"...just get me something cold ... never ever, never ever ever again.... " (Static - Get Me Something Cold)

o estudo continua, capítulo três bombeando! 5 dias para o conflicto final! (espero).
um grande album -> Aim - Means of Production (The Singles: 1995-1999)

Morphine "The Night"

You're the night, Lilah. A little girl lost in the woods.
You're a folk tale, the unexplainable

You're a bedtime story. The one that keeps the curtains closed.
I hope you're waiting for me cause I can make it on my own.
I can make it on my own.

It's too dark to see the landmarks. I don't want your good luck charms.
I hope you're waiting for me across your carpet of stars.
You're the night, Lilah. You're everything that we can't see.
Lilah, you're the possibility.

You're the bedtime story. The one that keeps the curtains closed.
And I hope you're waiting for me cause I can make it on my own.
I can make it on my own.

Unknown the unlit world of old. You're the sounds I never heard before.
Off the map where the wild things grow. Another world outside my door.
Here I stand I'm all alone. Drive me down the pitch black road.
Lilah you're my only home and I can't make it on my own.

You're a bedtime story. The one that keeps the curtains closed.
And I hope you're waiting for me cause I can make it on my own.
I can make it on my own.

You're the paint can falling off the wall at the door that slams at the end of the hall where the kid rings sounds of basketball. The battle of the earth of the angels. The shifting snow drifts so realistic, so realistic - call you carpet of stars. See there is something in the yard. It's awful dark. With the painted strings, the cross, the good luck charm, the prayer, the extra layer. The group ???...

Black Eyed Peas feat. Esthero "Weekends"

I called Chad on Wednesday night
So we could make plans for Thursday night
He said "we could go hit the peapods"
I was like yeah, that's my favorite spot
Plus I like it there, cuz I got love on the list
High powered juice, where I don't even get frisked
Walk up in the place and get love from the misses
Pounds from my brothers, cuz they knowing that disses
The place to be to let it all out
But when the weekend come, the weekend come
Y'all could come
So go tell ya momma come and ya papa come
Go to spin the record so we can get dumb
Place packed, capacity maximum
Due to my man Polo Promotion
And I can't wait to go out and hear some


Jumping music, swift D.J.'s
Smoke machines and laser rays
Look out weekend cuz, here I come
Because weekends were, werrrre

Walk in the club at like 10 o' clock
And the spot is hot, blowing up rooftops
Its Thursday night and the night is young
Four day weekend, time to have some fun
D.J.'s scutter up, drop them joints
Everybody's been waiting to dance and make noise
B-Boys, let me see you break it down
And ladies, let your hips move around
Its the sound of the BEP family
Got a poet named Life and a sister Kimy (worrrrd up)
And the blood of Abraham (worrrrd up)
So let's get ready for the jam


Jumping music, swift D.J.'s
Smoke machines and laser rays
Look out weekend cuz, here I come
Because weekends were, werrrre


It was a Thursday night and the party was bumpin'
And the bass was thumpin' and people was jumpin'
And taboo's at the front door comin'
Taboo's at the front door comiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin
and
and (here he come now)
and
nah, nah, nah

Yo, Mister Will.i.am (Mister Will.i.am)
Win or win (Mister Will.i.am)
Get our boogie on when the weekend COME
Check the peapod, cuz the vibes is STRONG
Salinas Filipinas, they come one by ONE
All lined up, and they ready for FUN
Short one's, tall one's, beautiful ONES
B-boys, B-girls, ready to WHAT
Breaking and shaking when we doing our ish
J-Rock from the Beat Junkies ready to mix
Cuz they cuttIng up the wax for everybody
Come on over cuz were having a party
We lighting up the sky with the burning STAR
Throw your hands in the air, if you know who you ARE
Cuz we jumpin' around with the Broshigeez
And get less by the beat pharmacy, cuz they hitting you with


Jumping music, swift D.J.'s
Smoke machines and laser rays
Look out weekend cuz, here I come
Because weekends were (werrrre)

....worrrrd up
....worrrrd up

Look out weekend cuz, here I come
Because weekends were, werrrre

The Postal Service "Such Great Heights"

I am thinking it's a sign that the freckles
in our eyes are mirror images and when
we kiss they're perfectly aligned
and I have to speculate that God himself
did make us into corresponding shapes like
puzzle pieces from the clay
true, it may seem like a stretch, but
its thoughts like this that catch my troubled
head when you're away when I am missing you to death
when you are out there on the road for
several weeks of shows and when you scan
the radio, I hope this song will guide you home

they won't see us waving from such great
heights, "come down now," they'll say
but everything looks perfect from far away,
"come down now," but we'll stay...

I tried my best to leave this all on your
machine but the persistent beat it sounded
thin upon listening
that frankly will not fly. you will hear
the shrillest highs and lowest lows with
the windows down when this is guiding you home

Marisa Monte "Maraçá"

No meu filme
Pinta baticum na mesa
Alegria com cerveja
Entidades e nações
Mudo e surdo
Encapadas em capetas
Língua que lambe ninfetas
Lata maraçá e fome
Gangazunga lobisomem

Samirá que vira homem
Rum pi lé rum
É vendaval, é ilusão
E eu e você no carnaval
No carnaval
E a glória de nada

Me valeria
Minha atlântida Bahia
Ilha de reuniões
E agora já que tenho
Companhia
Talvez veja outro filme
Lâmina mulher Maria
Uma voz
Que guia guia
Bimotor que silencia
Rum pi lé rum
É vendaval, é ilusão
É eu e você no carnaval
No carnaval

Do you believe me
Can you hear me

Cake "Short Skirt / Long Jacket"


I want a girl with a mind like a diamond
I want a girl who knows what's best
I want a girl with shoes that cut
And eyes that burn like cigarettes

I want a girl with the right allocations
Who's fast and thorough
And sharp as a tack
She's playing with her jewelry
She's putting up her hair
She's touring the facility
And picking up slack

I want a girl with a short skirt and a lonnnng jacket......

I want a girl who gets up early
I want a girl who stays up late
I want a girl with uninterrupted prosperity
Who used a machedy to cut through red tape
With fingernails that shine like justice
And a voice that is dark like tinted glass

She is fast and thorough
And sharp as a tack
She's touring the facility
And picking up slack

I want a girl with a short skirt and a lonnnnng.... lonnng jacket

I want a girl with a smooth liquidation
I want a girl with good dividends
And at the city bank we will meet accidentally
We'll start to talk when she borrows my pen

She wants a car with a cupholder arm rest
She wants a car that will get her there
She's changing her name from Kitty to Karen
She's trading her MG for a white Chrystler Laberan

I want a girl with a short skirt and a lonnnnggggggggg jacket

E o prémio para locutor mais totó do ano vai, sem dúvida e com todo o mérito aliás, para o locutor português de Ténis no Eurosport.
É preciso ter um grande dom para conseguir dizer, horas seguidas, banalidades de uma profundidade inigualável.

Gabriel Alves por sua vez voltou à sua melhor forma: "Sem Nedved a equipa da Juventus é cerca de 30% mais fraca"
Brilhante este comentário matemático!

Carlos Paião:

- Zero-a-Zero (o início da música parece mesmo Aphex Twin :D)

"Há zero a zero , há cem a cem, com zero a zero vai tudo bem..."

- Play-Back

"Podes nem saber cantar, nem sequer assobiar, com certeza que nao vais desafinar...em Play-Back, em Play-Back..."

- Marcha Do "Pião Das Nicas"

"Viva o Santo António, viva o São João, viva o 10 de Junho e a Restauração, viva até São Bento se nos arranjar, muitos feriados para festejar"

"Acho que a literatura, tal como as artes plásticas e a música, é uma das grandes consolações da vida, e um dos modos de elevação do ser humano sobre a precaridade da sua condição"

Carlos Drummond de Andrade

concordo, com o enfâse na música :)

saga das 3 receitas:

1ª Desculpe mas esta receita não pode ter desconto, tem que ir à clínica e pedir para lhe passarem pela ADSE porque pelo MJ tem restrição de direitos.

2ª Esta receita não tem desconto, falta-lhe o carimbo da clínica, tem que ir lá e meter o carimbo para ter direito ao desconto

3ª Olhe que esta receita não é válida para o desconto, a médica esqueceu-se de meter a vinheta, tem que ter a vinheta para ter direito ao desconto.

para a semana como será?

novas cores...58000 e cinzento mais escuro! Novo album de Wire, "Send" som poderoso!

Doves - Break Me Gently

Walk inside, gets noticed
Fears conspire, they won't go away
And I know, and I see, you'll be breaking hearts again

You break me gently
Break me gently
Break me gently

Break my fall in vain
Pain won't go, rest in peace
And I look, and I see, you could be breaking souls again

And I see me, break me gently
Break me gently
Break me gently

ponto de vista interessante, como fazer uma crítica:

"Doves
Lost Souls[Astralwerks; 2000]
Rating: 6.8
You know, we music journalists have to contend with a myriad of internal voices while reviewing. There's the simple, straightforward, credulous voice of the listener, who takes bands, songs and packages at face value. As a counter check, there's a savvier, hipper voice that considers music a constructed, made-up thing, sold to us by bands and manufacturers through advertising, press buzz and the ever-enticing promise of press photos. And, finally, there's a purely contrarian voice that plays devil's advocate, finding the easy path and countering it at every turn.

This kind of intrapersonal debating occurs with every release, but rages almost uncontrollably in the instance of a talked-up offering. Because in such a case, it becomes so important to keep oneself from being swept up in embarrassing critical groundswell without dismissing a record that might be good just because someone else likes it. Case in point: Doves' Lost Souls, an album currently coasting on tons of buzz. Follow us as we take a look at three different approaches to reviewing the record, while revealing the secret tricks of the reviewer's game:

Step One: Snappy, Superficial Introduction

Straightforward: While, in the United States, electronic music is considered a new, arty, futuristic medium, it's been a part of the European palette for years. While Underworld seem spacy and abstract on these shores, they're a legit commercial force for our friends across the sea. What's more, techno's such a known quantity across the Atlantic that it's become strictly pro forma for any self-respecting rock band to incorporate a little 808 thud into their rock and roll mix.

Cynical: After the "electronica" "boom" rose and fell like Keith Flint's spiky haircut, all the big fancy record companies-- and the attendant faux-raver acts to whom they'd promised the world-- had to find a way to shore up their losses. Thus, the awkward shotgun marriage of rock to drum machines, resulting in efforts ranging from lovely (Radiohead) to dull (Smash Mouth) to bizarre (Rolling Stones produced by the Dust Brothers). All in all, the experiment can be deemed a bust.

Contrarian: Techno? Techno-rock fusion? Fuck that!

Step Two: Introduce the Band

Straightforward: A good, if somewhat surprising, example of the Euro tech-rock fusion is the debut LP from Doves, Lost Souls. Where most of the fusing has gone on in the rock camp as aging amp-powered dinos struggled for relevance, Doves' effort provides a rare example of techno-schooled musicians digging in the crates for inspiration. Having made their first splash as a straight-ahead club act called Sub Sub, this trio of blokes woodshedded for a long time, started playing anachronistic instruments you strummed, plucked and hit, and ended up with a collection of damn-near-normal rock songs. Of course, the tincture of their throbbing house-kid past lurks in the shadows all the same.

Cynical: The latest group of cred-hungry beat monsters to cross this writer's desk are Doves, a frustratingly non-capitalized or articled threesome from the UK. Their record's got everything written in lowercase, there's a lot of noiry photos of a boxer, and the damn thing is called Lost Souls, all of which reeks of art (or, perhaps more aptly, "ahhht"). Scowling in front of a cityscape, clad in flannel, and sporting ridiculous stubblefields on their faces, Doves look like they're running as hard as they can from their bow as Sub Sub. There's a reason the single they released under that moniker never made it stateside, and I'm sure it had everything to do with the description "M People-esque," which appeared in the press kit.

Contrarian: Hairy, serious-looking songwriter types from England? Fuck that!

Step Three: Flailingly Desperate Attempt to Describe the Record

Straightforward: Lost Souls is nothing if not a sprawling, ambitious effort. Padded for U.S. arrival with three bonus tracks, the disc stretches out to more than 72 minutes, and I'll be damned if it isn't a solid, engaging effort throughout. Where the increased running time of a CD is usually more beast than beauty, the breathing room allows Doves to stretch out. Few of these tracks weigh in under the five-minute mark, and most of their durations are given over to jangling acoustic guitars and mid-tempo rhythms that, in places, resemble Mogwai's moments of plaintive contemplation.

Tonally, Lost Souls reflects the after-after-midnight hours, as if the boys felt the need to document the hung over and blissed-out aftermath of the dancing-hours frenzy their Sub Sub days offered listeners years ago. That rarest of animals, a singing drummer named Andy Williams, wails discontentedly and virtually wordlessly over swelling and receding musical themes, while atmospheric keyboards and ominous samplework provide texture the barebones acoustic arrangements wouldn't achieve on their own.

Cynical: The heart of the problem on Lost Souls is its overreaching ambition. Naming the first track-- the virtually instrumental "Firesuite"-- after the famous four-song suite from the Beach Boys' Smile sessions gives it away instantly. Doves are, in both their tilting and endlessly sculpted sounds, after the same instrumental evocations Brian Wilson made and destroyed at the peak of his compositional powers. In most principle respects, this album is straight, rockist Brit-pop. But the samples and keyboards serve only to dress up fairly conventional songs, as if to conceal their pedestrian nature.

Contrarian: More Brian Wilson name-checking? Fuck that!

Step Four: Track-by-Track Highlights and Lowlights

Straightforward: Lost Souls, despite its reach and ambition, works best in its most conventionally melodic moments. The aptly named "Melody Calls" juxtaposes a typically languid vocal against an uncharacteristically jaunty guitar riff, and the result is a little radio-ready wonder. Similarly, the title cut's deep, throbbing chords work as this melancholy work's catalytic center, distilling the band's mixture of atmosphere and song down to a kind of essence.

Among the more adventurous tracks, "Firesuite" and "Break Me Gently" work best because of their carefully planned development and the skillful use of heavily effected vocals, which flesh out what could have been almost Dave Matthews-sized swaths of dull 'jamming.' But the stately ballad at the end of the album proper, "A House," accentuates the songiness of this effort. These boys are interested in beauty, power, emotion and feeling. Not idle wanking.

Cynical: Hey! He stole my stuff! Punk.

Contrarian: Emotion and feeling?! Fuck that!

Step Five: Summation

Straightforward: Despite its excesses, Lost Souls offers a novel twist on the electronics-plus-rock-equals-fun-for-trainspotters equation. The tech-rock fusion isn't dead in the water yet.

Cynical: Okay, fine. Even Brits can do something decent from time to time.

Contrarian: Fuck England!

Step Six: The Rating

Straightforward: 7.3

Cynical: 6.2

Contrarian: Fuck numbers!

-Sam Eccleston, February, 2001"

Dead Can Dance - Anywhere Out Of The World

"this is the end of the beginning, this is the beginning of the end" - Murs!

e Alpine Stars é um som do caraças!!!

não ultrapasse a linha amarela, "you break me gently"

Comentário de Churchill sobre o homem

"O homem tropeça na verdade uma vez por outra, mas na maioria dos casos endireita-se e continua em frente."

hmm....hmm... tropeça..ou pregam rasteira...

efil's not so good...efil's kinda empty...hey hey hey thats what i say!

aspas por aí e ali.

my baby is taking me home....my baby is taking me home.... pop orquestral -> Sparks

and then she said: your call is very important for us, please hold
green green light...red light...