Quando eu gosto de uma música, eu ouço over and over again. A escolhida da vez é Impossible, do Shout Out Louds:

A banda de nome curioso* é da Suécia e fez relativo sucesso ao aparecer em alguns seriados americanos, como o The O.C.:

E One Tree Hill:

Tonight I have to leave it apareceu nas telonas em Jogo de amor em Las Vegas (com Cameron Diaz e Ashton Kutcher).

Em Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist, outra comédia romântica, é a vez de Very Loud (que não curto, aliás).

Aqui no Brasil a banda é conhecida por causa desse comercial aqui:

A versão original de Shut Your Eyes está aqui, ó.

Os rapazes estiveram aqui no Brasil ano passado, junto com o Peter Bjorn and John (a banda do assobio), no festival Invasão Sueca. A mané aqui não foi porque não tinha companhia.

Anyways, recomendo. Super recomendo.

Nádia Lapa

*o nome da banda era originalmente Luca Brasi. O “Shout Out Louds” foi tirado de uma música do The Cure (AMO), High. A letra você encontra neste link.

(my mobile ringing Boy)

Boy: What?

H: Pass me A, will you?

B: She is fast asleep.

H: Now really? Well, wake her up then, please?

B: You sound pissed.

H: Just fucking wake her up.

…

H: Well?

B: It is difficult, I’m trying.

H: She is pretending, shove at least two fingers up her arse. Unlubricated.

B: That is gonna hurt.

H: Bless! It’ll wake her up, trust me.

…

A: Aowww!

…

A: Boy just put two fingers up my arse.

H: Haha, as if. Now, so far for the Shakespeare, albeit very convincing.

A: (giggling) What do you want this time?

H: I have decided.

A: What?

H: Not gonna attend Boy’s BBQ.

A: …

H: (giggling) You are not gonna ask why?

…

A: Why are you not here? With us?

H: Dunno.

A: …

H: Would you want me to be there?

A: Dunno.

Shut your eyes and think of somewhere
Somewhere cold and caked in snow
By the fire we break the quiet
Learn to wear each other well

And when the worrying starts to hurt
and the world feels like graves of dirt
Just close your eyes until
you can imagine this place, you’re our secret space at will

Shut your eyes, I spin the big chair
And you’ll feel dizzy, light, and free
And falling gently on the cushion
You can come and sing to me

And when the worrying starts to hurt
and the world feels like graves of dirt
Just close your eyes until
you can imagine this place, you’re our secret space at will

(Shut your eyes [x4])

Shut your eyes and sing to me (Shut your eyes and sing to me) [x4]

- Snow Patrol (Shut Your Eyes)

Two months ago I saw a band which should not exist anymore.

Hoodoo Gurus.

Yup, just like The Triffids albums, Stoneage Romeos has been re-released. And they were supporting their album by going on tour again. “I Want You Back“, “Lelani” or “Tojo” anyone?

Though no wasted talent a la David McComb has died, so no press coverage at all over here for a reunion tour. No blue plaque ordination either. Despite the fact that good old John Peel tried to push them in the olden days, just like he did with The Triffids.

Oh, memories, oh days long gone, never to come back, ever again. Oh, 1985, the Year of The Triffids. And Hoodoo Gurus.

Anyway, back to to the here and now, the future even maybe.

I heard for the first time that Snow Patrol song, “Shut Your Eyes (and sing to me)” last night on a dance floor. Couldn’t keep quiet about it today and tried to convert the young’ns, with little success. But then again, I was still pissed.

Jesus, I need to grow up.

The type of song I would love to write for A. or rather for myself, of course.

Jesus, I need to grow up. Quickly.

Incidentally, Snow Patrol come from Bangor, NI, and apparently one of its members is related to Roisin, that gorgeous (dyed) red, long and curled-haired girl I cheated on Lauren, my ex-girlfriend with in Lyon.

And Newcastle. And Bangor. And Belfast. And Manchester … (while I was staying at Lauren’s)

…

And whom my parents so liked when they met her in Lyon. She was so so very, very pretty and took her drink like Bukowski could only dream of.

A cousin or something. Well, so Roisin tells me. 

On one of my trips when I visited her, Roisin’s mum told me never to give instructions to a taxi driver in Belfast as an IRA associated-taxi driver would wrongly think i was English.

Coz of me accent.

They were Catholics living in Protestant Bangor where they had an annual celebration which involved burning a wooden doll representing the pope. Their house got pelted now and then with eggs, tomatoes, bullets and no doubt kebabs.

Now, I have a strong foreign accent, and Roisin’s grandma lived on Fall’s Road and I am raised Catholic so I took it as a challenge, so once under the influence of alcohol, I gave it large, big time, the moment i got into a taxi, death wish … shattered knee-cap-wish … bullet-in-both-elbows-wish … being immature and all, so much to Roisin’s annoyance.

The moron was me. Her uncle was executed in the troubles as the English typically cowardly call it.

Anyway, Lauren and me, Roisin and me, Belfast and Bangor was 1999, how things have changed over there. Paisley as a NI Prime Minister?  The IRA happy with that? I rest my case.

Apart from the kebabs which are still being generously but now also gently deposited in Roisins’ parents’ front garden rather than being aimed at their windows.

Anyone into Battles? Album of the year so far I reckon.

A couple of months ago, the last ever blank tape rolled off the manufacturing band, the end of an era kinda thing. No more tapes, cassettes. Like for ever. All digital now. Had to to really search for a cassette tape player (which I found on me car radio) to play Mr T’s copied tape of Hoodoo Gurus.

Couldn’t wait to see Hoodoo Gurus two months ago.

Jesus, I need to grow up. Instantly.