Ένα ακόμα τραγούδι από την εποχή που τα αριστουργήματα ήταν ρουτίνα για τον Ian Anderson – τιμώμενο συνθέτη του μήνα.
Προέρχεται από το War Child, το αντιπολεμικό opus των Jethro Tull, άλμπουμ – επιστροφή στις τραγουδιστικές φόρμες μετά τη σφαγή των δυο προηγούμενων [Thick s A Brick, A Passion Play] από τους “κριτικούς” της εποχής.
Η σφαγή εννοείται, θα συνεχιζοταν και με αυτό, εξ ίσου ανορθόδοξο παρά τη μικρότερη διάρκεια των κομματιών.
Another song from the time when masterpieces were routine for Ian Anderson – honored composer of the month.
This comes from War Child, Jethro Tull’ s anti-war opus, an album – return to “standard form song’” after the massacre of the previous two [Thick s A Brick, A Passion Play] by the “critics” of the era.
The massacre, of course, would continue with this one, equally unorthodox, despite the tracks’ shorter duration.
Over the mountains, and under the sky —
riding dirty gray horses, go you and I.
Mating with chance, copulating with mirth —
the sad-glad paymasters (for what it’s worth).
The ice-cream castles are refrigerated;
the super-marketeers are on parade.
There’s a golden handshake hanging round your neck,
as you light your cigarette on the burning deck.
And you balance your world on the tip of your nose —
like a SeaLion with a ball, at the carnival.
You wear a shiny skin and a funny hat —
the Almighty Animal Trainer lets it go at that.
You bark ever-so-slightly at the Trainer’s gun,
with you whiskers melting in the noon-day sun.
You flip and you flop under the Big White Top
where the long-legged ring-mistress starts and stops.
But you know, after all, the act is wearing thin —
as the crowd grows uneasy and the boos begin.
But you balance your world on the tip of your nose —
you’re a SeaLion with a ball at the carnival.
Just a trace of pride upon our fixed grins —
for there is no business like the show we’re in.
There is no reason, no rhyme, no right
to leave the circus `til we’ve said good-night.
The same performance, in the same old way;
it’s the same old story to this Passion Play.
So we’ll shoot the moon, and hope to call the tune —
and make no pin cushion of this big balloon.
Look how we balance the world on the tips of our noses,
like SeaLions with a ball at the carnival.
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I’ve always liked this one. Its central metaphor is so apt.
I’m glad we share the same favorites!
😀
Love this! Am I understanding correctly that the critics did not like Jethro Tull music?
You ‘d be surprised by the things written, back then or even now about Jethro Tull and other bands labeled as progressive.
When I talk about critics that I respect, I’m not referring to “rock critics” of course. You can find a serious person among them in a thousand or so.
There is some stuff worth reading though, in the fields of jazz and classical.
Understood! Thank you!