sexta-feira, 17 de novembro de 2017

Deixem o Bob ser livre...

Hoje terminamos Freewheellin' Bob Dylan, ou pelo menos por agora, já que podemos sempre cá voltar. E para o fim Dylan reserva-nos uma surpresa. O humor. Quem diria que havia espaço para o humor na música de Bob Dylan. Há quem diga que a música não tem lugar neste álbum, há quem diga que a razão pela qual ela se apresenta, principalmente como a última faixa, é porque Dylan tenta retirar o peso de tantas emoções vividas Nas músicas anteriores.

Eu, no alto da minha opinião, penso que o humor e a música menos séria está aqui numa ligação ao tema. Muito resumidamente, eu sou Bob Dylan, não vos devo nada, quem manda na minha música sou eu, faço o que quero, sou livre. Se tivesse ouvido o álbum em 1962 não teria esta opinião pois claro, mas conhecendo um pouco da dinâmica e história de Dylan é a conclusão a que chego. Não me dêem a importância que eu não acho ter. Deixem-me em paz, ouçam a música por ser música.

Boa sexta-feira!

I took me a woman late last night
I's three-fourths drunk she looked half right
'Til she started peelin' off her onion gook
She took off her wig, said, "How do I look" ?
I's high flyin', out the window, bare naked....

Well, sometimes I might get drunk
Walk like a duck and smell like a skunk
Don't hurt me none, don't hurt my pride
I got my little lady right by my side
She don't know me).

I's out there paintin' on the old wood shed
When a can a black paint it fell on my head
I went down to scrub and rub
But I had to sit in back of the tub
(Cost a quarter).

Well, my telephone rang it would not stop
It's President Kennedy callin' me up
He said, "My friend, Bob, what do we need to make the country grow" ?
I said, "My friend, John, "Brigitte Bardot,
Anita Ekberg
Sophia Loren"
Country'll grow.

Well, I got a woman five feet short
She yells and hollers and squeals and snorts
She tickles my nose pats me on the head
Blows me over and kicks me out of bed
(She's a man eater
Meat grinder
Bad looser).

Oh, there ain't no use in me workin' alla time
I got a woman who works herself blind
Works up to her britches, up to her neck
Write me letters and sends me checks
(She's a humdinger
Folk singer).

Late one day in the middle of the week
My eyes were closed I was half asleep
I chased me a woman up the hill
Right in the middle of an air drill
(I jumped a fallout shelter
I jumped the string bean
I jumped the TV dinner
I jumped the shot gun).

Now, the man on the stand he wants my vote
He's a-runnin' for office on the ballot note
He's out there preachin' in front of the steeple
Tellin' me he loves all kinds-a people
(He's eatin' bagels
He's eatin' pizza
He's eatin' chitlins).

Oh, set me down on a television floor
I'll flip the channel to number four
Out of the shower comes a football man
With a bottle of oil in his hand
(Greasy kid stuff)

Well, the funniest woman I ever seen
Was the great-granddaughter of Mr. Clean
She takes about fifteen baths a day
Wants me to grow a moustache on my face
(She's insane, crazy house).


Well, ask me why I'm drunk alla time
It levels my head and eases my mind
I laugh and talk, smile and sing
I see better days and I do better things
(I catch dinosaurs
I make love to Elizabeth Taylor ...
Catch hell from Richard Burton !)

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