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Rating: The Black Rider. Considered the only misstep by followers and non-followers of "the great one" after an entire career built piece by piece from undisputed masterpieces such as "the great trilogy" (Swordfishtrombones/Frank's Wild Years/Rain Dogs) far superior to that of the Lord of the Rings or any other musical trilogy or otherwise, released in the history of mankind since the times when only sticks were played (probably tested on some unwary person) to today, or from masterpieces of the caliber of Bone Machine or Real Gone the last (but only for a short time) pulled out of our old magician's top hat.
The Black Rider a theatrical work by Robert Wilson that tells the story of a young man who, for the love of his beautiful (the downfall of every man always begins with a woman), promised to a wealthy hunter, accepts a deal with the devil to win a hunting challenge, (such imagination) and consequently the hand of the maiden, thus receiving magical bullets with which he will finally manage to bring her to the altar. Only that before finally being able to "consummate," he is ordered to shoot at a dove with the last magical bullet remaining in the barrel... and he, in his foolishness (a fool to us in Romagna) overtaken by tremendous excitement, already dreaming and savoring the climax of the story, instead of hitting the dove, ends up squarely hitting her, driving himself mad at the thought of having to consume his right hand until exhaustion and the end of his days, all while the devil laughs heartily by the warmth of his hearth.
On this heartbreaking story (I can already see you all with handkerchiefs in hand) is built the soundtrack of this work written with the help of a certain William Burroughs whom some of you may know as one of the great writers of the so-called Beat Generation (the best for me remains the old good devil Bukowski) along with Kerouac and Cassidy (the Jack and Neal of an old Waits song) who will contribute not only in the texts but also in the development of some songs, and the ever-faithful friends of our protagonist, the usual and indispensable Greg Cohen and Francis Thumm.
I believe that this album, distancing myself from the opinion of many, is a truly great work, especially in pieces like Lucky Day, Just the Right Bullets, The Briar and the Rose, and The Last Rose of Summer, pieces of truly great emotional impact that evoke and convey well the melancholy of the story of the play when listened to. Naturally, being a theatrical work, it also includes various high-quality instrumental pieces, although much is irretrievably lost when one can only listen to the soundtrack without a visual interpretation of it.
As usual, the poetry we have grown accustomed to from our artist is not missing, and thanks also to the contribution of the aforementioned Burroughs, this album is certainly not among the great masterpieces matured by the storyteller from Pomona, but nonetheless, a good purchase for those like myself who can no longer tear their ear away from every piece of work this old good devil has managed to pull out of the hat.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
02 November (02:39)
No shadow
No stars
there's no moon and
No cars
November
It only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That's the color of bone
No prayers for November
To linger longer
Stick your spoon in the wall
We'll slaughter them all
November has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to April
To rescue me
November's cold chain
Made of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
You're my firing squad
November
With my hair slicked back
With carrion shellac
With the blood from a pheasant
And the bone from a hare
Tied to the branches
Of a roebuck stag
Left to wave in the timber
Like a buck shot flag
Go away you rainsnout
Go away blow your brains out
November
04 The Briar and the Rose (03:05)
I fell asleep down by the stream
And there I had the strangest dream
And down by Brennan's Glenn there grows
A briar and a rose
There's a tree in the forest
But I don't know where
I built a nest out of your hair
And climbing up into the air
A briar and a rose
I don't know how long it has been
But I was born in Brennan's Glenn
And near the end of spring there grows
A briar and a rose
Picked the rose one early morn
I pricked my finger on a thorn
It had grown so high
It's winding wove the briar around the rose
I tried to tear them both apart
I felt a bullet in my heart
And all dressed up in springs and clothes
The briar and the rose
And when I'm buried in my grave
Tell me so I will know
Your tears will fall
To make love grow
The briar and the rose
07 Flash Pan Hunter (01:41)
The flash pan hunter sways with the wind
His rifle is the sound of the morning
Each sulfurous bullet way have it's own wit
Each cartridge comes with a warning
Beware of elaborate telescopic meats
They will find their way back to the forest
For Wilhelm can't wait
To be Peg Leg's crown
As the briar is strangling
The rose back down
His back shall be my slender new branch
It will sway and bend in the breeze
As the devil does his polka
Wit ha hatchet in his hand
As a sniper in the branches of the trees
As the vulture flutters down
As the snake sheds his dove
Wilhelm's cutting off his fingers
So they'll fit into his glove
For Wilhelm can't wait
To be Peg Leg's crown
As the briar is strangling
The rose back down
15 The One That Got Away (04:28)
The jigolo's jumpin salty
ain't no trade out on the streets
half past the unlucky
and the hawk's a front-row seat
dressed in full orquestration
stage door johnnys got to pay
and sent him home
talking bout the one that got away
could a been on easy street
could a been a wheel
with irons in the fire
and all them business deals
But the last of the big-time losers
shouted before he drove away
I'll be right back as soon as I crack
the one that got away
the ambulance drivers don't give a shit
they just want to get off work
and the short stop and the victim
have already gone berserk
and the shroud-tailor measures him
for a deep-six holiday
the stiff is froze, the case is closed
on the one that got away
Jim Crow's directing traffic
with them cemetery blues
with them peculiar looking trousers
them old Italian shoes
the wooden kimona was all ready
to drop in San Francisco Bay
but now he's mumbling something
all about the one that got away
Costello was the champion
at the St. Moritz Hotel
and the best this side of Fairfax,
reliable sources tell
but his reputation is at large
and he's at Ben Frank's every day
waiting for the one that got away
he's got a snake skin sportshirt,
and he looks like Vincent Price
with a little piece of chicken
and he's carving off a slice
but someone tipped her off
she'll be doing a Houdini now any day
she shook his hustle
and a Greyhound bus'll
take the one that got away
Andre is at the piano
behind the Ivar in the sewers
with a buck a shot for pop tunes,
and a fin for guided tours
He could of been in Casablanca
he stood in line out there all day
but now he's spilling whiskey
and learning songs about a one that got away
well I've lost my equilibrium
my car keys and my pride
tattoo parlor's warm
and so I huddle there inside
the grinding of the buzz saw
whatchuwanthathingtosay
just don't misspell her name
buddy she's the one that got away
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