US CD ROIR 117
1992-04-02
US CD ROIR 117 1992-04-02 |
 JP CD Meldac MECR-25021 1993-00-00 |
La tarantula.
Janitor of lunacy
Paralyze my infancy
Petrify the empty cradle
Bring hope to them and me
Janitor of tyranny
Testify my vanity
Mortalize my memory
Deceive the Devil's deed
Tolerate my jealousy
Recognize the desperate need
Janitor of lunacy
Identify my destiny
Revive the living dream
Forgive their begging scream
Seal the giving of their seed
Disease the breathing grief
Thank you.
 US CD ROIR RUSCD8261 2000-03-30 |
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties ?
A hand-me-down dress from who knows where
To all tomorrow's parties.
And what shall she do and where will she go
When midnight comes around ?
She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown
And cry behind the door.
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties ?
White silks and linens of yesterday's gowns
To all tomorrow's parties.
And what will she do with Thursday's rags
When Monday comes around ?
She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown
And cry behind the door.
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties ?
For Thursday's child is Sunday's clown
For whom none will go mourning.
A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gown
Of rags and silks — a costume
Fit for one who sits and cries
For all tomorrow's parties.
At a crossing of the line
Everything they need is mine
Everything is a big vision
A decision must be signed
A given voice
A given choice
A losing limit centerpoint
A given voice
A given choice
A losing limit centerpoint
I will give them all they need
Everything they know and read
But they must cross the line
The line
A given voice
A given choice
Everything they need is mine
A given voice
A given choice
Everything they need is mine
At a crossing of the line
Everything they need is mine
Everything is a big vision
A decision must be signed
A given voice
A given choice
A losing limit centerpoint
A given voice
A given choice
A losing limit centerpoint
I will give them all they need
Everything they know and read
But they must cross the line
The line
A given voice
A given choice
Everything they need is mine
A given voice
A given choice
Everything they need is mine
...A losing limit centerpoint
A given voice
A given choice
A losing limit centerpoint
I will give them all they need
Everything they know and read
But they must cross the line
The line
A given voice
A given choice
Everything they need is mine
A given voice
A given choice
Everything they need is mine
At a crossing of the line
Everything they need is mine
Everything is a big vision
A decision must be signed
A given voice
A given choice
A losing limit centerpoint
A given voice
A given choice
A losing limit centerpoint
I will give them all they need
Everything they know and read
But they must cross the line
The line
A given voice
A given choice
Everything they need is mine
A given voice
A given choice
Everything they need is mine
The road that leads you to Vegas
Remains so free
Where men have lost a perfect set
Within so much regret
A turning wheel on every table
Have they told you yet
A formula a winning scheme
more than you can dream
In a case of crime
In a case of death
Would you have to hold
Have to hold your breath ?
The charges of your sentence
An answer to your key
The switching argument
Condemningv
Your damned
To plea
From the black screen of my eyelids
Closing in on you
The image showing me that
But it is all so true
A young man with a wild smile
Like Bonaparte
Is looking like a piece of
Like a piece of art
In a case of crime
In a case of death
Would you have to hold
Have to hold your breath ?
The charges of your sentence
An answer to your key
The switching argument
Condemning
Your damned
To plea
This song, er, I wrote, er, for Richard Nixon on a Halloween. I want to dedicate it to Ronald Reagan.
Across from behind my window screen
Demon is dancing down the scene
In a crucial parody
Demon is dancing down the scene
He is calling and throwing
His arms up in the air
And no one is there
All of them are missing as the game
Comes to a start
No one is there
Some are calling, some are sad
Some are calling him mad
No one is there
Across from behind your window screen
Demon is dancing down the scene
In a crucial parody
Demon is dancing down the scene
He is calling and throwing
His arms up in the air
And no one is there
All of them are missing as the game
Comes to a start
No one is there
And no sound has them declared
To be missing
To be missing
To be missing
The secrets that I do not know
I cannot understand them
A wanted series printed over
Words are his defences
The battle bracelets do not fit
My favorite gladiator
A fanatic hero piously
Has to be a faker
He is a dangerous creator
A master in his mortal cave
I am a savage violator
A valet innocent and vain
Without a guide, without a hand
Unwed virgins in the land
Unwed virgins in the land
Tied up on the sand
When there come ships into the land
They'll be awaiting reverence
They'll be awaiting reverence
At their children's hands
Are you not loyal to your pride ?
Are you not on the secret side ?
Is not a crime a gain to you,
Do you not understand ?
Without a guide, without a hand
Unwed virgins in the land
Unwed virgins in the land
Tied up on the sand
When there come ships into the land
They'll be awaiting reverence
They'll be awaiting reverence
At their children's hands
Are you not loyal to your pride ?
Are you not on the secret side ?
Is not a crime a gain to you,
Do you not understand ?
Distantly the chains are falling
With an anchor pulling here
The moments that are rolling
Are rolling in my ear
And we are sitting
Nowhere here
When you go you will be driven
Must be given to the price
With a number counting two
You wear colors that are blue
Or dare
Take his advice
Do you know a game to witness
That is bound to hit you lame
As a man of power
Can you dare
Can you dare to be insane ?
Can you
Dare to be insane ?
I
I will be King
And you
You will be Queen
Though nothing
Will drive them away
We can beat them
Just for one day
We can be heroes
Just for one day
You
You can be mean
And I
I'll drink all the time
But we're lovers
And that is a fact
Yes, we're lovers
And that is that
Though nothing
Nothing will keep us together
We could steal time
Just for one day
We can be heroes
For ever and ever
What d'you say ?
I
I wish you could swim
Like the dolphins
The dolphins can swim
Though nothing
Nothing will keep us together
We can beat them
Forever and ever
And we can be heroes
Just for one day
I
I can remember
Standing by the Wall
The guns shot above our heads
As we kissed
As though nothing could fall
And the shame was on the other side
Oh, we can beat them
Forever and ever
And we can be heroes
Just for one day
I
I will be King
And you
You will be Queen
Though nothing
Nothing will keep us together
We can beat them forever and ever
And we can be heroes
Just for one day
We can be heroes
We can be heroes
We can be heroes just for one da
Oh, this is a Lou Reed song.
Here she comes,
You'd better watch your step,
She's going to break your heart in two,
It's true.
It's not hard to realize,
Just look into her false colored eyes,
She'll build you up to just put you down,
What a clown.
'Cause everybody knows
She's a femme fatale
The things she does to please
She's a femme fatale
She's just a little tease
She's a femme fatale
See the way she walks
Hear the way she talks.
You're written in her book,
You're number thirty-seven, have a look.
She's going to smile to make you frown,
What a clown.
Little boy, she's from the street.
Before you start you're already beat.
She's going to play you for a fool,
Yes, it's true.
'Cause everybody knows
She's a femme fatale
The things she does to please
She's a femme fatale
She's just a little tease
She's a femme fatale
See the way she walks,
Hear the way she talks.
'Cause everybody knows
She's a femme fatale
The things she does to please
She's a femme fatale
She's just a little tease
She's a femme fatale
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
She's a femme fatale
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
She's a femme fatale
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
She's a femme fatale
It's about a hundred years old that song ...
I want to sing this just in my own. Another Lou Reed song
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties ?
A hand-me-down dress from who knows where
To all tomorrow's parties.
And what shall she do and where will she go
When midnight comes around ?
She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown
And cry behind the door.
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties ?
Why silks and linens of yesterday's gowns
To all tomorrow's parties.
And what will she do with Thursday's rags
When Monday comes around ?
She'll turn once more to Sunday's clown
And cry behind the door.
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrow's parties ?
For Thursday's child is Sunday's clown
For whom none will go mourning.
A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gown
Of rags and silks — a costume
Fit for one who sits and cries
For all tomorrow's parties.
I'm waiting for my man
Twenty-six dollars in my hand
Up to Lexington 125
Feeling sick and dirty, more dead than alive
I'm waiting for my man
Hey, white boy, what you doin' uptown ?
Hey, white boy, you chasin' our women around ?
Oh pardon me sir, it's furthest from my mind
I'm just lookin' for a dear, dear friend of mine
I'm waiting for my man
Here he comes, he's all dressed in black
PR shoes and a big straw hat
He's never early, he's always late
First thing you learn is that you've always got to wait
I'm waiting for my man
I'm looking at it, two Brownstones, up three flights of
stairs
Looks like nobody's pinned you, but nobody cares
He's got the works, gives you sweet taste
Ah, then you've got to split because you've got no time to
waste
I'm waiting for my man
Baby, don't you holler, darling don't you bawl and shout
I'm feeling good, and I'm going to work it all out
I'm feeling good, I'm feeling so fine
Until tomorrow, that's just some other time
I'm waiting for my man
Walking home
I want to sing you a Jim Morrison song which was his favorite song.
This is the end, beautiful friend,
This is the end, my only friend.
The end of our elaborate plans,
The end of everything that stands,
The end, no safety no surprise,
The end, I'll never look into your eyes again.
Can you picture what we'll be
So limitless and free
Desperately in need of some stranger's hand
In a desperate land ?
Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane,
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain.
There's danger on the edge of town,
Ride the King's highway, baby.
Weird scenes inside the gold mine,
Ride the highway West, baby.
Ride the snake,
Ride the snake to the lake,
The ancient lake.
The snake is long, seven miles,
Ride the snake.
He's old and his skin is cold.
The West is the best
The West is the best
Get here and we'll do the rest
The blue bus is calling us
The blue bus is calling us
Driver, where're you taking us ?
The killer awoke before dawn,
He put his boots on.
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall.
He went to the room where his sister lived
And then he paid a visit to his brother.
And then he, he walked on down the hall
And he came to a door and he looked inside.
"Father ?" "Yes, son ?"
"I want to kill you. Mother, I want to ..."
Come on, baby, take a chance with us,
Come on, baby, take a chance with us,
Come on, baby, take a chance with us
And meet me at the back of the blue bus.
This is the end, beautiful friend,
This is the end, my only friend.
The end, it hurts to set you free,
But you'll never follow me.
The end of laughter and soft lies,
The end of nights we tried to die,
This is the end.
Thank you. Er, Nigel, can I have some beer, please ?
Recorded European Tour 1982-01-18 — 1982-03-28
Producer: Phil Rainford [The Duritti Column]
Engineer: Phil Rainford [The Duritti Column]
Mastering: Dave Greatbanks *
Compiler: Nigel Bagley *
Digital Remastering and Editing: Pomeroy Audio, 2000/01/00 *
* RUSCD 8261 released 10 April 2000
Nico: vocal, harmonium
The Blue Orchids:
Martin Bramah: guitar, backing vocals
Rick Goldstraw [Eric McGann]: guitar
Una Baines: Yamaha Synthesizer
Steve Garvey [Steven Patrick Garvey]: bass, backing vocals
Toby Toman [Phillip Tomanov]: drums
Nico: vocal, harmonium
* with Samarkand:
Vaskin & Mahamad Hadi
Nico: vocal a cappella **
Nico: vocal, harmonium #
Nico: vocal
Una Baines: piano ##
Nico: vocal, harmonium
Toby Toman [Phillip Tomanov]: drums ###
LETTER TO NICO'S SON, ARI.
New York, October 1982.
Dear Ari,
You don't know me but I know you, Mum, Nico. Her record company asked me to write a few words for her new release and rather than a serious "critique" I thought it would be fun to write you a letter and tell you a story about her.
There are many good stories about Nico. This is about her penchant for marvelously curious catastrophes and could be entitled: NICO AND THE DOCTRINE OF UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES.
It was 1974 or 75 in Paris. I was managing MAGMA, a fiercely original and uncompromising band, not welcome, of course, on the radio, TV or in commercial clubs. We had a hard time getting gigs and saving money to improve the equipment and we were playing in Maison des Jeunes, parking lots, public squares, abandoned churches, slowly but surely making progress. Although I had never met your mother I knew her work and much admired her uniquely ironic and accurate sense of the dilemmas and contradictions facing modern artists. So, when my friends Bob and Barbara Benamou introduced me to her I was delighted. At the time, pursuing a seemingly obscure but no doubt meaningful artistic quest, she was working with Philippe Garrel who, besides literally starving, was making some mysterious beautiful avant-garde films. She was also living with him in this apartment where everything, but everything, was painted black. Now, you know your mother's propensy to dark, conspiratorial plots, no one can quite follow, and I don't precisely remember how it occurred, but one day she ended up living with my wife, my newborn baby and myself in our house in Sèvres. She was easy to live with, considerate and discreet, except that first thing in the morning she would ask one to partake in a concoction of 100 proof peppered Polish vodka with hot-sauce and God knows what else that would set fire to one's mouth. One night I took her to see MAGMA and she sort of fell in love with their music. Opening her eyes in wonderment she would say in her slow rounded speech: "Oh! But Giorgio, this is the best band in the world..." The band, particularly Christian Vander also liked her work. They, were due for a tour, she for a record, so, I thought, let's put them together for a while and, who knows, something great might evolve. As I told you, intelligent music was not exactly in demand and touring France was more like guerrilla warfare, with endless Identity Checks at toll-booths of the Autoroute, cancellations of concerts for political reasons and other no less harassing difficulties. We were, however, breaking new ground and just about perceiving the end of the tunnel. So, when on a cold, misty and wet morning in February —having warned Nico to expect a certain degree of discomfort— we left Paris, our spirits were high: She needed the money and we needed the exposure.
MAGMA's line-up at the time consisted of 7 musicians and 2 roadies and normally they would all be travelling in an old Mercedes van which took 9 people plus the equipment. With Nico and myself we were 12 now, so I took my car along, an old but comfortable 2-seater, Facel-Vega in which everyone wanted to ride and I had a hard time establishing fair turns.
The first 2 or 3 gigs want off well but as luck would have it —and thanks to drafty hotel rooms and poorly heated halls— your mother came down with a terrible cold. This prompted her to acquire a substantial supply of medicines of all kinds, culminating with a particular brand of cough-syrup which, much to our relief, seemed to alleviate her condition and generally keep her cheerful. Never mean when it came to sharing her discoveries, she invited us all to taste the healing properties of her elixir and soon, everyone began to sneeze, puff, cough and whiffle and buying little brown bottles.
A few days later at one of the most important concerts of the tour —in Lyon or Avignon— I remember her (and everyone else for that matter) getting on stage with a whole supply of these little bottles. Sipping and singing, singing and sipping, she stayed up there for over an hour and a half, finally provoking the legendary impatient French audience into cat-calls and boos.
You can imagine the mood the next day. Never short on quips, Die Alte Zwetschge ("Old Plum", an affectionate tease) was totally disconsolate, disenchanted and displeased with me, the tour, Magma, life and the whole thing. Our next gig was in Toulouse, quite a distance away and I planned to leave early with the sound-roadie to check out the old theatre where the show was scheduled. Somewhat apprehensive, I thought perhaps she should ride with me and the roadie but then decided she'd be more comfortable in the van and after imploring the boys in Magma to use all their guises to cajole her during the long journey, I left.
We got to the theatre early, checked things out and waited for the van to arrive. 7 O'clock, 7:30, 8, 8:30, no van. The concert was due to start at 9, so we began to worry a little and decided to backtrack up the road and find out what, if anything, had happened. You can imagine my horror when, in the middle of nowhere some 20 miles from the city, I saw the van lying nose down, off the roadside, in a 50 foot deep embankment and, but for empty syrup bottles, no-one in sight. Fearing the worst, I drove to the nearest gas station and called the theatre. No news. I asked the people there to call the police and every hospital in the region and holding my breath drove back to the city as fast as I could. When I got there a considerable commotion was under way: hundreds of people were crowding the entrance, pushing and shoving. Somehow I ploughed my way through got inside and there in the foyer the most sorrowful sight awaited me : looking like a bunch of wounded from World War 1, with bandages on heads, knees, elbows and feet, leaning on crutches and walking-sticks, sat Nico and the most forlorn-looking band of musicians I ever laid eyes on. I know that mine was perhaps not the most considerate reaction, but I couldn't help laughing. Naturally I tried to find out what had happened; between Nico's dark mutterings and the band's contradictory narratives it was impossible to figure out and to this day we'll never really know. I remember that with her bandages and walking-sticks your mother looked like the ultimate Mater Dolorosa of Rock & Roll at the mercy of Unintended Consequences...
Of course the concert got cancelled and so did the rest of the tour. Nico went back to Paris, then to England. Magma went back to saving money for a new van, and the record was never made. Who knows, it might still happen one day. In the meantime I often ask myself: What the hell was in that cough-syrup ?
Sincerely yours, GIORGIO GOMELSKY
 MC A117 |
© 1996-2011
Serge Mironneau