Presentación

Bienvenidos a mi pagina. Aquí encontrareis una recopilación, enumeración o referencia a los álbumes que a lo largo de mi vida he ido acumulando. En otros casos tal vez solo mención o descripción de aquellos que por diversas causas considero relevantes y en mi opinión merece la pena destacar. Pongo toda esta información a vuestra disposición y si hay algo que os pudiera interesar o que os gustaría adquirir de entre los ejemplares que se citan en este espacio o estuviesen relacionados con el material aquí descrito, no dudéis en contactar conmigo. Yo procuraré proporcionaros los cauces para que podáis haceros con dichos ejemplares, si  ello fuese posible. También estoy abierto a opiniones y sugerencias. Espero que disfrutéis recorriendo este espacio y encontréis motivación en su contenido.

About me

My name is Luis Borrego and I was born in Madrid. I became a Beatles fan at the age of 13. It all started as a revelation when “Twist and Shout” EP and the album “Beatles For Sale” fell into my hands. They were brought as a gift by a sister of my mother who lived in London. Since then, I have always been interested in rock and Anglo-Saxon popular music. The discovery of the LP “The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan” would come soon through my good friend JC, whose godmother lived in Biarritz. She bought her godson this awesome find, so impossible to spot in Spain at the time. Next came the single “Like A Rolling Stone” that a school mate lent me in the summer of ’66 along with the single “Gloria” performed by The Shadows Of Night. The last one already occupying one of the top ten spots on UK hits lists. That event changed my life forever. Vinyl records, especially the LP’s of those wonderful years, specifically, releases referred to as Anglo-Saxon popular music, have been for me objects of worship since the first drumbeat and first few sentences of “Like A Rolling Stone” resounded in my ears, altering my sense of perception. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Translating and understanding the lyrics by the Duluth Genius became a goal that I soon left, temporarily, for lack of the necessary basic knowledge of English. In those days, the only foreign language officially studied at school in Spain was French. My devotion to vinyl was forged at a time when the struggle for freedom and music and the message of the minstrels become essential in the life of any university fellow with a minimum of social consciousness, at least in my country. Having the album in your hands, reading the notes on the back cover and the lyrics, when included in the publication, were transcending the sound experience and gave meaning to the songs and the universe of the artist itself, songs expressing concerns, emotions and the feelings of a generation.

From that tumultuous period, though still happy, passionate and full of vitality, Rock evolved and represented for many of us a way of living and understanding the world. The discs were then, like books, bearers of soul and human thought and listening to them, touching them, reading them, and trying to analyze the ultimate meaning of the phonographic work was comforting or at least enlightening. Sometimes shocking. They generated a feeling likely to cause a strange pleasure of extreme intensity or uncontrollable pain emanating from the bottom of our guts as it made us aware of ourselves and the helplessness, powerlessness of human beings. It was almost like trying to capture the “memory of the world” within a plastic disc. However it was already in the 80s, more resolutely from 1985, when I became determined to collect vinyls and complete the official discography of the Beatles and also Bob Dylan, of which I had only purchased until then, 4 or 5 LP’s. Anyhow this would not involve any ignorance of his work which I always followed with interest and diligence, although not so much in depth. Other artists also related to Dylan’s work, and many others of several kinds, both American and British, were joining my arsenal. I became especially interested in British bands of the sixties, Pop and Folk Rock and its derivatives, as well as its roots, Rhythm and Blues, traditional blues and in particular the Mississippi Delta Blues singers. I also tried to include Rock in general and some jazz, though very poorly represented in my archives. At the end of the decade I looked back to the Madrid scene and included some other disks of Spanish bands or artists, such as Gabinete Caligary or Los Pecadores, although ultimately it was the new values that attracted me the most, focused very specifically in El Ultimo De La Fila (Quimi Portet and Manolo García) and its various formations, such as Los Rápidos and Los Burros. Some of Radio Futura and Flamenco singing, particularly Camaron, José Meneses and Manolo Caracol, gather on my shelves and even mythical representatives of the Hispanic couplet, as Concha Piquer, add to the hodgepodge, like the famous singer Carlos Gardel, the most universally popular and significantly outstanding performer of Argentinian Tango. New discoveries, such as Talking Heads, The Cure or R.E.M. and others not so well represented in numbers, such as Pixies, Stone Roses or Silencers, brought new blood to the sample, in my collection. After 1990, already in the digital age, with the birth of the minidisc and other forms of recording and playback, the volume of my vinyl acquisitions declined. However, I still watched for new releases of the most important artists in my personal hierarchy of artistic and musical values.

After 1999 I discovered the extent of the internet and the ability to get my hands on previously inaccessible unusual recordings through exchanges with other collectors who you could contact through Google newsgroups, such as rec.music.beatles or rec.music. dylan.

That is how I came in 2004 to be part of a small collective which we refer to in a private and intimate way as the Dylan Traders Community. Thereafter I became a moderator, then administrator and finally co-founder of the Hungercity page, now defunct. Some of you who frequented that space or any other similar sites, may already know me as Luisbp51, the nickname with which I identified myself in these areas.

So I open a new stage with this blog, in which I intend to publicize the scope of the work of many of these artists, exposing my collection publicly and making available to any interested party the channels to gain certain copies, low coverage recordings and out of print or rarely accessible vinyls. I hope you find it useful and overall you can find here a place where you may have access to certain information concerning your interests as collectors and lovers of rock and popular music.

The Hypnotist Collector

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 estoy compartiendo 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

Klas Burling Entrevista A Bob Dylan Estocolmo 1966

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En 1966, el periodista de la radio Sueca Klas Burling entrevistó a Bob Dylan en un hotel cerca de Estocolmo.

Dylan – a mitad de la gira que produciría el reciente Live 1966 – The “Royal Albert Hall” Concert – permitió a Burling escuchar algunos acetatos de su próximo álbum, “Blonde on Blonde”, a punto de ver la luz. El cantante había tenido una noche bastante movidita y, tal como recuerda Burling, “Estaba completamente fuera de onda. Cuando se quitó sus gafas oscuras, sus ojos parecían pasas. Fue la peor entrevista de mi vida.”

Hotel Flamingo
Solna, Suecia
28 de Abril de 1966

Entrevista con Klas Burling.

KB: Es un placer verle en Estocolmo. ¿Podría explicar un poco más sobre usted y el tipo de canciones que hace? ¿Qué opinión le merece la canción protesta?
BD: Um. . . Eh . . Dios. No, no voy a sentarme aquí y hacer eso. He pasado toda la noche en vela, me he tomado unas pastillas, y he hecho una mala comida, y he leído cosas molestas, y he estado por ahí fuera de paseo en coche a 100 millas por hora, y no pienso sentarme aquí y hablar de mí mismo como cantante protesta.

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KB: “The Times They Are A-Changin'” – esa se supone que era una canción protesta, ¿no?
BD: Oh, Dios ¿Cuánto tiempo hace de eso?

KB: Hace un año.
BD: Venga, vamos ¿Un año? No estoy intentando hacerme el cínico, parecer un mal tipo o lo que sea, pero sería un mentiroso o un loco si pretendiese seguirle el rollo en lo referente a eso. No es mi culpa si va con un año de retraso, ya sabe.

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Bob Dylan – photo by Jan Persson/Redferns

KB: ¿Es usted un poeta? ¿Un cantante? ¿O escribe poemas y luego les pone música?
BD: No. No lo sé. Es tan estúpido. No le haría usted esa clase de preguntas a un carpintero, ¿No es así?

KB: No sería igual de interesante.
BD: Es interesante para mi; y debería serlo para usted. ¿Qué cree que respondería Mozart si le hiciese usted esas preguntas? “Dígame, Sr. Mozart, eh…”

KB: Bueno, yo no le entrevistaría a él.
BD: Bueno, ¿Y por qué a mi sí, entonces?

KB: Porque estoy interesado en sus discos, como lo está el público Sueco también.
BD: Bueno, yo también estoy interesado en el público Sueco, pero estoy seguro de que ellos no quieren saber nada de todas estas sandeces. Los Suecos son más inteligentes que todo eso.

KB: ¿Conoce usted a muchos Suecos?
BD: A un montón. Da la casualidad de que yo también soy Sueco.

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                Bob Dylan on the cover of “Rolling Stone” magazine March 14, 1974 – issue 156                               illustration by Paul Davis           

KB: ¿Podríamos escuchar una canción?
BD: Inténtelo. Esta, verdaderamente, si que es una canción protesta. Precisamente esta en concreto, “Rainy Day Women,” resulta que habla de una minoría de lisiados y Orientales y del mundo en que viven. Es una especie de cosa al estilo Mexicano, muy contestataria. Una de las cosas mas protestatarias de todas las cosas contra las que yo haya protestado nunca en los años de protesta.

Este artículo apareció en el ejemplar del 21 de Enero de 1999 de la revista “Rolling Stone”.

Publicado “on line” como “Looking Back: Bob Dylan’s Disastrous 1966 Interview in Sweden”

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Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 (written by Bob Dylan)

Well, they’ll stone ya when you’re trying to be so good
They’ll stone ya just a-like they said they would
They’ll stone ya when you’re tryin’ to go home
Then they’ll stone ya when you’re there all alone
But I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

Well, they’ll stone ya when you’re walkin’ ’long the street
They’ll stone ya when you’re tryin’ to keep your seat
They’ll stone ya when you’re walkin’ on the floor
They’ll stone ya when you’re walkin’ to the door
But I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

They’ll stone ya when you’re at the breakfast table
They’ll stone ya when you are young and able
They’ll stone ya when you’re tryin’ to make a buck
They’ll stone ya and then they’ll say, “good luck”
Tell ya what, I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

Well, they’ll stone you and say that it’s the end
Then they’ll stone you and then they’ll come back again
They’ll stone you when you’re riding in your car
They’ll stone you when you’re playing your guitar
Yes, but I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

Well, they’ll stone you when you walk all alone
They’ll stone you when you are walking home
They’ll stone you and then say you are brave
They’ll stone you when you are set down in your grave
But I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

Copyright © 1966 by Dwarf Music; renewed 1994 by Dwarf

“Mujeres En Día Lluvioso # 12 & 35” (1)*

Bueno, te apedrearán cuando estés tratando de ser mejor
Te apedrearán tal como dijeron que lo harían
Te apedrearán cuando intentes irte a casa
Luego te apedrearán cuando estés allí completamente solo
Pero no debería sentirme tan solo
Todo el mundo debería ser apedreado (2) *

Bueno, te apedrearán cuando vayas andando por la calle
Te apedrearán cuando trates de guardar tu asiento
Te apedrearán cuando vayas caminando sobre el suelo
Te apedrearán cuando vayas caminando hacia la puerta
Pero no debería sentirme tan solo
Todo el mundo debería ser apedreado (2) *

Te apedrearán cuando estés desayunando
Te apedrearán cuando seas joven y capaz
Te apedrearán cuando estés tratando de ganar un dólar
Te apedrearán y luego te dirán, “buena suerte”
Te digo que, no debería sentirme tan solo
Todo el mundo debería ser apedreado (2) *

Bueno, te apedrearán y dirán que es el fin
Entonces te apedrearán y luego volverán
Te apedrearán cuando vayas en tu coche
Te apedrearán cuando toques la guitarra
Sí, pero no debería sentirme tan solo
Todo el mundo debería ser apedreado (2) *

Bueno, te apedrearán cuando camines totalmente solo
Te apedrearán cuando estés volviendo a casa
Te apedrearán y luego te dirán que eres valiente
Te apedrearán cuando te depositen en tu tumba
Pero no debería sentirme tan solo
Todo el mundo debería ser apedreado (2) *

 

Nota del Traductor:

(1)* en sentido figurado puede traducirse como: “Mujeres Melancólicas #12 y 35” o “Mujeres De Futuro Incierto #12 y 35”

(2)* en el argot juvenil se traduciría por: “Todo el mundo debería estar colocado (emporrado)”

El Coleccionista Hipnótico

Klas Burling Interview with Bob Dylan Stockholm 1966

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In 1966, Swedish Radio journalist Klas Burling interviewed Bob Dylan in a Stockholm hotel room.

Dylan – in the midst of the tour that would produce the recent Live 1966 – The “Royal Albert Hall” Concert – played Burling acetates of his upcoming album, Blonde on Blonde. The singer had been through a rough night, and as Burling remembers, “He was totally out of it. When he took his shades off, his eyes were like raisins. It was the worst interview of my life.”

Hotel Flamingo
Solna, Sweden
April 28, 1966

Klas Burling interview.

KB: Very nice to see you in Stockholm. Could you explain a bit more about yourself and your kind of songs? What do you think of the protest-song type?
BD: Um . . . er . . . God. No, I’m not going to sit here and do that. I’ve been up all night, I’ve taken some pills, and I’ve eaten bad food, and I’ve read the wrong things, and I’ve been out for 100-mph car rides, and let’s not sit here and talk about myself as a protest singer.

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KB: “The Times They Are A-Changin'” – that was supposed to be a protest song, no?
BD: Oh, God, how long ago was that?

KB: A year ago.
BD: Well, c’mon, a year ago? I’m not trying to be a bad fellow or anything, but I’d be a liar or a fool to go along with all this business. I just can’t help it if you’re a year behind, you know.

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Bob Dylan – photo by Jan Persson/Redferns

KB: Are you a poet? A singer? Or do you write poems and then put music to them?
BD: No. I don’t know. It’s so silly. You wouldn’t ask these questions of a carpenter, would you?

KB: It wouldn’t be interesting the same way.
BD: It’s interesting to me; it should be just as interesting to you. What do you think Mozart would say if you asked him these questions? “Tell me, Mr. Mozart, er…”

KB: Well, I wouldn’t interview him.
BD: Well, how come you do it to me?

KB: Because I’m interested in your records, and Swedish audiences are, also.
BD: Well, I’m interested in the Swedish audiences, too, but I’m sure they don’t want to know all these dumb things. Swedish people are smarter than that

KB: You know many Swedes?
BD: I know plenty. I happen to be a Swede myself.

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                 Bob Dylan on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine March 14, 1974 – issue 156                          illustration by Paul Davis

KB: Shall we listen to a song?
BD: You can try. This one happens to be a protest song. This specific one, “Rainy Day Women,” happens to deal with a minority of cripples and Orientals and the world in which they live. It’s sort of a Mexican kind of thing – very protesty. One of the protestiest things of all things I’ve ever protested against in the protest years.

This article is from the January 21st, 1999 issue of “Rolling Stone” magazine.

Rereleased on line as “Looking Back: Bob Dylan’s Disastrous 1966 Interview in Sweden”

bob_front_cover

Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 (written by Bob Dylan)

Well, they’ll stone ya when you’re trying to be so good
They’ll stone ya just a-like they said they would
They’ll stone ya when you’re tryin’ to go home
Then they’ll stone ya when you’re there all alone
But I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

Well, they’ll stone ya when you’re walkin’ ’long the street
They’ll stone ya when you’re tryin’ to keep your seat
They’ll stone ya when you’re walkin’ on the floor
They’ll stone ya when you’re walkin’ to the door
But I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

They’ll stone ya when you’re at the breakfast table
They’ll stone ya when you are young and able
They’ll stone ya when you’re tryin’ to make a buck
They’ll stone ya and then they’ll say, “good luck”
Tell ya what, I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

Well, they’ll stone you and say that it’s the end
Then they’ll stone you and then they’ll come back again
They’ll stone you when you’re riding in your car
They’ll stone you when you’re playing your guitar
Yes, but I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

Well, they’ll stone you when you walk all alone
They’ll stone you when you are walking home
They’ll stone you and then say you are brave
They’ll stone you when you are set down in your grave
But I would not feel so all alone

Everybody must get stoned

Copyright © 1966 by Dwarf Music; renewed 1994 by Dwarf Music

The Hypnotist Collector

 

 

 

 

Ojos Verdes

Mi madre habría cumplido 100 años el 26 de noviembre pasado. Me habría gustado tener este artículo listo para esa fecha en particular, pero como ya dije en mi último post, “Sisters Of Mercy“, he tenido problemas y carecía del estado de ánimo adecuado para hacer nada, sino dejarme llevar. De todos modos, quiero hacerlo ahora, porque puede que no sea hoy su cumpleaños, pero es el mío (eso era el 13 de Diciembre, fecha en la que publiqué el artículo en Inglés) y apuesto a que se sentiría muy honrada de que haya decidido celebrar mi cumpleaños con este sentido homenaje a ella. Era una fan fiel de Conchita Piquer, como ella solía referirse a la gran cupletista (la gente acostumbraba denominar a la artista por el diminutivo de su nombre de pila). Solía contarnos que mi padre y ella asistieron a un concierto suyo en un gran teatro de Madrid y ambos quedaron impresionados por su carisma en el escenario. Obviamente, su actuación causó un gran impacto en ellos, especialmente en el ánimo de mi madre. Con mucho alborozo nos relataba el éxito que Concha Piquer tuvo en su debut internacional en L’Olympia de París, cuando estrenó la canción “El Relicario”. Siempre recordaba como la entusiasmada audiencia se puso en pie para dedicarle una estruendosa ovación.

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Esta última canción que menciono fue grabada más tarde por Sara Montiel para una secuencia de su película “El ultimo Cuplé“. Una versión de estudio diferente fue lanzada por Columbia Records en su LP publicado como “Sarita Montiel canta las canciones de la película El Ultimo Cuplé” que supuestamente debía ser la banda sonora de la mencionada película, aunque en realidad eran grabaciones de estudio diferentes (o tal vez las mismas retocadas). El LP fue lanzado en Europa por London Records según se advierte en las fotos aquí abajo incluidas.

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Esta es la versión que aparece en el LP de Columbia: “El Relicario” (en realidad cantada por Sarita Montiel, aunque figura en youtube como interpretada por Concha Piquer). Como ferviente admiradora de Conchita Piquer, mi madre solía recordar muchas de sus canciones e incluso canturrearlas a veces. Sin embargo, es posible que no lo creáis, pero no poseía ningún disco de ella. Así que, un día, cuando ya fui adulto, tuve que ir a comprarle uno para regalárselo por su cumpleaños.

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“No Te Mires En El Río” era una de mis canciones favoritas del álbum que compré. A mi madre le encantaban todas sus canciones. El tema favorito de ella era esta copla que ahora comparto aquí, “Ojos Verdes”:

Ojos Verdes (Valverde, León y Quiroga)
Concha Piquer

Apoyá en el quicio de la mancebía,
Miraba encenderse la noche de mayo
Pasaban los hombres y yo sonreía,
Hasta que en mi puerta paraste el caballo.
“¡Serrana! ¿Me das candela?”
Y yo te dije: “Gaché,
Ven y tómala en mis labios
Y yo fuego te daré”.
Dejaste el caballo y lumbre te di
Y fueron dos verdes luceros de mayo
Tus ojos pa mí

Ojos verdes,
Verdes como l’arbahaca,
Verdes como er trigo verde,
Y el verde, verde limón.

Ojos verdes, verdes
Con brillo de faca
Que s’han clavaíto en mi corazón.
Pa mí ya no hay soles, luceros ni luna,
No hay más que unos ojos que mi vía son.

Ojos verdes,
Verdes como l’arbahaca,
Verdes como er trigo verde,
Y el verde, verde limón.

Vimos desde el cuarto despertar er día,
Y sonar el alba en la torre la vela
Dejaste mi brazo cuando amanecía,
Y en mi boca un gusto de menta y canela.
“¡Serrana! Para un vestío
Yo te quiero regalá”
Yo te dije: “¡estás cumplío!
No me tienes que dar ná”.
Subiste al caballo, te fuiste de mi
Y nunca otra noche más bella de mayo
E güerto a vivir.

Ojos verdes,
Verdes como l’arbahaca,
Verdes como er trigo verde,
Y el verde, verde limón.

Ojos verdes, verdes, con brillo de faca
Que s’han clavaíto en mi corazón
Pa mí ya no hay soles, luceros ni luna,
No hay más que unos ojos que mi vía son.

Ojos verdes,
Verdes como l’arbahaca,
Verdes como er trigo verde,
Y el verde, verde limón.

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Esta es la traducción al inglés que hice para la versión inglesa de este artículo:

Ojos Verdes (Green Eyes) (Valverde, León y Quiroga)
By Concha Piquer

Leaning on the door of the brothel,
I watched the night of May light up.
The men passed by
And I smiled,
Until at my door you stopped the horse.
“Serrana, give me the candle”
And I told you: “Man,
Oh come take it from my lips
And I will give you fire.”
You left the horse
And I gave you light
And they were two green May stars your eyes for me.

Green eyes,
Green as the basil.
Green like green wheat
And green, lemon green.

Green eyes green
With knife glitter
That are stuck in my heart
There is no sunshine anymore for me,
Neither stars, or moon,
There are only those eyes that are my whole life.

Green eyes,
Green as the basil.
Green like green wheat
And green, lemon green.

We saw from the room wake up the day,
And to sound the dawn from the watchtower.
You left my arm when the sunrise came
And in my mouth a taste of mint and cinnamon.
“Serrana, for a dress I want to give you.”
I told you, “You’re done,
You don’t have to give me anything.”
You climbed the horse
You left me
And not another night
More beautiful of May I’ve ever lived again.

Si alguien puede ayudarme a mejorarla para que las metáforas y las frases más evocativas sean inteligibles en la lengua de la Rubia Albión, lo agradecería enormemente.

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Otra canción muy popular de Concha Piquer era “Tatuaje“. La letra habla de un marinero que vino en un barco de nombre extranjero con un corazón tatuado en el pecho; Cómo ella le pidió un beso y se enamoró de él. Desde entonces iba buscándolo en cada puerto preguntándole a todo el mundo por su amado. Historias románticas que ella siempre cantaba con su conmovedora voz.

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tatuaje_concha-piquer-a

Pero mi querida madre no era la única de la familia que amaba a Concha Piquer. Otra de sus hermanas, tía Margot, era también una incondicional admiradora de la asombrosa cupletista. Tía Margot murió a los 99 años, unos pocos días antes de llegar a los 100. Desafortunadamente, en sus últimos años, padeció la enfermedad de Alzheimer. No podía recordar el último minuto o lo que había sucedido unos minutos antes, pero aún así su mente seguía trabajando con precisión en el momento presente, permaneciendo siempre ingeniosa y sorprendentemente audaz. Con frecuencia consciente de su olvido, solía sentirse desorientada y llena de ansiedad. Sin embargo, solo tenías que empezar a cantar una canción de Conchita Piquer y ella inmediatamente recordaría la letra y la cantaría contigo. Eso le haría feliz, permitiéndole olvidarse de sus problemas. Al igual que a mi madre, le encantaba “Ojos Verdes”. Muchas veces incluso empezaba a cantar otra de sus favoritas, “No te Mires En El Río”, y se sentía en la gloria. Compramos unos cuantos CDs de la cautivadora artista a la que tanto amaba, y escucharlos era la felicidad para ella siempre desde entonces.

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Como ejemplo de la agudeza mental que mi tía conservaba, incluso durante la última etapa de su enfermedad, contaré aquí una anécdota que ya he contado muchas otras veces: Una vez que fui a visitarla, sintiéndose un tanto confundida, me preguntó: “¿Tú quién eres?” Yo entonces repliqué, “¿No sabes quién soy?” Ella se quedó pensativa un instante e inmediatamente respondió, “Uno de nosotros”. Era realmente una dama extraordinaria, incluso amaba a los Beatles. Pero nadie es perfecto; Nunca le gustó Bob Dylan.

El Coleccionista Hipnótico