Janis... Llevo toda la mañana cantando esta canción. No sé por qué me recuerda a mi madre. La canción, no Janis. Porque Janis es como Madame M ¿o es al revés? Y Madame y es una señora estupenda. Esta noche he soñado con ella, con Madame, me llevaba a ver un concierto al infierno. Estaban todos, hasta Elvis. Pero a mí lo que me hizo ilusión es cantar con Frank Sinatra. ¿A alguien se le ocurre una interpretación?
Por lo demás, poca cosa. Me han mandado un par de temas de un tal Belo que es como Extremoduro y Melendi cantado por el guapo de turno. Prescindible totalmente...y lo nuevo de Manic Street Preaches, en su línea...
Dr. Invisible se reune mañana. Si no estás invitado, no vengas. Así que el viernes tendréis noticias al respecto. Y poca cosa más...
Ah. Se me olvidaba...odio la gente sin palabra. Esos que te la dan y el tiempo se la quita.
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sugiero:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rODeuywknwE
ONE FOR MY BABY
Writer(s): johnny mercer/harold arlen
Its quarter to three,
Theres no one in the place cept you and me
So set em up joe
I got a little story I think you oughtta know
Were drinking my friend
To the end of a brief episode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road
I know the routine
Put another nickel in that there machine
Im feeling so bad
Wont you make the music easy and sad
I could tell you a lot
But you gotta to be true to your code
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road
Youd never know it
But buddy Im a kind of poet
And Ive got a lot of things I wanna say
And if Im gloomy, please listen to me
Till its all, all talked away
Well, thats how it goes
And joe I know youre gettin anxious to close
So thanks for the cheer
I hope you didnt mind
My bending your ear
But this torch that I found
Its gotta be drowned
Or it soon might explode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road
Curioso. Llevo varios días diciendo que necesito una fiesta...aunque sea en el infierno. Y ahora parece que tengo pase VIP, por eso me la llevé a usted que, cómo no, también es una señora estupenda.
Interesante sueño.
Si señor.
No suelo acordarme de lo que sueño, pero de los que me acuerdo... nunca ha sido nada tan famosil, y seguro, tampoco tan divertido.
Curiosa la última reflexión, por cierto.
¿Habla de hablar por hablar? ¿o de hablar de verdad? ¿Hablar por hablar es siempre de verdad?... Lo digo por la última frase.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
you were talking so brave and so sweet,
giving me head on the unmade bed,
while the limousines wait in the street.
Those were the reasons and that was New York,
we were running for the money and the flesh.
And that was called love for the workers in song
probably still is for those of them left.
Ah but you got away, didn't you babe,
you just turned your back on the crowd,
you got away, I never once heard you say,
I need you, I don't need you,
I need you, I don't need you
and all of that jiving around.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
you were famous, your heart was a legend.
You told me again you preferred handsome men
but for me you would make an exception.
And clenching your fist for the ones like us
who are oppressed by the figures of beauty,
you fixed yourself, you said, "Well never mind,
we are ugly but we have the music."
And then you got away, didn't you babe...
I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best,
I can't keep track of each fallen robin.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
that's all, I don't even think of you that often.
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