foggy trip.


 

Don't let it bring you down *

*enfiado na cama a combater uma gripe furiosa e filha da puta.

no pinheiro 35

Heart of Gold

A música de Young através da lente de Jonathan Demme.

No AXN Black. 

Amanhã repete, às 14h38m.

"Send me Away"

O Sr. Neil Young.
Além de guitarrista de elite, de homem de versos, de solista, foi sempre generoso na hora de se juntar a outros gangues e misturar acordes, como é próprio de quem não distingue música e comunhão.
Talvez o filho maior destes projectos tenha nascido no final dos anos 60.
Cansados de viverem debaixo do nome das bandas (The Byrds, The Hollies, Buffalo Springfield), ficaram conhecidos com nome próprio: os Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.
Em 1969, ouviram-se no Big Sur.