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Rating: On the age-old question of the music to play at one's own funeral and the opportunity to leave the idiocy with the last word.
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If we have managed to loosen our grip, we haven't done it enough. If we never believed ourselves to be anyone special, we still believed ourselves to be something.
Yes, I know, said like this it seems simple, a Sunday thought or a little phrase that you might read in a fashionable women's magazine. After all, everyone is very good at underselling the essential.
In reality, however, it's not simple at all. It's not like you can get away with saying "yes, it's like that", oh no, anyone can do that, even me.
Thought, as we know, should be practical, useful that is to live better, and the problem is that all the "yes it is like that" are continuously contradicted by experience, at least by mine. That's why I'm sure I will spend the rest of my life not understanding a damn thing.
I imagine then that death will make it clear to me. "What was the point - it will say to me - of running around so much, trying to be smart, advocating furiously for those four skimpy ideas when half an idea would have been enough?"
Ah gentlemen, the advantage of being dead is that you understand things instantly.
Not to mention that the dark lady after the lecture always shows you how it's done. Like in that movie where a little man, once dead, floats (oh how he floats) and chuckles (oh how he chuckles) suddenly at peace.
"Now you've loosened the grip, haven't you Johnny?"
It's that being dead you live very well.
At worst, there's only a bit of anger left, unloadable, in the form of a joyful piss, on the head of the first jerk passing by. As long as you don't want to exhibit the sacred flow on the day when certain heads are never missing, that is, on your own funeral.
"I'm pissing on all of you, and from a considerable height," said the guy.
Speaking of funerals, I'm planning mine (menu, speeches, playlist, and so on), for at least thirty years.
You should know how many disordered fantasies have ignited me from time to time only to be irremediably discarded.
The one that, in its essential elements, I offer you today is just the latest of a hundred versions that have succeeded over time.
And so here is a little boy reciting one of those nursery rhymes that have always been in my heart. The choice is wide, but at the moment, my favorite is the one of the four old ladies...
"Din don campanon, four old ladies on the balcony, one who spins, one who cuts, one who makes straw hats, one who makes silver knives to cut the wind's head."
After the nursery rhyme, here comes the funeral speech delivered by the one who will have the task of honoring me in front of the crowd. I'm talking about the greatest bar rhetorician in all of Romagna, that is, Mister Flying Dick.
What he will say, I imagine, will be something like: "the world is so absurd that it is worth it to be more absurd than it" and he will say it, I'm sure, much much better than I am doing now.
And finally, last but not least, the music...
Until yesterday I would have said various Nick, Syd, Tim + that little Velvet song where Nico sings like a punished child. Today, however, thanks to the Yello, I've changed my mind
It's that, listening to them, I asked myself: if when we're dead we float and laugh, if nursery rhyme and oration, that is the first act and the second act of the ceremony, turn towards the absurd, shouldn't the music also be made of the same stuff?
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Yello Yello Yello the name makes you laugh a bit and the fact that they're Swiss makes you laugh even more. If I then think that their front man looks like an aristocratic/wave variant of Inspector Clouseau and the other one, with all those little mustaches, a twin of the Sparks...
Ah, I forgot, in this first record even a certain señor Peron is part of the party.
Anyway, if you want to know something about the music, think of a fabulous and stupid copy-paste, then take the Kraftwerk (and maybe also the Residents) and multiply by that strange kind of muppet on the cover.
What you find here is a terrific mishmash of well-done jokes...
Sarcasms of one minute/crazy rhythms/parodic voices/little choirs just for the sake of it...
And again: polkas for toy instruments/senseless dub/fragments almost Eno/ almost disco catchphrases/ almost serious avant-garde...
And hear ye hear ye, although only here and there, almost songs...
All under the sign of a fabulous anarchic taste and the coolest stupidity there is.
With sound words close to pure meaning.
Naturally for my funeral, I will extract only the silliest numbers, delightful useless machines in love with their gears of joyful madness.
Little songs with appropriately (and mirably) titles, like "Bimbo" or "Bananas"...
And so, I repeat to you, for that fateful day, no Nick no Tim, no Syd. No little Velvet song with Nico singing like a punished child.
For once, let's kill the moonlight too.
I can't find a better way to say goodbye than with the words of "Bananas", here they are, all for you:
"Le le lee
I mono wayso jambo pe janga poje
Onte myo sobo jo maame jauo peijosau
Kokonipi jao sobo jambo, jambo pomi peso
I go bananas
Bananas to the beat
Au revoir...
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Bimbo (03:39)
You think you're special
And you're a standard guy
I'm gonna tell you
You're nothing but a standard guy
You are a standard... standard...
It's the bimbo
Standard bimbo man
They call me the white white white white white white
White white bimbo man
Oh, hey I want her
I want shoes
Oh, so my head hurts
But make fun of blues
Oh, that music
I got the blues
Cash in my pocket
Don't want to lose
I... I... I try so hard
Let me be smart
Look at myself in the window of a glass door
Look in my eyes
Look at myself in the window of a toy store
Wink at the size
Never ever gonna be
Never ever gonna be
Never ever gonna be
Staring at her until the end
Special lie, my only friend
That's so hard for me to take
Silly to work around the thing
Bimbo, bimbo, oh it's sad
It drives me mad This is bimbo man
Oh, oh, it's sad B-b-b-b-b b-b-b-b-b b-b-b-b-bimbo
It drives me mad Why bimbo man
Oh, oh, it's sad Why it's the bimbo, standard bimbo
It drives me mad Why it's the bimbo man
Oh, oh, it's sad Why it's the bimbo, standard bimbo
It drives me mad Why it's the bimbo man
Special, and silly wanna be
Standard, oh what a silly me
You're really special, that you don't wanna be
You're standard, firm set in your silly ways
Look at myself in the window of a drug door
Wink at the size
Look at myself in the window of a toy store
Look in my eyes
Never ever gonna be
I wear a white hat Bimbo, bimbo, he's hip
White gloves I choose Bimbo, bimbo man
I saw her dance Bimbo, bimbo
Not for the blues He's the bimbo man
I... Bimbo, bimbo, b-b-b-b-bimbo
Don't want to be He's the bimbo man
The standard guy Bimbo, bimbo, b-b-b-b-bimbo
The standard guy He's the bimbo man
Standard guy
Look at myself in the window of a glass door
Wink out the size
Look at myself in the window of a toy store
Look in my eyes
Never ever gonna be
I hear hip music Bimbo, bimbo, he's a bimbo
Ain't got the blues Bimbo, bimbo man
Fist in my pocket Why it's the bimbo, why it's the bimbo
Don't want to lose Bimbo, bimbo man
I... I... Standard bimbo, why it's the bimbo
Try so hard Bimbo, bimbo man
Oh please, oh please, Why it's the bimbo, bimbo, bimbo
I wanna be smart... smart Bimbo, bimbo man
04 Downtown Samba (02:38)
This one's called
Now for you
Downtown samba
Canal Street's where we dance
We do the rhumba, samba
The city's hot, we're almost naked
It's a scandal
Night's still young
We do the samba with the congo warrior
Downtown samba (2x)
Hey you over there
You shouldn't dance alone
Watch me come on closer
Cause I am the one
To dance with you
All night long
I'm dancing like a mambo
Go go go for sambo
Dancing, dancing, dancing
Tango
Over there, mister
Come see, you'll see
So dance the tango, tango
07 Assistant's Cry (01:49)
From time to time they cry
Only if you know why
Here they go
A hundred thousand people
Walking down the streets
Trying to protect their dream
Following their feet
They're busy, lost
Can't find anyone
They're looking for a disguise
And the stars could come
No more!
No tears
Just cries, and fears
I don't believe it
Look at them
I really can't believe it
Look at them
They're fucking crazy
Hey! Just... Ha ha ha ha!
I can't believe it
Look at them
All right, all right
All right folks
This was today's show time
And now go home!
See you tomorrow
Same time, same place
Take care
08 Bostich (02:14)
Chorus:
Standing at the machine every day for all my life
I'm used to do it and I need it
It's the only thing I want
It's just a rush, push, cash
(chorus)
Standing at the machine every day for all my life
I'm used to do it and I need it
It's the only thing I want
It's just a rush, push, cash
Rush, push, rush, push, rush, push, rush, push
Standing at the machine every day for all my life
I'm used to do it and I need it
It's the only thing I want
11 Blue Green (05:28)
We haven't lyrics of this song. Please, add these lyrics for other users. Use "Correct". Thanks to you.
12 Eternal Legs (04:08)
Across the space
We fly around the world
For years... years... years... years...
We're out of control
Inside an iron ball
Desire
Chorus:
We see the moon
A color ball
We won't be free again
No choice
An iron box
Electric brain release
Away... away... away... away
A piece of steel
That's all we ever feel
No pain
(chorus)
Desire
We see the moon
A color ball
We won't be free again
13 Stanztrigger (02:56)
We haven't lyrics of this song. Please, add these lyrics for other users. Use "Correct". Thanks to you.
14 Bananas to the Beat (03:05)
Chorus:
I go bananas
Bananas to the beat
Le le lee
I mono wayso jambo pe janga poje
Onte myo sobo jo maame jauo peijosau
Kokonipi jao sobo jambo, jambo pomi peso
(chorus)
Kokonipi ous tonko jado jo mousi nindu pou
O seeke ambo pelai kokonipi nai
Kokonipi ous, stono ambou
(chorus)
Eo-o show me ambo jambo, jaambo jomo jo eethu eat
(chorus)
Wojo bomo eso i jo pande beo bou
Sobo i jo postiau do peeta
(chorus)
Mo le le o posi jambo mo le le kompie
Bo le le, bo le le
(chorus)
I go banaanas, wo jo sombi jedo
Bananas to the beat, kwanto be pe io
To the beat
To the beat, cos lobo lobo le jo
To the beat
Bananas to the beat, e jo sambi ebo jo ame
Bananas to the beat
Bananas to the beat, wa pe o sio beo pe tojovlo peo
Bananas to the beat (3x)
Bananas to the beat, kokonipi oso pai
Bananas to the beat (3x)
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Other reviews
By egebamyasi
Their way of playing was an intelligent and refined caricature of the fashion of the time.
Describing this work as creative and intelligent seems almost obligatory in view of such an interesting ensemble.
