Batman returns: post-homenagem

The transformation is invested
With the mysterious and the shameful
While the thing I am becomes something else
Part character part sensation




Bauhaus
Mask | Telegram Sam


o ano de 1979 trouxe, entre muitas outras coisas boas, os Bauhaus. era ainda o tempo da guerra fria e da cortina de ferro. a despreocupação estética do punk dava lugar a uma nova valorização de estilos e conceitos neo-românticos e depressivos. a inspiração em filmes de 'terror' como Drácula fecundou a criação de temas como Bela Lugosi's Dead, que acabou por se tornar uma espécie de hino e fazer com que fossem considerados um dos fundadores da cena rock-gótico nos anos '80. emergindo num estilo experimental, minimalista, com uma forte tónica na teatralidade, coroado pelo assombro da voz do Peter Murphy (a.k.a. o homem mais bonito do mundo), basicamente este é o rock de que eu gosto. e há uma grande vantagem em não ser de bom tom (leia-se indie-intelectualoidemente correcto) gostar de Bauhaus - é garantia de sanidade, de pertença a um lugar que é só meu, música limpa, não infectada de memórias e seus demónios. Behold: the shadow is cast.

:: medo do medo do medo ::

parte I

foi o Luís que me fez regressar a este tema. o medo do medo. aquilo que, mais que qualquer coisa, arruina um sorriso, mesmo num dia de sol.
consideremos o medo como um castelo perdido no meio da floresta, embrenhado na noite negra; no seu interior sucedem-se labirínticos corredores, caminhamos entre paredes na total escuridão qual minotauro exilado da sua própria humanidade. o medo do medo é o coração do abismo. é o olhar para o centro do vazio até que o vazio começa também a olhar para dentro de nós. não é só, mas essencialmente, pelas metáforas que esta ideia me fascina. saber que assim o inferno afinal somos nós, e pior que isso, que o trazemos por dentro, à medida da nossa própria invenção. mesmo assim, ostentar as feridas depois de secas pelo sol, encontrar abrigo nessa luz renovada que é própria do verão, saber que há sempre, para contrapor a todo o escuro que existe, um excesso de luz próximo do silêncio, do sossego.



parte II




estes poderiam os livros da minha vida, ou melhor, do meu crescimento, quando as dores se moveram das pernas pequeninas para o peito apertado. o nome, e depois a afectividade evocada, recolhe a substância mais exacta de um certo quarto escuro dentro de mim que me olha e tudo sabe, que está adomercido, mas presente. não me envergonho deste fascínio pelas olheiras, pela evidência em mim de que uma noite longa e funda tatuou o meu corpo das marcas indeléveis da insónia que, à força de manter os olhos abertos, me ensinou a ver.



parte III



Bauhaus | In fear of fear

You fear the lesson
And fear to walk
And fear to pass on
Your fear to talk

The teacher was feared
Your parents too
Then you became
The fear of you

Fear

Look to yourself
Climb over the wall
And see behind
That you're not so small
Then you won't blame fear
When competing's too much
As you fall on your back
As you fail to touch

Fear

And I say to you
When your fear is strong
When you fear your life
Then your fear is wrong
Set free your past
So shredding the skin
Then you won't fear
The fear of sin

Fear

BURNING FROM THE INSIDE




'Cause your mornings will be brighter
Break the line
Tear up rules
Make the most of a million times no

Bauhaus | Hope

Ancient Earth work fort and barrow
Discreetly hide their secret abodes
The most fearful hide deep inside
And venture not there upon Yuletide

For invasion of their hollow hills
That music hold and Oberon fill
Is surely recommended not
For fear of death, in fear of rot

Hollow hills
Hollow hills
Hollow hills
Hollow hills

Baleful sounds and wild voices ignored
Ill luck disaster the one reward
Violated sanctity of supermen's hills
So sad, love lies there still
So sad
So sad
Hollow hills
Hollow hills
Witches too and goblin too and speckled sills
Lament repent oh mortal you
So sad
So sad

Bauhaus | Hollow Hills

os joelhos dobram mas a espinha não quebra

Crowds | Bauhaus

What do you want of me
What do you long from me
A slim Pixie, thin and forlorn
A count, white and drawn
What do you make of me
What can you take from me
Pallid landscapes off my frown
Let me rip you up and down

For you I came to forsake
Lay wide despise and hate
I sing of you in my demented songs
For you and your stimulations
Take what you can of me
Rip what you can off me
And this I'll say to you
And hope that it gets through

You worthless bitch
You fickle shit
You would spit on me
You would make me spit
And when the Judas hour arrives
And like the Jesus Jews you epitomize
I'll still be here as strong as you
And I'll walk away in spite of you

And I'll walk away
Walk away


isto já por cá passou. mas hoje regressa em jeito eufemístico de um outro 'foda-se'. pronto, já disse outra vez.

para oferecer às meninas que usaram coroas de espinhos

[tu que talvez as usasses, que transportas um espaço dentro semelhante ao meu.]



Kingodom's Coming | Bauhaus

Madness in the wind's got something to say
It ripped you apart
It will always be that way

It said kingdom's coming, causes chaos
Will cut to pieces
The film you saw today
It's your big bad secret
Your crown of thorns



Who killed Mr. Moonlight | Bauhaus

Consider green lakes
And the idiocy of clocks
Someone shot nostalgia in the back
Someone shot our innocence

A broken arrow in a bloody pool
There in the face
Of midnight proposals
Someone shot nostalgia in the back
Someone shot our innocence

In the shadow of his smile
In the shadow of his smile
In the shadow of his smile
In the shadow of his smile

All our dreams have melted down
We are hiding in the bushes
From dead men
Doing Douglas Fairbanks' stunts

All our stories burnt
Our films lost in the rushes
We can't paint any pictures
As the moon had all our brushes

Extracting wasps from stings in flight
Who killed Mr. Moonlight?
Who killed Mr. Moonlight
In the shadow of his smile
Who killed Mr. Moonlight
In the shadow of his smile



Hollow Hills | Bauhaus

Ancient Earth work fort and barrow
Discreetly hide their secret abodes
The most fearful hide deep inside
And venture not there upon Yuletide

For invasion of their hollow hills
That music hold and Oberon fill
Is surely recommended not
For fear of death, in fear of rot

Hollow hills
Hollow hills
Hollow hills
Hollow hills

Baleful sounds and wild voices ignored
Ill luck disaster the one reward
Violated sanctity of supermen's hills
So sad, love lies there still
So sad
So sad
Hollow hills
Hollow hills
Witches too and goblin too and speckled sills
Lament repent oh mortal you
So sad
So sad

[também a ti, em cujas palavras me converto em transparência.]

party of the first part | bauhaus | para a Sofia.
(from "the devil and daniel mouse")

Who are you?

My card, pretty lady.

Devil May-Care Music Production, Beelzebub Scratch, President.

I like your style, too bad you're not a singer.

Oh, but I am, I am a singer!

Hmm, no fooling.

No, no listen...

Fantastic, different.

I want to be a star, of please!

You've talked me into it. Contract!
Just our standard contract, nothing fancy.

Fame, fortune, fans, gold records, concerts, world tours, your name in lights.

Take your time, read it all.

Oh, I give up. Can I trust you?
Ok, I'll sign.

Write!

Where's the ink?

We always use- blood, it's more permanent.

Oh, I don't know, can't we wait for Dad?

Oh, sure, I'll be back next year. Come on, Wease.

Next year?! Oh wait, wait, stop. I'll sign.
What about a band... I know a drummer.

She can't be bothered kid, she's got an interview.
The interview circus is so absurd, and so silly.

How do you feel about your sudden success?

Well, I feel like being a big star is really great, you know.
It's like, fabulous. Lonely, too, sometimes.

Oh, that's nice.

This is the biggest thing ever to hit rock!
You're at the top now, sweetie.

Yeah, but where do I go from here?

Don't worry, I want you, we have a bargain.

No, I didn't mean that, wait!

I've been waiting, now it's my turn.

No.

According to our contract, at precisely midnight, at the moment of her greatest triumph,
the party of the first part, that's you, agrees to render up her soul now and forever more
to the party of the second part, that's me.
Shall we go?

não o digo muitas vezes porque o poder da palavra pronunciada é, na maioria das vezes, insondável - e não se pode correr riscos com as poucas coisas que estão seguras e intactas à margem de todo o desassossego. questões estéticas e musicais à parte, os Bauhaus permanecem o único lugar absoluta e integralmente meu. por causa do post anterior andei a recordar, e trouxe duas letras: uma pelo dia de hoje; a outra, pelo mais belo pedaço de escrita musical que conheço:


Crowds

What do you want of me
What do you long from me
A slim Pixie, thin and forlorn
A count, white and drawn
What do you make of me
What can you take from me
Pallid landscapes off my frown
Let me rip you up and down

For you I came to forsake
Lay wide despise and hate
I sing of you in my demented songs
For you and your stimulations
Take what you can of me
Rip what you can off me
And this I'll say to you
And hope that it gets through

You worthless bitch
You fickle shit
You would spit on me
You would make me spit
And when the Judas hour arrives
And like the Jesus Jews you epitomize
I'll still be here as strong as you
And I'll walk away in spite of you

And I'll walk away
Walk away



Mask

The man of shadows thinks in clay
Dreamed trapped thoughts of suffocation day
He's seen in iron environments
With plastic sweat out of chiselled slits for eyes

From the growth underneath the closed mouth
You'll catch if you listen
Rack-trapped cubist vowels
From a dummy head expression
From a dummy head expression

The transformation is invested
With the mysterious and the shameful
While the thing I am becomes something else
Part character part sensation

The shadow is cast

a janela indiscreta despertou o vulcão adormecido. disse a palavra mágica: bauhaus. que para mim significa imediatamente reviver Klee, reviver Mies van der Rohe, reviver Moholy-Nagy, reviver o entendimento fascinante de uma nova noção de harmonia formal:


Escola da Bauhaus, Weimar


mas acima de tudo reviver o eterno voo do morcego:


Swing the heartache: The BBC Sessions
Beggars Banquet, 1989








Following the silent hedges
Needing some other kind of madness
Looking into purple eyes
Sadness at the corners
Works of art with a minimum of steel

Pure sensation
The beautiful down grade
Going to hell again

Silent Hedges | Bauhaus