segunda-feira, 18 de março de 2024



 (Thanks, Carlos.)


 

Marcello D'Olivo




 

Nuno Júdice (1949-2014)


No vídeo, uma sessão, em Abril de 2014, comigo, a Inês Ramos, o Nuno Júdice, o Manuel da Silva Ramos e o Zé D'Almeida, no Museu Bordalo Pinheiro, em Lisboa.

Mario Galvagni



 

sábado, 16 de março de 2024

Hoje: Exposição 35 anos de Habitação em Oeiras - Estação Radionaval Comandante Nunes Ribeiro

 




Data de Publicação: 1953-06-12
SUMÁRIO


 


 

quinta-feira, 14 de março de 2024


Estou com curiosidade para ver com quem é que o Sporting e o Porto vão jogar a seguir nas provas europeias. 

Ó Adam, e se fosses para lá tu?!


 

Meredith Monk - Dolmen Music (1981)


 


 

terça-feira, 12 de março de 2024

Eric Carmen (1949-2014)

George Shearing according to Jack Kerouac



Dean and I went to see Shearing at Birdland in the midst of the long, mad weekend. The place was deserted, we were the first customers, ten o’clock. Shearing came out, blind, led by the hand to his keyboard. He was a distinguished-looking Englishman with a stiff white collar, slightly beefy, blond, with a delicate English-summer’s-night air about him that came out in the first rippling sweet number he played as the bass-player leaned to him reverently and thrummed the beat. The drummer, Denzil Best, sat motionless except for his wrists snapping the brushes. And Shearing began to rock; a smile broke over his ecstatic face; he began to rock in the piano seat, back and forth, slowly at first, then the beat went up, and he began rocking fast, his left foot jumped up with every beat, his neck began to rock crookedly, he brought his face down to the keys, he pushed his hair back, his combed hair dissolved, he began to sweat. The music picked up. The bass-player hunched over and socked it in, faster and faster, it seemed faster and faster, that’s all. Shearing began to play his chords; they rolled out of the piano in great rich showers, you’d think the man wouldn’t have time to line them up. They rolled and rolled like the sea. Folks yelled for him to ‘Go!’ Dean was sweating; the sweat poured down his collar. ‘There he is! That’s him! Old God! Old God Shearing! Yes! Yes! Yes!’ And Shearing was conscious of the madman behind him, he could hear every one of Dean’s gasps and imprecations, he could sense it though he couldn’t see. ‘That’s right!’ Dean said. ‘Yes!’ Shearing smiled; he rocked. Shearing rose from the piano, dripping with sweat; these were his great 1949 days before he became cool and commercial. When he was gone Dean pointed to the empty piano seat. ‘God’s empty chair,’ he said. On the piano a horn sat; its golden shadow made a strange reflection along the desert caravan painted on the wall behind the drums. God was gone; it was the silence of his departure. It was a rainy night. It was the myth of the rainy night. Dean was popeyed with awe. The madness would lead nowhere. I didn’t know what was happening to me, and I suddenly realized it was only the tea we were smoking; Dean had bought some in New York. It made me think that everything was about to arrive – the moment when you know all and everything is decided forever.


 

Documentary: Rolling Thunder Revue: A Bob Dylan Story by Martin Scorsese (2019)

(Thanks, Filipe.)
 

Um homem recto: Frank Tusa - Seeing You (1975)

Watermelon


 (Thanks, Beatriz.)

segunda-feira, 11 de março de 2024

Michael Franti & Spearhead - Oh My God (2001)


Oh-my, oh-my God!in my mind they got us livin' suicidesingin' oh-my, oh-my God!in my mind they got us livin' genocideoh my my...
Slam bam I come unseenbut like gasoline you can tell I'm in the tanklike money in the bankI smell appealing, but I'm toxic, can send ya reelingwithout an inklin', keep ya thinkin''cause you gave cash to the feds, left your school district for deadfucked you up in the head, but still they sayin' nothin's wrongsellin' firewater but outlawing the bongstill believing the system is workin'while half of my people are still outta workin'anonymous notes left in the pockets and coatsof judges and juries from 'Frisco to Jerseythreats and protests politicians mob debtstrumped up charges and phoney arrestsstage a lethal injection, the night before the election'cause he got donations from the prison guard's union
Oh-my, oh-my God!in my mind they got us livin' suicidesingin' oh-my, oh-my God!in my mind they got us livin' genocideoh my my...
Listen in to my stethoscope on a ropeinternal lullabies, human criesthumps and silence, the language of violencealgorithmic, cataclysmic, seismic, biorhythmicyou can make a life longer, but you can't save ityou can make a clone an then you try to enslave it?stealin' DNA samples from the unbornand then you comin' after us'cause we sampled a James Brown horn?scientists who's God is progressa four-headed sheep is their latest projectthe CIA runnin' like that Jones from Indianabut they still won't talk about that (Jim) Jones(People's Temple mass suicide) in GuyanaThis ain't no cartoonno one slips on bananasdo you really think that that car killed Dianahell I shot Ronald Reagan, I shot JFK,I slept with Marilyn (Monroe) she sung me happy birthdaysingin'
Oh-my, oh-my God!in my mind they got us livin' suicidesingin' oh-my, oh-my God!in my mind they got us livin' genocideoh my my...
Well politicians got lipstick on the collarthe whole media started to hollerbut I don't give a fuck who they screwin' in privateI wanna know who they screwin' in publicrobbin', cheatin', stealin'white collar criminalMcDonald eatin', you deserve a beatin'send you home a weepin', with a fat bill for yourCaribbean weekendfor just about anything they can bust usfalse advertising sayin' "halls of Justice''you tellin' the youth don't be so violentthen you drop bombs on every single continentmandatory minimum sentencin''cause he got caught with a pocket fulla medicinedo that again another ten up in the penI feel so mad I wanna bomb an institutionsingin'
Oh-my, oh-my God!in my mind they got us livin' suicidesingin' oh-my, oh-my God!in my mind they got us livin' genocideoh my god...