aqui na lua
sábado, junho 24, 2006
quinta-feira, junho 22, 2006
miau...
Um amigo inseparável com mais de cão do que de gato. Só lhe falta ladrar... e alguém que lhe explique que um felino não recebe as visitas de barriga para o ar, não pedincha comida à mesa durante as refeições e não tem medo de alturas. ¶ 17:39 0 comments
Um amigo inseparável com mais de cão do que de gato. Só lhe falta ladrar... e alguém que lhe explique que um felino não recebe as visitas de barriga para o ar, não pedincha comida à mesa durante as refeições e não tem medo de alturas. ¶ 17:39 0 comments
quarta-feira, junho 14, 2006
Milfontes
JL - Junho 2006 (tnx J...!)
Fomos para Vila Nova de Milfontes aproveitar o fim de semana e o feriado de Santo António. Escapámos às sardinhas que deram lugar a uns incríveis sargos apanhados mesmo ali ao largo e amanhados à porta de casa em cima das rochas à beira-mar. A J... amanhou-os, eu escamei-os e o X... assou-os. Todos comemos!
Ainda vieram uns polvos para Lisboa que vão acabar tragicamente na panela da minha mãe e, posteriormente, nas barrigas do resto da família.
Quando eu era miuda, lembro-me de ficar na praia até ao anoitecer com a minha mãe e a minha irmã à espera do meu pai que tinha ido para o mar fazer caça submarina. Eu e a minha irmã enroladas nas toalhas e a morrer de frio e a minha mãe olhando ansiosa para o mar à espera da mancha negra que eventualmente se iria aproximar da praia a dar às barbatanas e com o acroche cheio de jantar. Nesta altura acampávamos onde calhava (menos em parques destinados para tal) e tudo era artesanal: o fogão era uma fogueira, o duche eram baldes de água que aquecia durante o dia ao sol e que servia também para lavar a loiça e a despensa ficava pendurada nas árvores. Quando ele chegava ainda era preciso amanhar o peixe, voltar para o acampamento, acender a fogueira e assar o peixe e as batatas.
Amanhar o peixe era tarefa da minha mãe e enojava-nos simplesmente ver o peixe a ser esventrado com os olhos arregalados... Nunca aprendi tal arte e teve mesmo de ser a J... a executar essa tarefa. Eu escamei-os como me lembro de ver a minha mãe fazer embora ela agarrasse o peixe pela cabeça e eu só o conseguisse agarrando-o pelo rabo.
Quando a noite caiu, 2 senhoras chegaram-se à beira-rio e perguntaram: "São da casa? Então fiquem de olho aqui nas velhotas que estão a pescar. Não queremos que os gatunos se aproximem!" - E ali ficaram quase 4 horas a lançar linha e a colocar no balde peixe atrás de peixe num ritmo próprio de quem está habituado à rotina.
JL - Junho 2006 (tnx J...!)
Fomos para Vila Nova de Milfontes aproveitar o fim de semana e o feriado de Santo António. Escapámos às sardinhas que deram lugar a uns incríveis sargos apanhados mesmo ali ao largo e amanhados à porta de casa em cima das rochas à beira-mar. A J... amanhou-os, eu escamei-os e o X... assou-os. Todos comemos!
Ainda vieram uns polvos para Lisboa que vão acabar tragicamente na panela da minha mãe e, posteriormente, nas barrigas do resto da família.
Quando eu era miuda, lembro-me de ficar na praia até ao anoitecer com a minha mãe e a minha irmã à espera do meu pai que tinha ido para o mar fazer caça submarina. Eu e a minha irmã enroladas nas toalhas e a morrer de frio e a minha mãe olhando ansiosa para o mar à espera da mancha negra que eventualmente se iria aproximar da praia a dar às barbatanas e com o acroche cheio de jantar. Nesta altura acampávamos onde calhava (menos em parques destinados para tal) e tudo era artesanal: o fogão era uma fogueira, o duche eram baldes de água que aquecia durante o dia ao sol e que servia também para lavar a loiça e a despensa ficava pendurada nas árvores. Quando ele chegava ainda era preciso amanhar o peixe, voltar para o acampamento, acender a fogueira e assar o peixe e as batatas.
Amanhar o peixe era tarefa da minha mãe e enojava-nos simplesmente ver o peixe a ser esventrado com os olhos arregalados... Nunca aprendi tal arte e teve mesmo de ser a J... a executar essa tarefa. Eu escamei-os como me lembro de ver a minha mãe fazer embora ela agarrasse o peixe pela cabeça e eu só o conseguisse agarrando-o pelo rabo.
Quando a noite caiu, 2 senhoras chegaram-se à beira-rio e perguntaram: "São da casa? Então fiquem de olho aqui nas velhotas que estão a pescar. Não queremos que os gatunos se aproximem!" - E ali ficaram quase 4 horas a lançar linha e a colocar no balde peixe atrás de peixe num ritmo próprio de quem está habituado à rotina.
Aqui a logística do jantar e dos banhos quentes era menos complicada mas mesmo assim acabámos por ficar à mesa até às 3h00 da manhã enquanto a maré enchia trazendo as águas e o reflexo da lua (que atravessa o mar, a praia, a baía e deixa um rasto que apetece seguir até onde os olhos conseguem ver) até à casa onde a ondulação acaricia o muro e embala as conversas.
Nós continuámos a petiscar peixe grelhado, batatas assadas, salada fresca, cerveja atrás de cerveja, copo de sangria atrás de copo de sangria, cigarro atrás de cigarro até as forças apenas nos permitirem levitar até à cama e dormir com o barulho do silêncio e o silêncio do barulho da maré a vazar.
sexta-feira, junho 09, 2006
concerto
Ok... normalizada a situação, aqui vai:
Chegámos, eu e a J..., eram 18h30 e eu preparei-me para uma travessia do deserto controlando muito bem quais os melhores oásis para abastecer o corpinho dos nectares de cevada que no último pecaram pela inexistência a partir de metade da noite. Controlada a situação e de copo na mão prestei-me a ouvir Editors com a atenção de quem apenas faz tempo até às 00h00. Ao fim de alguns acordes rendi-me e confesso que gostei como se gosta de alguma coisa que se ouve pela primeira vez e que nos soa bem: sem entusiasmo mas com atenção redobrada.
Mais uns copitos em cima e dEUS chama do palco... a mim, pela 3ª vez. Mas dos 3 concertos da banda a que fui em Portugal, este foi o melhor.
Nada mal para quem se preparou para o deserto. Até agora, perfeito.
The Cult... sim, é verdade, pensei que não, mas ainda me lembrava de The Cult sem o saber. Porra que não sei se foi dos copitos todos, mas o formigueiro não me permitiu ficar sentada mais tempo numa das mesas e saltei para junto do palco onde ainda acompanhei algumas músicas aos berros num revivalismo sem precedentes (nem mesmo com Pixies) e com a sensação de que a puta da idade tem algumas vantagens: eu ouvia The Cult quando era miuda, tive o previlégio de o fazer e de agora poder relembrar as loucuras idiotas que fizémos. The Cult era uma das bandas sonoras dos disparates. Junto com outras, mas uma das que gerava concenso.
Depois Keane que não maça mas mói. Eu gosto de algumas bem conseguidas canções de Keane mas, um concerto inteiro e ansiando por Franz Ferdinand, foi extremamente doloroso... A sensação de "estes gajos nunca mais se calam" já era a constante no que se referia ao Palco das bandas portuguesas mas ali era a primeira vez. Foi finalmente o deserto antecipado, mas bastante mais pequeno do que previa.
O X... chegou e os Keane (tão jovenzinhos, tão pequeninos...) sairam do palco.
Franz Ferdinand entraram a matar e continuaram frenéticos durante quase 1h50m com o único encore da noite prologado por mais 5 canções. Até "This Fire" ser identificado pelos primeiros acordes.
O público estava completamente passado e as inúmeras desafinações e descordenações passaram completamente ao lado porque a malta queria era pular, cantar, dançar, levantar os braços, berrar e continuar com a festa até cair para o lado... para depois ressuscitar com novos acordes e novas músicas que fariam acordar um morto se ali os houvesse.
Enfim... eu sou suspeita porque num concerto o que vale é poder antecipar os ritmos e não perder o ritmo da coisa.
O que entristeceu com as outras bandas foi a apatia com que se encarou o final de cada prestação e se deixou os músicos abandonar o palco. Com Franz Ferdinand ninguém arredou pé e era perfeitamente identificável "This fire is out of control! I'm going to burn this city! Burn this city!" berrado em uníssono pelo público até ao regresso de Kapranos, McCarthy, Hardy e Thomson . "This Fire" foi a última o que revela inteligência por parte da banda que teve oportunidade de prolongar o encore até a tocar. A bateria chegou a ser partilhada por três em simultâneo e os olhos não largaram o frenesim de braços e baquetas à volta dela. Mas uma bateria serve para isso mesmo nestas circunstâncias: é o êxtase da energia colectiva concentrado.
Por mim, senti-me outra vez miuda. Acho que me esqueci da J... e do X... e deixei-me levar pela multidão que me arrastou numa puladeira, berraria e histeria infernal o tempo todo. Todo! Até da cerveja me esqueci e no final a secura era insuportável.
O deserto simpático que atravessámos levou-me a um oásis onde quero voltar sempre que vierem a Portugal. Ficou a certeza de que não vou perder nenhum concerto de Franz Ferdinand enquanto existirem e vierem aos nossos palcos.
Taken by Chris Kosiol
This Fire
Eyes, boring a way through me
Paralyse, controlling completely
Now there is a fire in me
A fire that burns
This fire is out of control
I'm going to burn this city
Burn this city
This fire is out of control
I'm going to burn it
I'll burn it
I'll burn it down
Eyes, burning a way through me
Overwhelm, destroying so sweetly
Now, there is a fire within me
A fire that burns
This fire is out of control
I'm going to burn this city
Burn this city
This fire is out of control
Then I, I'm out of control
And I burn
Oh, how I burn
This fire is out of control
I'm going to burn this city
Burn this city
Franz Ferdinand
(Kapranos, McCarthy, Hardy, Thomson) ¶ 12:27 0 comments
Chegámos, eu e a J..., eram 18h30 e eu preparei-me para uma travessia do deserto controlando muito bem quais os melhores oásis para abastecer o corpinho dos nectares de cevada que no último pecaram pela inexistência a partir de metade da noite. Controlada a situação e de copo na mão prestei-me a ouvir Editors com a atenção de quem apenas faz tempo até às 00h00. Ao fim de alguns acordes rendi-me e confesso que gostei como se gosta de alguma coisa que se ouve pela primeira vez e que nos soa bem: sem entusiasmo mas com atenção redobrada.
Mais uns copitos em cima e dEUS chama do palco... a mim, pela 3ª vez. Mas dos 3 concertos da banda a que fui em Portugal, este foi o melhor.
Nada mal para quem se preparou para o deserto. Até agora, perfeito.
The Cult... sim, é verdade, pensei que não, mas ainda me lembrava de The Cult sem o saber. Porra que não sei se foi dos copitos todos, mas o formigueiro não me permitiu ficar sentada mais tempo numa das mesas e saltei para junto do palco onde ainda acompanhei algumas músicas aos berros num revivalismo sem precedentes (nem mesmo com Pixies) e com a sensação de que a puta da idade tem algumas vantagens: eu ouvia The Cult quando era miuda, tive o previlégio de o fazer e de agora poder relembrar as loucuras idiotas que fizémos. The Cult era uma das bandas sonoras dos disparates. Junto com outras, mas uma das que gerava concenso.
Depois Keane que não maça mas mói. Eu gosto de algumas bem conseguidas canções de Keane mas, um concerto inteiro e ansiando por Franz Ferdinand, foi extremamente doloroso... A sensação de "estes gajos nunca mais se calam" já era a constante no que se referia ao Palco das bandas portuguesas mas ali era a primeira vez. Foi finalmente o deserto antecipado, mas bastante mais pequeno do que previa.
O X... chegou e os Keane (tão jovenzinhos, tão pequeninos...) sairam do palco.
Franz Ferdinand entraram a matar e continuaram frenéticos durante quase 1h50m com o único encore da noite prologado por mais 5 canções. Até "This Fire" ser identificado pelos primeiros acordes.
O público estava completamente passado e as inúmeras desafinações e descordenações passaram completamente ao lado porque a malta queria era pular, cantar, dançar, levantar os braços, berrar e continuar com a festa até cair para o lado... para depois ressuscitar com novos acordes e novas músicas que fariam acordar um morto se ali os houvesse.
Enfim... eu sou suspeita porque num concerto o que vale é poder antecipar os ritmos e não perder o ritmo da coisa.
O que entristeceu com as outras bandas foi a apatia com que se encarou o final de cada prestação e se deixou os músicos abandonar o palco. Com Franz Ferdinand ninguém arredou pé e era perfeitamente identificável "This fire is out of control! I'm going to burn this city! Burn this city!" berrado em uníssono pelo público até ao regresso de Kapranos, McCarthy, Hardy e Thomson . "This Fire" foi a última o que revela inteligência por parte da banda que teve oportunidade de prolongar o encore até a tocar. A bateria chegou a ser partilhada por três em simultâneo e os olhos não largaram o frenesim de braços e baquetas à volta dela. Mas uma bateria serve para isso mesmo nestas circunstâncias: é o êxtase da energia colectiva concentrado.
Por mim, senti-me outra vez miuda. Acho que me esqueci da J... e do X... e deixei-me levar pela multidão que me arrastou numa puladeira, berraria e histeria infernal o tempo todo. Todo! Até da cerveja me esqueci e no final a secura era insuportável.
O deserto simpático que atravessámos levou-me a um oásis onde quero voltar sempre que vierem a Portugal. Ficou a certeza de que não vou perder nenhum concerto de Franz Ferdinand enquanto existirem e vierem aos nossos palcos.
Taken by Chris Kosiol
This Fire
Eyes, boring a way through me
Paralyse, controlling completely
Now there is a fire in me
A fire that burns
This fire is out of control
I'm going to burn this city
Burn this city
This fire is out of control
I'm going to burn it
I'll burn it
I'll burn it down
Eyes, burning a way through me
Overwhelm, destroying so sweetly
Now, there is a fire within me
A fire that burns
This fire is out of control
I'm going to burn this city
Burn this city
This fire is out of control
Then I, I'm out of control
And I burn
Oh, how I burn
This fire is out of control
I'm going to burn this city
Burn this city
Franz Ferdinand
(Kapranos, McCarthy, Hardy, Thomson) ¶ 12:27 0 comments
quinta-feira, junho 08, 2006
ressaca...
Ainda estou a recuperar do concerto... as pernas ainda tremem quando ando, não consigo ouvir metade do que me dizem e a voz falha-me ao fim de duas frases seguidas.
Assim que estiver em condições faço um relato mais pormenorizado do concerto...
Quem diria que estes tipos tinham tanta energia em palco...
¶ 23:27 0 comments
Assim que estiver em condições faço um relato mais pormenorizado do concerto...
Quem diria que estes tipos tinham tanta energia em palco...
¶ 23:27 0 comments
quarta-feira, junho 07, 2006
franz ferdinand
Some time around the end of 2001, Bob was sitting in Alex's kitchen. Alex had just been given a bass by his friend Mick, on the condition that he did 'something useful' with it.
"Do you want to learn to play the bass then, Bob?"
"No, I'm an artist, not a musician."
"It's the same thing."
"OK then."
So Bob learned the bass and they planned a band. It had to be something big. Bob wanted it to be on the level of Field Marshall Haig's tears that fell as he counted the statistics of the men he had sent over the top. Alex wanted to make music that girls could dance to.
Alex met Nick in Jo and Celias' kitchen. Nick was dressed like a young Adam Ant and was stealing Alex's Vodka. They were about to batter each others brains in when Alex asked if he could play drums. Nick lied and said that he could. They agreed to meet up in Nick's South Side mansion.
Nick could hit the drums, but not in any particularly coherent order. He was a classical pianist and double bassist and had come to Glasgow because a friend in Munich had said it was a laugh. Although he couldn't drum, he liked the idea of music for girls to dance to, and they found that they could write songs together.
Paul was the best drummer in Glasgow, but nobody wanted to hear drums, now that 808s had been discovered. Paul had pawned his kit, but liked the idea of playing the guitar, so started coming down to Nick's South Side mansion. One day he and Nick swapped over, on the condition that Paul still got to sing and didn't have to use rack toms, as they stopped the audience getting a decent view of him.
Girl Art was an exhibition organised by a group of students at GSA. They heard the plan for music that girls could dance to, so asked the boys to play their first gig. It was in Celia's bedroom which was lit by neon. At least 80 people watched and most of them danced.
Nick and Alex decided that they needed somewhere bigger than Nick's South Side mansion to play music in. Hunting for property, they went for a walk along the disused railway line that crosses over Paddy's market and the Clyde. They discovered two things: that the line wasn't disused after all and a huge abandoned art-deco warehouse overlooking the Clyde. They tracked down the landlord, persuaded him to give them the keys to the 6th floor, christened it the Chateau and made it their home.
The Chateau was a wonderful home. After evicting the pigeons and fixing the windows, they found a sympathetic electrician who managed to wire the building in a way that left the electricity board innocent of the knowledge that they were supplying the power. At one point in its long history, the warehouse had stored sports equipment. Franz Ferdinand held a Sports and Leisure night: rowing machines strapped to trolleys were raced, vibra-belts wobbled, weights were lifted and rifles were shot from the saddle of a rocking horse.
The Chateau is in a part of Glasgow that used to be called the Gorbals. At one point it was associated with violence, vermin and poverty. None of these exist in Glasgow today. The second Chateau event was a little grander. On the Fifth floor, Robb Mitchell and Switchspace gathered together a collection of artists to put on an exhibition. On the sixth floor, Ferdinand brought together some of the best music Glasgow has produced: Uncle John and Whitelock, Park Attack and Scatter. Lighting was in the form of banks of sunbeds that had been found on one of the other floors. They were wired to flicker on and off randomly as the bands played. Early evening, people started to arrive. Then more people. Then more people. The bands played and the lights flickered. Wine flowed and everyone danced. It felt liberating. Then the police arrived. They seemed terrified. There were only a few of them and they were panicking. Very soon another couple of vanloads arrived. It was like a scene from a speakeasy in prohibition-era Chicago. As the cops were racing up one staircase, crates of booze were flying down the other. Somehow, Al Kapranos took the brunt of the wrath. Possibly because of the phonetics of the name, possibly because he was the only one who didn't run away. He was arrested, but the charges of running an illegal bar and contravening various health and safety, fire hazard and noise abatement legislation were dropped. When he was chatting to the cops over a cup of tea down at the cells, everyone friends again, they said that they had been looking for the place for a month. They had been driving round the block, trying to find a way in to where the noise was coming from. It seemed that they were just happy to be confused no longer.
The Chateau was now marked territory and could no longer be used as a centre of noise. Franz Ferdinand played shows in other places. Lucy McKenzie, a Glasgow artist, held nights in her Flourish Studios. These were similar to the Chateau, but a little quieter. Stereo, a bar with a rare and supportive attitude was also a haunt. The Chateau was never abandoned, but another place, equally as magnificent was found.
On Tobago Street there is a Victorian courtroom and gaol. When McCarthy discovered it, it had been abandoned for over 30 years. It was ideal. The perversity of breaking the law in what was a bastion of the legal system appealed greatly. It has that air of brooding opulence and inarguable authority that 19th century West of Scotland municipal buildings command. The ceilings are higher than church and are mounted in omnipotent plasterwork. They were entered in awe and fear. After thirty years of Glasgow elements, some of the harshness had been softened, however. The plaster had cracked. Rain ran down some of the internal walls. The cell doors swung open. It was perfect.
It was decided that the gaol and courtroom was also the Chateau. Anything can be the Chateau, if it seems right. It is even suspected that there are parts of the Capithole that could be the Chateau too. For the next night, the building was split. Robb Mitchell filled the cells with artists. Franz Ferdinand presided over the courtroom. They booked train tickets and brought the Country Teasers North. They built a stage from scaffolding and borrowed bits of sound system from anyone vaguely sympathetic across the city. On the night, it was colder in the building than outside, but people arrived. Then more people. Then more people. Braziers burned in the courtyard and the bands burned in the courtroom. Wine flowed and everyone danced. Eventually the police arrived.
Tobago street is one of the city's rougher streets. It is populated mainly by scrapped cars and hookers. This time, the police were much friendlier. They didn't want to arrest anyone and gave four warnings before shutting the power down.
By this point it had been noticed that there were faces in the audience that definitely belonged South of the border. Somehow London had seeped in to Glasgow. This wasn't a bad thing and Franz Ferdinand decided to visit the Capithole. They played a few shows and decided that they liked it. As a city, London is bigger than Glasgow and has more people that want to put out records. Franz Ferdinand spoke to several of these people. Some of them were truly astonishing mavericks who have changed the world with their work. Some were wankers, shoving too much coke up their noses, while letting shite fall from their mouths. Eventually, they met Laurence Bell, firmly in the former category. He runs the Domino Record Company. A last great independant. When he asked them to sign, they were so touched they could say nothing but yes.
Franz Ferdinand currently live in the courtroom of the Chateau, where they write and record.
in:
http://www.franzferdinand.co.uk/biog.php
Os escoceses Franz Ferdinand vêm ao Super Bock Super Rock XL apresentar o segundo álbum de originais “You Could Have It So Much Better”, editado no início de Outubro de 2005. A banda, liderada por Alex Kapranos, abalou o meio musical com o álbum de estreia, editado em 2004, “Franz Ferdinand”, muito devido a singles como “Take Me Out” ou “Darts Of Pleasure”.
Quando o arquiduque austríaco e sucessor ao trono, Francisco Fernando, foi assassinado, eclodiu a 1ª Grande Guerra Mundial. Quando quatro jovens escoceses decidiram inspirar-se no mesmo nome para criar uma banda, rebentou uma nova ordem musical. Desde que “Franz Ferdinand”, o álbum, foi editado que nada ficou na mesma. Praticante de sonoridades Pós-Punk, Franz Ferdinand, a banda, deu origem a uma legião de fiéis que ocorrem aos concertos.
Bob Hardy, Nick McCarthy, Paul Thomson e Alex Kapranos, os quatro arautos do novo rock, lançaram um EP independente em 2002, que lhes garantiu um contrato discográfico, com a Domino, em menos de um ano. O primeiro álbum “Franz Ferdinand”, foi alvo das mais elogiosas críticas por parte da indústria musical, tendo inclusive garantido prémios à banda, nos Mercury Awards, Brit Awards e New Musical Ezpress Awards, currículo impressionante para uma banda que ensaiava num armazém abandonado, ironicamente aprelidado de Chateau. Sem deixar assentar a poeira que criaram, os Franz Ferdinand decidem editar novo CD em 2005, “You Could Have It So Much Better”, um digno sucessor do disco de estreia, tendo inclusive sido nomeado para um Grammy na categoria de melhor álbum alternativo.
in:
http://www.superbock.pt/sbsr_2006/ ¶ 13:44 0 comments
Some time around the end of 2001, Bob was sitting in Alex's kitchen. Alex had just been given a bass by his friend Mick, on the condition that he did 'something useful' with it.
"Do you want to learn to play the bass then, Bob?"
"No, I'm an artist, not a musician."
"It's the same thing."
"OK then."
So Bob learned the bass and they planned a band. It had to be something big. Bob wanted it to be on the level of Field Marshall Haig's tears that fell as he counted the statistics of the men he had sent over the top. Alex wanted to make music that girls could dance to.
Alex met Nick in Jo and Celias' kitchen. Nick was dressed like a young Adam Ant and was stealing Alex's Vodka. They were about to batter each others brains in when Alex asked if he could play drums. Nick lied and said that he could. They agreed to meet up in Nick's South Side mansion.
Nick could hit the drums, but not in any particularly coherent order. He was a classical pianist and double bassist and had come to Glasgow because a friend in Munich had said it was a laugh. Although he couldn't drum, he liked the idea of music for girls to dance to, and they found that they could write songs together.
Paul was the best drummer in Glasgow, but nobody wanted to hear drums, now that 808s had been discovered. Paul had pawned his kit, but liked the idea of playing the guitar, so started coming down to Nick's South Side mansion. One day he and Nick swapped over, on the condition that Paul still got to sing and didn't have to use rack toms, as they stopped the audience getting a decent view of him.
Girl Art was an exhibition organised by a group of students at GSA. They heard the plan for music that girls could dance to, so asked the boys to play their first gig. It was in Celia's bedroom which was lit by neon. At least 80 people watched and most of them danced.
Nick and Alex decided that they needed somewhere bigger than Nick's South Side mansion to play music in. Hunting for property, they went for a walk along the disused railway line that crosses over Paddy's market and the Clyde. They discovered two things: that the line wasn't disused after all and a huge abandoned art-deco warehouse overlooking the Clyde. They tracked down the landlord, persuaded him to give them the keys to the 6th floor, christened it the Chateau and made it their home.
The Chateau was a wonderful home. After evicting the pigeons and fixing the windows, they found a sympathetic electrician who managed to wire the building in a way that left the electricity board innocent of the knowledge that they were supplying the power. At one point in its long history, the warehouse had stored sports equipment. Franz Ferdinand held a Sports and Leisure night: rowing machines strapped to trolleys were raced, vibra-belts wobbled, weights were lifted and rifles were shot from the saddle of a rocking horse.
The Chateau is in a part of Glasgow that used to be called the Gorbals. At one point it was associated with violence, vermin and poverty. None of these exist in Glasgow today. The second Chateau event was a little grander. On the Fifth floor, Robb Mitchell and Switchspace gathered together a collection of artists to put on an exhibition. On the sixth floor, Ferdinand brought together some of the best music Glasgow has produced: Uncle John and Whitelock, Park Attack and Scatter. Lighting was in the form of banks of sunbeds that had been found on one of the other floors. They were wired to flicker on and off randomly as the bands played. Early evening, people started to arrive. Then more people. Then more people. The bands played and the lights flickered. Wine flowed and everyone danced. It felt liberating. Then the police arrived. They seemed terrified. There were only a few of them and they were panicking. Very soon another couple of vanloads arrived. It was like a scene from a speakeasy in prohibition-era Chicago. As the cops were racing up one staircase, crates of booze were flying down the other. Somehow, Al Kapranos took the brunt of the wrath. Possibly because of the phonetics of the name, possibly because he was the only one who didn't run away. He was arrested, but the charges of running an illegal bar and contravening various health and safety, fire hazard and noise abatement legislation were dropped. When he was chatting to the cops over a cup of tea down at the cells, everyone friends again, they said that they had been looking for the place for a month. They had been driving round the block, trying to find a way in to where the noise was coming from. It seemed that they were just happy to be confused no longer.
The Chateau was now marked territory and could no longer be used as a centre of noise. Franz Ferdinand played shows in other places. Lucy McKenzie, a Glasgow artist, held nights in her Flourish Studios. These were similar to the Chateau, but a little quieter. Stereo, a bar with a rare and supportive attitude was also a haunt. The Chateau was never abandoned, but another place, equally as magnificent was found.
On Tobago Street there is a Victorian courtroom and gaol. When McCarthy discovered it, it had been abandoned for over 30 years. It was ideal. The perversity of breaking the law in what was a bastion of the legal system appealed greatly. It has that air of brooding opulence and inarguable authority that 19th century West of Scotland municipal buildings command. The ceilings are higher than church and are mounted in omnipotent plasterwork. They were entered in awe and fear. After thirty years of Glasgow elements, some of the harshness had been softened, however. The plaster had cracked. Rain ran down some of the internal walls. The cell doors swung open. It was perfect.
It was decided that the gaol and courtroom was also the Chateau. Anything can be the Chateau, if it seems right. It is even suspected that there are parts of the Capithole that could be the Chateau too. For the next night, the building was split. Robb Mitchell filled the cells with artists. Franz Ferdinand presided over the courtroom. They booked train tickets and brought the Country Teasers North. They built a stage from scaffolding and borrowed bits of sound system from anyone vaguely sympathetic across the city. On the night, it was colder in the building than outside, but people arrived. Then more people. Then more people. Braziers burned in the courtyard and the bands burned in the courtroom. Wine flowed and everyone danced. Eventually the police arrived.
Tobago street is one of the city's rougher streets. It is populated mainly by scrapped cars and hookers. This time, the police were much friendlier. They didn't want to arrest anyone and gave four warnings before shutting the power down.
By this point it had been noticed that there were faces in the audience that definitely belonged South of the border. Somehow London had seeped in to Glasgow. This wasn't a bad thing and Franz Ferdinand decided to visit the Capithole. They played a few shows and decided that they liked it. As a city, London is bigger than Glasgow and has more people that want to put out records. Franz Ferdinand spoke to several of these people. Some of them were truly astonishing mavericks who have changed the world with their work. Some were wankers, shoving too much coke up their noses, while letting shite fall from their mouths. Eventually, they met Laurence Bell, firmly in the former category. He runs the Domino Record Company. A last great independant. When he asked them to sign, they were so touched they could say nothing but yes.
Franz Ferdinand currently live in the courtroom of the Chateau, where they write and record.
in:
http://www.franzferdinand.co.uk/biog.php
Os escoceses Franz Ferdinand vêm ao Super Bock Super Rock XL apresentar o segundo álbum de originais “You Could Have It So Much Better”, editado no início de Outubro de 2005. A banda, liderada por Alex Kapranos, abalou o meio musical com o álbum de estreia, editado em 2004, “Franz Ferdinand”, muito devido a singles como “Take Me Out” ou “Darts Of Pleasure”.
Quando o arquiduque austríaco e sucessor ao trono, Francisco Fernando, foi assassinado, eclodiu a 1ª Grande Guerra Mundial. Quando quatro jovens escoceses decidiram inspirar-se no mesmo nome para criar uma banda, rebentou uma nova ordem musical. Desde que “Franz Ferdinand”, o álbum, foi editado que nada ficou na mesma. Praticante de sonoridades Pós-Punk, Franz Ferdinand, a banda, deu origem a uma legião de fiéis que ocorrem aos concertos.
Bob Hardy, Nick McCarthy, Paul Thomson e Alex Kapranos, os quatro arautos do novo rock, lançaram um EP independente em 2002, que lhes garantiu um contrato discográfico, com a Domino, em menos de um ano. O primeiro álbum “Franz Ferdinand”, foi alvo das mais elogiosas críticas por parte da indústria musical, tendo inclusive garantido prémios à banda, nos Mercury Awards, Brit Awards e New Musical Ezpress Awards, currículo impressionante para uma banda que ensaiava num armazém abandonado, ironicamente aprelidado de Chateau. Sem deixar assentar a poeira que criaram, os Franz Ferdinand decidem editar novo CD em 2005, “You Could Have It So Much Better”, um digno sucessor do disco de estreia, tendo inclusive sido nomeado para um Grammy na categoria de melhor álbum alternativo.
in:
http://www.superbock.pt/sbsr_2006/ ¶ 13:44 0 comments
rio versus bock - take II
Este ano não consigo ser tão fundamentalista e confesso que só não fui ver Red Hot porque não consegui bilhetes e andei a fingir que era um caracol em terras alentejanas. Mas houve quem me tivesse aguçado o desapontamento de não estar presente ligando-me a cada início de música desesperando a minha inveja...
Para não variar, e porque o consolo é maior, Super Bock Super Rock aqui vou eu! Hoje:
Editors
dEUS
The Cult
Keane
Franz Ferdinand
Franz Ferdinand, mais do que os outros, é a razão da minha ida. Gosto. Gosto mesmo. Gosto mesmo muito!
Estranho porém que não seja referido no site oficial o concerto em Portugal. Não quero tirar conclusões precipitadas mas as dúvidas que me ocorrem de momento são:
Não estarão confirmados?
Talvez o considerem um pequeno concerto (assim como uma perninha...) que vão fazer para meia dúzia de pessoas num pequeno país onde ninguém ainda deve saber bem quem são...
A primeira é assustadora... a outra resolve-se se a primeira não se verificar!
Take Me Out
So if you're lonely
You know I'm here waiting for you
I'm just a crosshair
I'm just a shot away from you
And if you leave here
You leave me broken, shattered I lie
I'm just a crosshair
I'm just a shot then we can die
I know I won't be leaving here with you
I say don't you know?
You say you don't know
I say take me out
I say you don't show
Don't move, time is slow
I say take me out
I say you don't know
You say you don't go
I say take me out
If I move, this could die
Eyes move, this could die
I want you to take me out
I know I won't be leaving here
With you
I say don't you know?
You say you don't know
I say take me out
If I wait, this can die
If I wane, this can die
I want you to take me out
If I move, this could die
If eyes move, this could die
Come on, take me out
I know I won't be leaving here
With you
Album - Franz Ferdinand
(Kapranos, McCarthy, Hardy, Thomson)
Auf Achse
You see her, you can't touch her
You hear her, you can't hold her
You want her and you can't have her
You want to, but she won't let you
She's not so special
So look what you've done, boy
Now you wish you'd never come back here again
Oh, never come back here again
You see her, you can't touch her
You hear her, you can't hold her
You want her and you can't have her
You want to, but she won't let you
She's not so special
So look what you've done, boy
And now I'm nailed above you, gushing from my side
It's with your sins that you have killed me
Thinking of your sins I die
Thinking how you'd let them touch you
How you'd never realise that I'm ripped
And hang forsaken
Knowing never I will rise again
You see her
You hear her
You want her
You want to
You see her
You still hear her
You want her
You still want to
Album - Franz Ferdinand
(Kapranos, McCarthy, Hardy, Thomson) ¶ 12:44 0 comments
Para não variar, e porque o consolo é maior, Super Bock Super Rock aqui vou eu! Hoje:
Editors
dEUS
The Cult
Keane
Franz Ferdinand
Franz Ferdinand, mais do que os outros, é a razão da minha ida. Gosto. Gosto mesmo. Gosto mesmo muito!
Estranho porém que não seja referido no site oficial o concerto em Portugal. Não quero tirar conclusões precipitadas mas as dúvidas que me ocorrem de momento são:
Não estarão confirmados?
Talvez o considerem um pequeno concerto (assim como uma perninha...) que vão fazer para meia dúzia de pessoas num pequeno país onde ninguém ainda deve saber bem quem são...
A primeira é assustadora... a outra resolve-se se a primeira não se verificar!
Take Me Out
So if you're lonely
You know I'm here waiting for you
I'm just a crosshair
I'm just a shot away from you
And if you leave here
You leave me broken, shattered I lie
I'm just a crosshair
I'm just a shot then we can die
I know I won't be leaving here with you
I say don't you know?
You say you don't know
I say take me out
I say you don't show
Don't move, time is slow
I say take me out
I say you don't know
You say you don't go
I say take me out
If I move, this could die
Eyes move, this could die
I want you to take me out
I know I won't be leaving here
With you
I say don't you know?
You say you don't know
I say take me out
If I wait, this can die
If I wane, this can die
I want you to take me out
If I move, this could die
If eyes move, this could die
Come on, take me out
I know I won't be leaving here
With you
Album - Franz Ferdinand
(Kapranos, McCarthy, Hardy, Thomson)
Auf Achse
You see her, you can't touch her
You hear her, you can't hold her
You want her and you can't have her
You want to, but she won't let you
She's not so special
So look what you've done, boy
Now you wish you'd never come back here again
Oh, never come back here again
You see her, you can't touch her
You hear her, you can't hold her
You want her and you can't have her
You want to, but she won't let you
She's not so special
So look what you've done, boy
And now I'm nailed above you, gushing from my side
It's with your sins that you have killed me
Thinking of your sins I die
Thinking how you'd let them touch you
How you'd never realise that I'm ripped
And hang forsaken
Knowing never I will rise again
You see her
You hear her
You want her
You want to
You see her
You still hear her
You want her
You still want to
Album - Franz Ferdinand
(Kapranos, McCarthy, Hardy, Thomson) ¶ 12:44 0 comments
quinta-feira, junho 01, 2006
