Things you hear. Stereo Total. Ojos de Porro. The songbook "69 love songs", by the Magnetic Fields. The one by Garcilaso. Songs that made you cry and songs that saved your life. Schubert. Beat Happening. Piazolla. Carlos Berlanga. Maria Callas. Pascal Comelade... much much more that Yan Tiersen!!! Yan Tiersen too, OK (much less though). Jonathan Richman. Bambino. Moldy Peaches. Astrud. Ladytron. Stereolab. Jaume Sisa. Nick Drake. Vainica Doble. Eric Satie. St Etienne. Alaska y Pegamoides y Dinarama y Fangoria. To Rococo Rot. Bola de Nieve. Le Mans. Concha Piquer. Mouse on Mars. Neu! Los Zombies. Bungalow Records. Albert Pla. Belle and Sebastian. Regina Spector. Alfonso Sansisteban. Nino Bravo. Lo que pincha el Niño del Raval... Hidrogenesse. Tom Waits. String Theory. Notwist. Raimon. Chicks on Speed. Chavela Vargas. Durruti Column. Daniel Johnston. Momus and Baudelaire. Humour and spleen. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Things that happen to you, or someone tells you.
That bastard at the bus stop.
Some things we like. Some others we don't.
Photocopiers, cuttings, magazines, shopwindows, politics and gardening.
Cernuda, Hölderlin, Leopardi, Cocteau's films, and Dreyer's, and Murnau's, and Berlanga's.
Bergman and Sunday afternoon tv movies.
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Favourite places... some are closing, some are reopening, most just stay put. La Pelouse, Tate Modern gallery, Keyboard Lounge (Reus), La Casa del Loco (Salou) still in our hearts, La Joya (Tarragona), La Penúltima (Bcn), dinning at that eritrean place in Brixton, Bar Coyote (Carretera Reus-Alcolea), HowDoesItFeelToBeLoved nights (London), matinees at the West End, LoungeBar (Brixton), Streatham Common. The kitchen and the garden. The loft and the bedroom.
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Things that we read and enjoy. Carmen Martin Gaite. Terenci Moix. A S Byatt. "Society of Spectacle" by Guy Debord. The book of Persiles and Segismunda. Shakespeare. Góngora. The amazing poetry of Ramón Sanz and Jamie McKendrick. The sound of languages we don't understand.
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And so we met. You looked at me. I looked at you. We looked at each other. It was the beginning: there was sound, and sea, and there were waves, and rocks and sky. We shared records, songs, words, some other things... We shared an umbrella, two umbrellas. One laptop, two laptops. One roof, two roofs. One book, so many books... And then we went to Paris on a train. We came back on a train, the very same day. We wrote letters, so many letters. We played songs: your favourite ones, my favourite ones and, finally, our favourite ones; and soon enough we knew them all by heart. It was all too clear: something had to be done. And so we played what we d just written. It was quite a surprise: just what we expected. And then we moved to another city.
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If you write what we were thinking, I ll play what we have written. Idea, sound, plot or emotion, or 50/50. Automatic writing, neurotical sound, with a pinch of salt. One never wins, or loses: one only lives, and hopes, and sings. Sing your life. Anyone can do it. I know you think there are others, so many others that have done it before us. Better than us. With more detail. More interest. More definition. The thing is: they ll never do it for you. And thus, you know those words would otherwise never be said: you never hear them on the radio, or the telly, perhaps you only hear them while you cue on some supermarket till or other. And fuck!, THAT is your song! And so, wherever you go, those sounds shall go with you.
One only needs to think of two words, one rhyme. Two words more, and then the same rhyme. I am listening. You are listening. I am listening. You are listening...
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Ai qué vida más ociosa!!! Poco a poco se vacían las esquinas de mi casa. Jo no paro de fer caixes i llençar coses i no estic acostumada a fer tant exercici físic. Em fa mal tot el cos i estic supercansada!!!
A veure si arribem a bon port... Diumenge festeta al pis buit del raval, ja sé que esteu molt lluny però pots agafar un vueling i ajudar-me a grafitejar les parets amb símbols de protesta tipo "EL RAVAL HUELE A MIERDA PERO ES TAAAAAN INTERCULTURAL..." o "REMODELA TU BARRIO: DE 500 A 1000"
Hola Carles! Muchas gracias! El libro está acabado, ahora estamos buscando editorial y otros medios para publicarlo. Es lo más dificil pero me voy a Barcelona una semana a ver si hay suerte. Jo, de un concierto así uno tiene que salir superglorificado seguro! Muchos ánimos y espero que os lo paseis lo mejor posible.
Seria grande poder bailar con vosotros el sabado,pero es imposible, todo llegara pues hay un tiempo para todo lo que se hace bajo el cielo: un tiempo para nacer, y un tiempo para morir; un tiempo para bailar y un tiempo para seguir bailando , os quiero, un beso desde el bosque.
Hei! Vaig sortir de festa ahir i m..he deixat tota la nuit el myspace engegat!!!! Está mu mala la noche y uno ya no sabe lo que hace!!! No crec que vagi a oxford (snifff) però quan vingueu vosaltres sortim a ballar segur!!!! Petons de carabassa
P.D. Felicita a la moni de la meva part!!! Es una artista como la copa de un pino!!!
El video es precioso... Si, si... ya parece una broma. Pero nos tenemos que ver... Si me paso por Brixton, os llamo. Quiza la semana que viene? Muchos besitos!!!
moltes gracias guapos, ya sabeis, el rollo de siempre, me cargue al dragon, no fue facil, (nunca lo es)y el final ya lo conoceis, brotaron rosas, y ella inevitablemente se bajo las enaguas, jjejeje ;-) un besazo.
Al final no pudimos vernos,jops. Siempre nos quedará esa paella... Besos, y a demostrar en Windmill que "cara B" se merienda a los guitarreros con patatas¡ (prohibido el análisis sintáctico de esta última frase¡)
No me cabe duda de que saldrá a pedir de boca. ¡Imposible no bailotear con vosotros! -y todavía más si os rodeais de guitarreros-. Si algo os arrojaran serían rosas o botellas de Disaronno blanditas. Aplausos.
