Canciones para no vivir sin ellas

Brown Sugar, The Rolling Stones

La mejor canción de los Stones. Aparece en el año 71, single de Sticky Fingers. Este disco se hizo famoso por la portada, que reproducía la bragueta de Mick Jagger con cremallera incluida (por supuesto, fue censurada en España). Es una maravillade riff de guitarra, en el tono de Keith Richards. El solo de saxofón es el mejor que he escuchado en una canción rock. Son los tres minutos y medio mágicos que todo tema que quiera pasar a la historia debería tener (salvo honrosísimas excepciones). La letra es sexo puro y duro. Es una descarga de adrenalina oír a Jagger cantar como una metralleta bajo el fuego de cobertura de la guitarra de Keith Richards. I SAY YEEEAHH, YEEEAHH, YEEEAHH, WOOOOO!!

Gold coast slave ship bound for cotton fields,
Sold in a market down in New Orleans.
Scarred old slaver know he's doin' alright.
Hear him whip the women just around midnight.
Ah Brown Sugar how come you taste so good
(A - ha) Brown Sugar, just like a young girl should
A - huh.

Drums beating, cold English blood runs hot,
Lady of the house wond'rin where it's gonna stop.
House boy knows that he's doin' alright.
You should a heard him just around midnight.
Ah Brown Sugar how come you taste so good
(A - ha) Brown Sugar, just like a black girl should
A - huh.

I bet your mama was a tent show queen, and all her boy
Friends were sweet sixteen.
I'm no schoolboy but I know what I like,
You should have heard me just around midnight.

Ah Brown Sugar how come you taste so good
(A - ha) Brown Sugar, just like a young girl should.

I said yeah, I said yeah, I said yeah, I said
Oh just like a, just like a black girl should.

I said yeah, I said yeah, I said yeah, I said
Oh just like, just like a black girl should.

Hablemos del amor, Raphael

La mejor canción de amor escrita en castellano. Grítalo alto cuando estés enamorado. No hay un tema mejor para este sentimiento. Subidón, subidón, subidón.

Hablemos del amor una vez más
Que es toda la verdad de nuestra vida
Paremos un momento las horas y los días
Y hablemos del amor una vez más

Hablemos de mi amor y de tu amor
De la primera vez que nos miramos
Acércame tus manos y unidos en las sombras
Hablemos del amor una vez más

¡¡Qué nos importa!! ¡¡Qué nos importa!!
Aquella gente que mira a la tierra y no ve más que tierra
¡¡Qué nos importa!! ¡¡Qué nos importa!!
Toda esa gente que viene y que va por el mundo sin ver la realidad

Hablemos de mi amor y de tu amor
De la primera vez que nos miramos
Acércame tus manos y unidos en las sombras
Hablemos del amor una vez más

¡¡Qué nos importa!! ¡¡Qué nos importa!!
Aquélla gente que mira la tierra y no ve más que tierra
¡¡Qué nos importa!! ¡¡Qué nos importa!!
Toda esa gente que viene y que va por el mundo sin ver
¡¡Qué nos importa!! No hagamos caso de nadie y hablemos de amor
De nuestro amor.

Desolation Row, Bob Dylan

Casi quince minutos de canción. Un poema lleno de imágenes imposibles pero que gracias al don del tío Bob para dotar de sentidos insospechados a las palabras se convierte en una de sus mejores canciones. Esta sí que no la voy a traducir, pero quedaros con la última estrofa. Eso sí que es un "piérdete" en toda regla.
Pulsa aquí para escucharla: http://bobdylan.com/songs/desolation.html

They're selling postcards of the hanging
They're painting the passports brown
The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
The circus is in town
Here comes the blind commissioner
They've got him in a trance
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker
The other is in his pants
And the riot squad they're restless
They need somewhere to go
As Lady and I look out tonight
From Desolation Row

Cinderella, she seems so easy
"It takes one to know one," she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets
Bette Davis style
And in comes Romeo, he's moaning
"You Belong to Me I Believe"
And someone says," You're in the wrong place, my friend
You better leave"
And the only sound that's left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On Desolation Row

Now the moon is almost hidden
The stars are beginning to hide
The fortunetelling lady
Has even taken all her things inside
All except for Cain and Abel
And the hunchback of Notre Dame
Everybody is making love
Or else expecting rain
And the Good Samaritan, he's dressing
He's getting ready for the show
He's going to the carnival tonight
On Desolation Row

Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the window
For her I feel so afraid
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid

To her, death is quite romantic
She wears an iron vest
Her profession's her religion
Her sin is her lifelessness
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah's great rainbow
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood
With his memories in a trunk
Passed this way an hour ago
With his friend, a jealous monk
He looked so immaculately frightful
As he bummed a cigarette
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes
And reciting the alphabet
Now you would not think to look at him
But he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin
On Desolation Row

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
Inside of a leather cup
But all his sexless patients
They're trying to blow it up
Now his nurse, some local loser
She's in charge of the cyanide hole
And she also keeps the cards that read
"Have Mercy on His Soul"
They all play on penny whistles
You can hear them blow
If you lean your head out far enough
From Desolation Row

Across the street they've nailed the curtains
They're getting ready for the feast
The Phantom of the Opera
A perfect image of a priest
They're spoonfeeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured
Then they'll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words

And the Phantom's shouting to skinny girls
"Get Outa Here If You Don't Know
Casanova is just being punished for going
To Desolation Row"

Now at midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row

Praise be to Nero's Neptune
The Titanic sails at dawn
And everybody's shouting
"Which Side Are You On?"
And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot
Fighting in the captain's tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow
And nobody has to think too much
About Desolation Row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday
(About the time the door knob broke)
When you asked how I was doing
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name
Right now I can't read too good
Don't send me no more letters no
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row

Come pick me up, Ryan Adams

Mi canción depresiva preferida. Anoche llegué borracho a mi casa y se me ocurrió ponerme algo de música y escuché esta canción. No creo que tengáis problemas para traducirla. La letra es bastante dura. Este tío está realmente jodido.

WHEN THEY CALL YOUR NAME
WILL YOU WALK RIGHT UP
WITH A SMILE ON YOUR FACE
OR WILL YOU COWER IN FEAR
IN YOUR FAVORITE SWEATER
WITH AN OLD LOVE LETTERS

I WISH YOU WOULD
I WISH YOU WOULD

COME PICK ME UP TAKE ME OUT
FUCK ME UP STEAL MY RECORDS
SCREW ALL MY FRIENDS THEY'RE ALL FULL OF SHIT
WITH A SMILE ON YOUR FACE AND THEN DO IT AGAIN
I WISH YOU WOULD

WHEN YOU'RE WALKING DOWNTOWN
DO YOU WISH I WAS THERE
DO YOU WISH IT WAS ME
WITH THE WINDOWS CLEAR
AND THE MANNEQUINS EYES
DO THEY ALL LOOK LIKE MINE

YOU KNOW YOU COULD
I WISH YOU WOULD

COME PICK ME UP TAKE ME OUT
FUCK ME UP STEAL MY RECORDS
SCREW ALL MY FRIENDS BEHIND MY BACK
WITH A SMILE ON YOUR FACE AND THEN DO IT AGAIN
I WISH YOU WOULD

I WISH YOU'D MAKE UP BED
SO I COULD MAKE UP MY MIND
TRY IT FOR SLEEPING INSTEAD
MAYBE YOU'LL REST SOMETIME

I WISH I COULD
I WISH I COULD
I WISH I COULD