Això és un espectacle ! (primera part del tot)

Passen els anys i les bones cançons perduren i tornen, com espectres, amb rotunda intempestivitat, barrejades amb les imatges dels discos i amb el record més recent d'una estada als escenaris del mite. El mite, degudament manipulat, a la justa mesura del fan que escriu i pensa en "estranyes escenes a la mina d'or" (Jim Morrison, dixit).

Comencem el single per la cara B.

The Jam:

DOWN IN THE TUBE STATION AT MIDNIGHT

The distant echo -
of faraway voices boarding faraway trains
To take them home to
the ones that they love and who love them forever
The glazed, dirty steps - repeat my own and reflect my thoughts
Cold and uninviting, partially naked
Except for toffee wrapers and this morning's paper
Mr. Jones got run down
Headlines of death and sorrow - they tell of tomorrow
Madmen on the rampage
And I'm down in the tube station at midnight
I fumble for change - and pull out the Queen
Smiling, beguiling
I put in the money and pull out a plum
Behind me
Whispers in the shadows - gruff blazing voices



Hating, waiting
Hey boy they shout - have you got any money?
And I said - I've a little money and a take away curry,
I'm on my way home to my wife.
She'll be lining up the cutlery,
You know she's expecting me
Polishing the glasses and pulling out the cork
And I'm down in the tube station at midnight
I first felt a fist, and then a kick
I could now smell their breath
They smelt of pubs and Wormwood Scrubs
And too many right wing meetings
My life swam around me
It took a look and drowned me in its own existence
The smell of brown leather
It blended in with the weather
It filled my eyes, ears, nose and mouth
It blocked all my senses
Couldn't see, hear, speak any longer

And I'm down in the tube station at midnight
I said I was down in the tube station at midnight
The last thing that I saw
As I lay there on the floor
Was Jesus Saves painted by an atheist nutter
And a British Rail poster read Have an Awayday - a cheap holiday -
Do it today!
I glanced back on my life


And thought about my wife
'Cause they took the keys - and she'll think it's me
And I'm down in the tube station at midnight
The wine will be flat and the curry's gone cold
I'm down in the tube station at midnight
Don't want to go down in a tube station at midnight



THAT'S ENTERTAINMENT

The Jam

A police car and a screaming siren
Pneumatic drill and ripped up concrete
A baby wailing, a stray dog howling
The screech of brakes and lamplights blinking

That’s entertainment, that’s entertainment

A smash of glass and the rumble of boots
An electric train and a ripped up phone booth
Paint splattered walls and the cry of a tom cat
Lights going out and a kick in the balls

I say that’s entertainment, that’s entertainment



Days of speed and slow time Mondays
Pissing down with rain on a boring Wednesday
Watching the news and not eating your tea
A freezing cold flat and damp on the walls

I say that’s entertainment, that’s entertainment

Waking up at 6 a.m. on a cool warm morning
Opening the windows and breathing in petrol
An amateur band rehearse in a nearby yard
Watching the telly and thinking 'bout your holidays

That’s entertainment, that’s entertainment

Waking up from bad dreams and smoking cigarettes
Cuddling a warm girl and smelling stale perfume
A hot summers day and sticky black tarmac
Feeding ducks in the park and wishing you were far away

That’s entertainment, that’s entertainment

Two lovers kissing amongst the scream of midnight
Two lovers missing the tranquillity of solitude
Getting a cab and travelling on buses
Reading the graffiti about slashed seat affairs

I say that’s entertainment, that’s entertainment

Fotografies de Ramonet 77. Darrera estada del trio-fracció dels Amics d'Alan Smithee a la ciutat de Londres. 2010. Imatges de a) Rough Trade Records (Brick Lane) b) Carrers de Tottenham (li recomano a l'alcalde de Vic que hi faci la visita corresponent i que entengui d'una punyetera vegada que el món és així). c) Un servidor a Denmark Street, el carrer dels instruments musicals, entre Soho i Covent Garden i d) Mister Jordi Tria i qui us escriu, parkas al vent matiner de Tottenham, zona africana, esperant ser identificats per l'alcalde de Vic.

En definitiva: Això és un espectacle!