Silver & Gold, il topic di Sufjan Stevens
Re: Sufjan Stevens
Alcuni momenti strepitosi, outstanding. Poi però finirlo tutto è una faticaccia... improbo.Decades wrote:Non sono ancora venuto a capo di 'sto disco.
But how can you sleep with my heart so loud?
Re: Sufjan Stevens
http://www.panopticonmag.com/v3/recensi ... -gold.html
A nostra memoria, Silver & Gold è la più bella compilation di brani natalizi che un artista pop abbia mai pubblicato.
Re: Sufjan Stevens
La mia difficoltà con lui sta nel fatto che è un poco dispersivo forse. Troppa carne al fuoco, Illinoise e The Age of Adz non riesco mai ad ascoltarli per intero senza distrarmi per lunghi tratti. Le canzoni sicuramente le ha quindi il rumore che fa è più che giustiticato, però non sono riuscito ancora a memorizzare niente di suo.
Re: Sufjan Stevens
Illinoise è tanto lungo... Comunque è bello veramente. Anche Michigan non scherza. Peccato altri 2-3 statarelli poteva farli.
Re: Sufjan Stevens
Illinois però c'ha 4/5 pezzi che sono inni immediati, poi sulla lunga distanza o su The Age of Adz ci sta di distrarsi. Però il suo valore arriva diretto anche capendo un po' di cosa parla, io solo dopo diversi ascolti mi son letto il testo di Casimir Pulaski Day (o di John Wayne Gacy, Jr. che non è da meno) e al giorno d'oggi non mi viene in mente una canzone più toccante, anche per quel coro finale che è una chiara preghiera di chiusura. Dategli un ascolto seguendo il testo, se non vi è mai capitato prima
SpoilerShow
Golden rod and the 4-H stone
The things I brought you
When I found out you had cancer of the bone
Your father cried on the telephone
And he drove his car to the navy yard
Just to prove that he was sorry
In the morning through the window shade
When the light pressed up against your shoulder blade
I could see what you were reading
Oh, the glory that the Lord has made
And the complications you could do without
When I kissed you on the mouth
Tuesday night at the Bible study
We lift our hands and pray over your body
But nothing ever happens
I remember at Michael's house
In the living room when you kissed my neck
And I almost touched your blouse
In the morning at the top of the stairs
When your father found out what we did that night
And you told me you were scared
Oh, the glory when you ran outside
With your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied
And you told me not to follow you
Sunday night when I cleaned the house
I find the card where you wrote it out
With the pictures of your mother
On the floor at the great divide
With my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied
I am crying in the bathroom
In the morning when you finally go
And the nurse runs in with her head hung low
And the cardinal hits the window
In the morning in the winter shade
On the first of March on the holiday
I thought I saw you breathing
Oh, the glory that the Lord has made
And the complications when I see his face
In the morning in the window
Oh, the glory when he took our place
But he took my shoulders and he shook my face
And he takes and he takes and he takes
The things I brought you
When I found out you had cancer of the bone
Your father cried on the telephone
And he drove his car to the navy yard
Just to prove that he was sorry
In the morning through the window shade
When the light pressed up against your shoulder blade
I could see what you were reading
Oh, the glory that the Lord has made
And the complications you could do without
When I kissed you on the mouth
Tuesday night at the Bible study
We lift our hands and pray over your body
But nothing ever happens
I remember at Michael's house
In the living room when you kissed my neck
And I almost touched your blouse
In the morning at the top of the stairs
When your father found out what we did that night
And you told me you were scared
Oh, the glory when you ran outside
With your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied
And you told me not to follow you
Sunday night when I cleaned the house
I find the card where you wrote it out
With the pictures of your mother
On the floor at the great divide
With my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied
I am crying in the bathroom
In the morning when you finally go
And the nurse runs in with her head hung low
And the cardinal hits the window
In the morning in the winter shade
On the first of March on the holiday
I thought I saw you breathing
Oh, the glory that the Lord has made
And the complications when I see his face
In the morning in the window
Oh, the glory when he took our place
But he took my shoulders and he shook my face
And he takes and he takes and he takes
Last edited by Untitled on 17 Nov 2012 14:34, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Sufjan Stevens
Io ho comprato anche il box natalizio, confesso.
tutta la sua produzione comunque è piena di riferimenti religiosi, con il saggio approccio di una persona dei nostri anni
in spoiler la motivazione dietro Silver and Gold
[spoiler]Christmas is a drag. Year after year, winter upon winter, we find ourselves “going through the motions of merriment,” possessed by a fervent celestial fever, conquered, squandered, beaten, broken, reduced to that clammy, pre-pubescent spoiled brat kid of our childhood, throwing a fit on Santa’s lap, faced with the hard-candy facts of reality, knowing for certain we will never really get what want for Christmas.
Or in life, for that matter.
This is the true horror-show catharsis of Christmas: the existential emptiness that perseveres in the heart of modern man as he recklessly pursues his search for happiness and comes up empty handed.
And yet, against all odds, we continue to sing our songs of Christmas. If Christmas is the holiday of “worst case scenarios” then its carol has become its most corrupted currency, intoning rhapsody and romance with mistletoe and Marshmallow Fluff, placating the public with indelible melodies propagating a message of peace, love, and venture capitalism.
So what is it about Christmas music that continues to agitate our aging heartstrings? Is it the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen? Or the boundless Potential Energy inherent in this bastard holiday so fitfully exploited, adapted, and confounded with no regard for decency?
Maybe this: Christmas music does justice to a criminal world, marrying sacred and profane, bellowing obtuse prophecies of a Messiah in the very same blustery breath as a candy-coated TV-jingle advertising a string of lights and a slice of fruitcake. Gloria!
Who can save us from the infidels of Christmas commodity? Look no further, tired shopper, for your hero arrives as the diligent songwriter Sufjan Stevens: army of one, banjo in one hand, drum machine in the other, holed up in his room, surrounded by hymnals, oratorios, music charts, sacred harp books, photo-copied Readers Digest Christmas catalogs—all the weaponry of Yuletide incantations—singing his barbaric yawp above the snow-capped rooftops.
His song is love; his song is hope; his song is peace. His song conjures the fruitcake world of his own imagination with steadfast pursuit of the inexplicable bliss of Christmas Promises—“Gloria in excelsis deo”—summoning the company of angels, the helper elves, the shepherds keeping flock, the innkeepers, the coupon-clippers, the marathon runners, the cross-country skiers, the bottom feeders, the grocery store baggers, the bridge and tunnel drivers, the construction workers, the ice cream makers, the toll booth workers, the street sweepers, the single mothers, the custodians, the rich and the poor, the walking dead, the community of saints, the Virgin Mary, the Holy Spirit, the Prince of Persia, and all the invisible hosts of heaven to participate in this absurd cosmic adventure, pursuing holly-jolly songs of hope and redemption with a sacred heart for the love of the holidays, for the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. Amen.[/spoiler]
tutta la sua produzione comunque è piena di riferimenti religiosi, con il saggio approccio di una persona dei nostri anni
in spoiler la motivazione dietro Silver and Gold
[spoiler]Christmas is a drag. Year after year, winter upon winter, we find ourselves “going through the motions of merriment,” possessed by a fervent celestial fever, conquered, squandered, beaten, broken, reduced to that clammy, pre-pubescent spoiled brat kid of our childhood, throwing a fit on Santa’s lap, faced with the hard-candy facts of reality, knowing for certain we will never really get what want for Christmas.
Or in life, for that matter.
This is the true horror-show catharsis of Christmas: the existential emptiness that perseveres in the heart of modern man as he recklessly pursues his search for happiness and comes up empty handed.
And yet, against all odds, we continue to sing our songs of Christmas. If Christmas is the holiday of “worst case scenarios” then its carol has become its most corrupted currency, intoning rhapsody and romance with mistletoe and Marshmallow Fluff, placating the public with indelible melodies propagating a message of peace, love, and venture capitalism.
So what is it about Christmas music that continues to agitate our aging heartstrings? Is it the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen? Or the boundless Potential Energy inherent in this bastard holiday so fitfully exploited, adapted, and confounded with no regard for decency?
Maybe this: Christmas music does justice to a criminal world, marrying sacred and profane, bellowing obtuse prophecies of a Messiah in the very same blustery breath as a candy-coated TV-jingle advertising a string of lights and a slice of fruitcake. Gloria!
Who can save us from the infidels of Christmas commodity? Look no further, tired shopper, for your hero arrives as the diligent songwriter Sufjan Stevens: army of one, banjo in one hand, drum machine in the other, holed up in his room, surrounded by hymnals, oratorios, music charts, sacred harp books, photo-copied Readers Digest Christmas catalogs—all the weaponry of Yuletide incantations—singing his barbaric yawp above the snow-capped rooftops.
His song is love; his song is hope; his song is peace. His song conjures the fruitcake world of his own imagination with steadfast pursuit of the inexplicable bliss of Christmas Promises—“Gloria in excelsis deo”—summoning the company of angels, the helper elves, the shepherds keeping flock, the innkeepers, the coupon-clippers, the marathon runners, the cross-country skiers, the bottom feeders, the grocery store baggers, the bridge and tunnel drivers, the construction workers, the ice cream makers, the toll booth workers, the street sweepers, the single mothers, the custodians, the rich and the poor, the walking dead, the community of saints, the Virgin Mary, the Holy Spirit, the Prince of Persia, and all the invisible hosts of heaven to participate in this absurd cosmic adventure, pursuing holly-jolly songs of hope and redemption with a sacred heart for the love of the holidays, for the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come. Amen.[/spoiler]
Last edited by AFX on 17 Nov 2012 14:39, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Sufjan Stevens
Sto ascoltando Illinoise è lunghissimo però sembra perfetto.
Baci scritti non arrivano a destinazione, ma vengono bevuti dai fantasmi lungo il tragitto. Franz Kafka
Fai sempre da sobrio quello che dici di fare quando sei sbronzo. Imparerai a tenere chiusa la bocca. Ernest Hemingway
Fai sempre da sobrio quello che dici di fare quando sei sbronzo. Imparerai a tenere chiusa la bocca. Ernest Hemingway
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