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LA RECENSIONE
This smell of disinfectant disgusts me. It gets into my head and erases the present. Memories of hospitals surface.
They say I lost my sight when I was a year old. I don’t remember.
I’ve known many hospitals. Known them, so to speak. I’ve sensed them. All the doctors in Toronto have touched me, commented on me, given false hopes. And my mother was always there with her hands clasped, waiting for an improvement.
I, on the other hand, had only the guitar in my head. I don't remember light. But I only remember love for the guitar. I took it with me to the bathroom, to bed, to the yard. At lunch, it had its own chair. What arguments with my mother. Since I was blind, I always played on that a bit and it was easy to win her over.
My first Fender Stratocaster at Christmas 1972. The color? Arctic white. I didn’t know what color it was, but I already liked the name. I associated white with smoothness. Black with roughness. The other colors were nothing. Absolute nothingness.
Where does this smell come from? Every time I smell disinfectant, I can't concentrate. The past is a burden. Every smell for a blind person is associated with a mental photograph. A memory. A damn experience. The always very composed voice of a doctor. My hands searching for my mother’s hands. And she steadfastly with her hands clasped. She prayed to a God who was on vacation.
I smile. I feel like smoking even though I light the first cigarette during the drum solo of I Can't Get My Hands on You.
Today we have a great setlist. I remember it by heart. I told the Band that I want to start with a slow piece. Let’s do While My Guitar Gently Weeps. Yes. I want to melt in the San Diego arena.
I think of George Harrison. On the phone, he reassured me. I told him I wanted to record his piece on my new album Hall to pay and I followed his advice: the first take is good. Actually, Ed Stasium, all beer and Ramones, made me do 5 takes and then returned to the first recording. I put everything I had into the solo. The Fender cried. And I laughed.
The smell is fading little by little. I hear that a roadie got hurt. A superficial injury to a hand. Better. I need to focus only on the concert. The piece Full Circle works well. During the solo, I put the guitar behind my head and play like a street artist. I even stand up. What madness.
Soon I’ll be on stage. Good. They tell me the lights have gone out.
Lights out for me who lives in darkness.
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Summary by Bot
This review delves into Jeff Healey's profound connection with his guitar and music, highlighting the emotional depth of his album Hell to Pay. It shares personal stories of his blindness and early life struggles, intertwined with vivid descriptions of memorable tracks and recording moments. The passion behind Healey's guitar work stands out as central to the album's appeal. The review captures both the technical and heartfelt aspects of the music, ending on a note of resilience and joy.Tracklist Lyrics Videos
07 While My Guitar Gently Weeps (05:15)
I look at you all, see the love there that’s sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps.
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping
Still my guitar gently weeps.
I don’t know why nobody told you, how to unfold your love
I don’t know how someone controlled you.
They bought and sold you.
I look at the world, and I notice it’s turning
While my guitar gently weeps.
From every mistake we must surely be learning
And still my guitar gently weeps.
I don’t know how you were diverted
You were perverted too.
I don’t know how you were inverted
No one alerted you.
I look at you all, see the love there that’s sleeping
While my guitar gently weeps.
Look at you all...
Still my guitar gently weeps.
The Jeff Healey Band
Canadian blues-rock band led by Jeff Healey, noted for his lap-style guitar technique and emotive blues solos; albums highlighted include See The Light and Hell to Pay.02 Reviews
