Winter (Invierno)

Antes de que acabe el invierno, me gustaría compartir aquí esta magnífica actuación de una artista fascinante, la extraordinaria Tori Amos. Era una desconocida para mí hasta 2013 cuando un amigo mío me envió un enlace para ver este video, “Live at Montreaux 91/92”.

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En un principio pensé que era ella quien hizo de telonera en los conciertos de Bob Dylan y Merle Haggard durante la gira de primavera del 2005, cuando en realidad fue Amos Lee quien lo hizo. Recibí en aquél entonces de un colega mío una estupenda grabación del concierto de Foxwoods de Dylan, en Masantucket, CT. La cinta incluía parte de la actuación de Amos Lee y me gustaron mucho esas canciones suyas. Nada que ver con la voz de Tori Amos, obviamente, pero ya sabéis, los confundí por la coincidencia entre el nombre de uno y el apellido de la otra. Estaba tratando de informarme para hablar de ello cuando comencé a pensar en este artículo y entonces me di cuenta de mi error. Debo admitir que he estado confundido todo este tiempo desde que escuché por primera vez esta interpretación que ahora comparto aquí.

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En cualquier caso, es tan única que aún me sorprende como pude confundirla con nadie más. Simplemente escuchad esta hermosa canción; Su impresionante entrega con esa maravillosa interpretación al piano:

Winter

Talk: Mmm… This is my next song… this is… er… for my dad.

Snow can wait I forgot my mittens
Wipe my nose get my new boots on
I get a little warm in my heart when I think of winter
I put my hands in my father’s glove
I run off where the drifts get deeper

Sleeping Beauty it drips me with a frown
I hear a voice you must learn to stand up
For yourself cause I can’t always be around

He says, when you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
‘Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I’ll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

Boys get discovered as winter melts
Flowers come pleading for the sun
Years go by and I’m here still waiting
Withering where some snowman was
Mirror mirror where’s the crystal palace
But I only can see myself
Skating around the truth who I am
But I know dad, the Ice is getting thin
When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
‘Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I’ll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

winter

Hair is gray and the fire is underneath
So many dreams on the shelf
You say I wanted you to be proud of me
I always wanted that myself

When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
‘Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses have gone ahead
I tell you that I’ll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

And never change
All the white horses…

Songwriter:
TORI AMOS

Published by
Lyrics © SWORD AND STONE PUBLISHING CO.

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Invierno

Comentario: Mmm… Esta es mi siguiente canción… esto es… eh… para mi padre.

La nieve puede esperar, olvidé mis manoplas
Limpio mi nariz, me pongo mis botas nuevas
Siento algo cálido en mi corazón cuando pienso en el invierno
Pongo mis manos sobre el guante de mi padre
Corro hacia lo lejos donde las corrientes se hacen más profundas
La bella durmiente me observa con el ceño fruncido
Oigo una voz que dice, Debes aprender a levantarte
Por ti misma porque no siempre estaré ahí.
Él dice, Cuando te decidirás
Cuando te amarás tanto como yo lo hago
Cuando te decidirás
Porque las cosas cambian demasiado rápido
Todos los caballos blancos están todavía en el lecho
Te digo que siempre te querré cerca
Tu dices que las cosas cambian, querido

Descubro a los chicos con el deshielo al final del invierno
Las flores nacen ávidas de sol
Pasan los años y aquí sigo todavía esperando
Marchitándome donde una vez hubo un muñeco de nieve
Espejito, espejito ¿Dónde está el palacio de cristal?
Pero yo solo puedo verme a mí misma
Patinando alrededor de la verdad que yo soy
Pero ya lo sé, papá, el hielo cada vez es mas delgado
Cuando te decidirás
Cuando te amarás tanto como yo lo hago
Cuando te decidirás
Porque las cosas cambian demasiado rápido
Todos los caballos blancos están todavía en el lecho
Te digo que siempre te querré cerca
Tu dices que las cosas cambian, querido

Tori Amos

El pelo gris y el fuego debajo
Cuantos sueños en el estante
Dices que quería que estuvieras orgulloso de mí
Siempre quise eso

Cuando te decidirás
Cuando te amarás tanto como yo lo hago
Cuando te decidirás
Porque las cosas cambian demasiado rápido
Todos los caballos blancos se han largado
Te digo que siempre te querré cerca
Dices que las cosas cambian, mi querido
Y nunca cambian
Todos los caballos blancos…

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No puedo evitar sentir una profunda emoción cuando la escucho hablar con su padre de la manera que lo hace en esta canción. Realmente me llega a lo mas hondo cuando dice, “… Y nunca cambian,” justo antes del final. Puede que su padre sea un sacerdote metodista, pero a pesar de ello tengo que estar de acuerdo con la descripción de Wikipedia, diciendo que es considerada una de las artistas femeninas de vanguardia más relevantes de los años 90, por sus canciones líricamente opacas pero intensamente emotivas que cubren un amplio espectro temático, incluyendo la sexualidad, el feminismo, la política y la religión.

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Hace frío afuera y el día está nublado. No salí hoy de casa todavía y no tengo ganas de hacerlo de todos modos. Esta canción de “Invierno” me hace sentirme solo, como marchitándome en casa, donde el río fluye cerca del parque desnudo y la calle vacía donde vivo. Me siento contento, sin embargo, de tener estas sensaciones y de alguna manera poder identificarme con la desgarradora letra de esta canción. Lo sé, señorita Tori Amos, a veces es invierno en nuestros corazones. Es difícil reconocer cuantos sueños yacen olvidados en el estante; Descubrir que siempre hay mentiras alrededor; Saber que algunas cosas nunca cambian. Todo es tan triste a veces… pero es una maravilla descubrir que alguien puede expresar tan bien este tipo de sentimientos. Y me siento agradecido a usted, señorita Amos, por escribir y cantar esta canción de la manera que lo hizo en Montreux; La forma en que seguramente lo hace cada vez que la interpreta en directo. Dios le bendiga, Tori Amos.

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El Coleccionista Hipnótico

Winter

Before winter time is over I’d like to share this amazing performance of a fascinating artist, the one and only Tori Amos. She was unknown to me until 2013 when a friend of mine sent me a link to watch this “Live At Montreaux 91/92” video.

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In first place I thought she was the one who became supporting act to Bob Dylan and Merle Haggard shows during the spring tour in 2005, when it was actually Amos Lee, instead. I received back then from a trader of mine a good recording of Dylan’s Foxwoods show in Masantucket, CT. The tape included part of Amos Lee performances and I liked those tracks a lot. Nothing to do with Tori Amos voice, obviously, but you know, I mixed them up because of the coincidence between their first and last names. I was researching to talk about it as I started to think of this article when I realized my mistake, and I must admit I have been confused all of this time since I first listened to this performance I’m sharing here.

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Anyway, she’s so unique  that I’m still stunned of how could I have mixed her up with anybody else. Just listen to this beautiful song; her awesome delivery with that wonderful piano playing:

Winter

Talk: Mmm… This is my next song… this is… er… for my dad.

Snow can wait I forgot my mittens
Wipe my nose get my new boots on
I get a little warm in my heart when I think of winter
I put my hands in my father’s glove
I run off where the drifts get deeper

Sleeping Beauty it drips me with a frown
I hear a voice you must learn to stand up
For yourself cause I can’t always be around

He says, when you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
‘Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I’ll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

Boys get discovered as winter melts
Flowers come pleading for the sun
Years go by and I’m here still waiting
Withering where some snowman was
Mirror mirror where’s the crystal palace
But I only can see myself

Skating around the truth who I am
But I know dad, the Ice is getting thin

When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
‘Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I’ll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

winter

Hair is gray and the fire is underneath
So many dreams on the shelf
You say I wanted you to be proud of me
I always wanted that myself

When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
‘Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses have gone ahead
I tell you that I’ll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

And never change
All the white horses…

Songwriter:
TORI AMOS

Published by
Lyrics © SWORD AND STONE PUBLISHING CO.

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I can’t help but have a deep stirring feeling when I listen to her talk to her father the way she does in this song. It really touches me to the core when she says, “…And never change” just before the end. Her father may be a Methodist priest, but in spite of it I have to agree with Wikipedia description, telling she is considered one of the most relevant avant-garde female artists of the 1990s, for her lyrically opaque yet intensely emotional songs covering a wide range of topics including sexuality, feminism, politics and religion.

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It’s cold outside and the day is cloudy. I didn’t leave home yet today and I don’t feel like doing it anyhow. This “Winter” song makes me feel lonely, like withering myself at home where the river flows near the naked park and the empty street where I live. I feel glad, though, that I have this feeling and can some way relate myself to this heartbreaking lyrics. I know, miss Tori Amos, sometimes it is Winter in the heart. It’s hard to realize we have so many dreams on the shelf; find out there are always lies around; to know some things never change. It’s all so sad at times… but it’s just a wonder to find out someone can express this kind of feeling so well. And I feel grateful to you, miss Amos, for writing and singing this song the way you did in Montreux; the way you surely do every time you perform it live. God bless you, Tori Amos.

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The Hypnotist Collector

Singer/Songwriter Stick To Your Songs

If you had not enough with the debate about Bob Dylan literateur,
Ignacio Juliá opens a new one: Bob Dylan painter!

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I’m translating here the gorgeous article I received via email thanks to one of the good and admirable friends I got in the Dylanite community, the well known writer, traductor and articulist, Antonio J. Iriarte. Thanks to him for providing me the access to this priceless text and, of course, to Ignacio Juliá, author of the present writing about the pictorial work of the recent Nobel Prize for Literature. The original paper written in Spanish will be found through the following link here supplied:

http://abcdefghijklmn-pqrstuvwxyz.com/cantautor-tus-zapatos/

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Here’s my own translation:

Singer/Songwriter Stick To Your Songs

I have forbidden myself to make a comment, even if only on the fly, regarding the absurd controversy generated around the long-announced Nobel for Literature to Robert Allen Zimmerman. So much nonsense makes me mad as I imagined, deluded, that the imbecilic abyss between high and low culture was definitely forgotten. And I want to make clear that I take the guy by high culture. I will only allow myself an indisputable axiom: the word was prior to literature, it was prior to the invention of printing, and consequently telling stories should never be confined to the occlusive stop caps of a book. And one more thing, come on! How many voices of the last century were more verbally piercing, inspired, playful, socially cathartic, gleaming, fraudulent, in human terms, than those of the so-called Bob Dylan?

It seems that I have always been behind something, anything in motion – a car, a bird, a leaf carried by the wind – anything that would take me to a better place, an unknown land downstream.” That’s what the elusive Nobel writes as an accurate self-portrait in the catalog of his pictorial exhibition The Beaten Path. What … how dares he? In addition to be an award-winning literateur, the simple musician, the rogue singer/songwriter … does he paint pictures? And still he sculpts, welder in hand, metal artefacts from recycled parts! I leave such imaginary comments, typical of the intellectual minds, as I cross the threshold of the exquisite Halcyon Gallery in London’s Mayfair. And I come across a monographic sample that is pure Dylan: pictures of ingenuous chromaticism capturing the secondary landscapes of his own America, the one he has been cruising tirelessly during the Never Ending Tour.

A certain America is visualized while strolling through the very noble rooms of the gallery, neat and empty except for the walls where they hang from large paintings to manageable sketches. It’s an America that the artist wanted to be as real as the one that survives in memory. “Your past begins the day you are born and not taking it into account is to deceive yourself about who you really are,” reflects Bob. Hence he decided, in that naturalistic appearance of his paintings, to hide what did not interest him, which is the modern and the advertising, that ugly commercial world. The framing of a hot dog stand on Coney Island completely omits skyscrapers that “litter the sky” just two blocks away. And the modest fishery in San Francisco’s Chinatown erases everything that came after that Victorian-style neighborhood was built. “These cold and gigantic structures are meaningless to me in the world that I see or choose to see, the world of which I am a part,” he confesses.

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The silent intention of he who spent two years sketching and painting these transitory natures was to contradict the modern world. Facing complex details that his hands could not reproduce the same way as his gaze transmitted to him, he applied the ‘dark camera’ method. He did it using an old Nikon with a wide-angle or else the screen of a small spoiled television. He paints with watercolors and acrylics because of its meager emotional load, although he does not see these materials as necessarily astringent in that sense. He represents reality without idealizing it, working with either universal or easily recognizable objects, framing them in a certain stability. It is necessary to depersonalize the portrayed subject, to strip it of any illusion, looking for common places located in a rationally defined space. Sometimes the focal point is centered, others it is placed in the distance. He longed to create images that could not be misinterpreted, that curse that still bears on him.

Those who accuse him of intrusism should know that he acted as painter and sculptor since the early sixties. There is the front cover of “Music from Big Pink”, debut of The Band, as first glance. The meaningful simplicity of these images – “roads, huts, jetties, cars, streets, marshes, railways, bridges, motels, bus stops, power lines, farms, theater marquees, churches, signs, etc.,” he enumerates – are the work of a curious and honest observer, still amazed by life, its truths and mysteries. What he sees connects with his inner vision of the big country, and it will be intuited by those who live immersed in his music. But what is important – another of his literary traits – is how these paintings neutralize reality, its strangeness. Endless Highway, his largest oil to date, finally symbolizes the endless road Dylan undertook.

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“Endless Highway,” painting by Bob Dylan

The Beaten Path represents a different theme from the everyday imagery of consumer culture,” he says. “There is nothing to suggest that these paintings have been inspired by the texts of Sigmund Freud or that are based on the mental images that happen in the dreams, there are no fantastic worlds, religious mysticisms or ambiguous thematic. It is not necessary for the viewer to ask himself in front of these pictures if they are real or imagined objects. If anyone visits the place where that image exists, he or she will see the same thing. This is what unites us.

We have forgotten that the true artist is such (an artist) in any project he may undertake. Dylan, who always seemed embarrassed by his abilities and therefore refused to discuss them with anyone or to charge them with presumption, is one of those chosen to transform a press conference into a fight half way between pugilist and Dadaist whose puns continue to be quoted half a century later; Make of a recital a kind of cosmic riddle in which one has to discover what he is really singing, questioning an entire industrial rock mythology; Or end folded to the order of a gallery owner to start painting pictures that redefine the canon of the Americana challenging with impressionist luminosity to the very Hopper.

It’s good that the good man did not heed the call of the Stockholm syndrome, that he “was not there,” as in the famous song. In the end, he did not even show up to pick it up. He must have had to be at work in his workshop. Fleeing forward. There is no other way.

Ignacio Juliá

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The Hypnotist Collector

Cantautor A Tus Zapatos

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Quiero compartir aquí este magnífico artículo sobre Bob Dylan que me llegó vía email gracias a uno de los buenos y admirables amigos que poseo dentro de la comunidad Dylanita, el reconocido escritor, traductor y articulista, Antonio J. Iriarte. Gracias a él por proporcionarme el acceso a este impagable texto y, por supuesto, a Ignacio Juliá, autor del presente trabajo sobre la obra pictórica del reciente premio Nobel de Literatura, que encontrareis siguiendo el enlace aquí suministrado:

http://abcdefghijklmn-pqrstuvwxyz.com/cantautor-tus-zapatos/

Disfrutadlo!

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El Coleccionista Hipnótico