Rufus Wainwright’s concert
Prometi um texto decente sobre o concerto do Rufus Wainwright e agora não sei se consigo cumprir. [Da última vez que comecei um texto assim, escrevi um texto brutal… mas não vos posso mostrar] Ontem tinha palavras a pulular na mente e hoje tudo parece baço, inerte. Esgotado. Ontem, o concerto do Rufus pareceu culminar um dia de mudança, pareceu ser a inversão necessária e hoje o efeito esvaeceu-se. Hoje esvaeci o efeito do concerto do Rufus. Mas do que me lembro…
I still remember how he started with that marvellous Release the Stars. Which he did. He released all those lights and shining stars. With his voice that filled the holes that had been ripped of my body. With his grandeur. Those who expected a stripped Rufus’ concert felt deceived, but I was glad. I sang all the time and everything was absolute, complete. The concert was obvious and subtle, as his songs are. I was glad because he was artistic when he sang; he was artistic when he played around, he was artistic when he laughed, he was artistic in those high heels. He is a talented showman. And those who just know his records, know little of what a performer he is. He is a hell of a performer.
Yesterday, everything was gay. Even when he said «now, let’s get sad, let’s get sad». Gay, gay, gay and even I, who had wished to stay at home with the remote on one hand and a martini on the other, was almost gay. Not because Rufus was tired of America, though. But because he did not forget Danny boy and all those things that are a little bit harmful for me. Not good enough that I don’t smoke and I don’t like chocolate milk. Because he did it. He did. He turned me on, he turned me on with bodies that healed my soul. Maybe with that Turner-lover art teacher. And then the poses, those beautiful poses, that made me think of all those who watch my head about it. Oh no, oh no, no kidding. But then, you know? He just reminded me that all those feelings flying by, all the pain and all the woe were so little when compared to what he wrote, to what he sang, to what music means to me. But anyway, nobody is off the hook.
Slideshow
«But do I love you because you treat me so indifferently? Or is it the medication? Or is it me? Do I love you because you don't want me to rub your back? Or is it the medication? Or is it you? Or is it true?»
Prometi um texto decente sobre o concerto do Rufus Wainwright e agora não sei se consigo cumprir. [Da última vez que comecei um texto assim, escrevi um texto brutal… mas não vos posso mostrar] Ontem tinha palavras a pulular na mente e hoje tudo parece baço, inerte. Esgotado. Ontem, o concerto do Rufus pareceu culminar um dia de mudança, pareceu ser a inversão necessária e hoje o efeito esvaeceu-se. Hoje esvaeci o efeito do concerto do Rufus. Mas do que me lembro…
I still remember how he started with that marvellous Release the Stars. Which he did. He released all those lights and shining stars. With his voice that filled the holes that had been ripped of my body. With his grandeur. Those who expected a stripped Rufus’ concert felt deceived, but I was glad. I sang all the time and everything was absolute, complete. The concert was obvious and subtle, as his songs are. I was glad because he was artistic when he sang; he was artistic when he played around, he was artistic when he laughed, he was artistic in those high heels. He is a talented showman. And those who just know his records, know little of what a performer he is. He is a hell of a performer.
Yesterday, everything was gay. Even when he said «now, let’s get sad, let’s get sad». Gay, gay, gay and even I, who had wished to stay at home with the remote on one hand and a martini on the other, was almost gay. Not because Rufus was tired of America, though. But because he did not forget Danny boy and all those things that are a little bit harmful for me. Not good enough that I don’t smoke and I don’t like chocolate milk. Because he did it. He did. He turned me on, he turned me on with bodies that healed my soul. Maybe with that Turner-lover art teacher. And then the poses, those beautiful poses, that made me think of all those who watch my head about it. Oh no, oh no, no kidding. But then, you know? He just reminded me that all those feelings flying by, all the pain and all the woe were so little when compared to what he wrote, to what he sang, to what music means to me. But anyway, nobody is off the hook.
Slideshow
«But do I love you because you treat me so indifferently? Or is it the medication? Or is it me? Do I love you because you don't want me to rub your back? Or is it the medication? Or is it you? Or is it true?»
a
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário