Durante o concerto, precisamente a meio da música Six Blind Days, a luz inteira do Chiado caíu. nada de mais. os instrumentos eram todos acústicos: a voz, a guitarra, o harmonium, o violino... como se houveramos regressado onde fomos beber toda esta embriaguez que nos precipita o sangue para os dedos. Ficou o som do vento a lamber a copa das árvores e o palpitar das vagas das ondas. E cada uma das pessoas que ali estava passou indiferente a esta quebra da energia. Talvez porque nos estamos a regressar de onde o nosso imaginário colectivo adormeceu, talvez porque também ainda não deixaram as mãos cair em espaços de ilusão.
Que deliciosa fantasia...
Têm sido dias agitados; dias que desconhecem o vagar das horas, de horas de alcatrão... e encontrar os membros perdidos da nossa alcateia tem sido uma surpresa há muito ansiada.
Não sei, porque o suor me tolda o olhar no brasido das veias, mas posso quase apostar todo o pouco que mal me basta, que encontrei os meus olhos, do outro lado do palco, atentos a todas a minhas falhas e a toda a ternura e sinceridade com que finalmente trouxemos o lobo para fora do covil.
eu lembro-me bem de quando fui quebrado.
(Photo: Hugo Rodrigues)
Always good to return to Lisbon. Known faces, most of them, unknown. Being with friends among friends ... When we bagan unfolding this the album live, we had to reinvent some of the songs... some, not all. we now have a new member in the gang, Marco Silva, but I can only call him by Mané ... stories of adventures that have we have already experienced ... there is dust over our memories. Chiado’s Fnac is intriguing; there’s a certain something to it; a certain kind of audience. Long before we begin the preparations of the concert, the first chairs are already taken. In the soundcheck we already hear applauses. And yes, it is strange to hear applauses in the anteroom of the concert. It is as if we were playing for friends ... Anyone who finds Lisbon cold it’s because they were not here today. We still have their eyes in our veins. Are we now one? Will we ever be? In all these miles we’ve traveled, there are minutes of silence that have a different weight; smiles we exchange that are accomplices of other we have already forgotten. We ride the back of the wolf, we are the wolf... and in all of this, we miss the warmth of our den.
During the concert, precisely in the middle of the song Six Blind Days, the light of the entire place went down. Nothing too great. The instruments were all acoustic: the voice, the guitar, the harmonium, the violin ... it was as if we had returned to where we had drank all this drunkenness that precipitates the blood to the tips of our fingers. The only thing left was the sound of the wind licking the canopy of the trees and the throb of the waves. And each of one who was there was indifferent to this crash of electricity. Maybe because we’re coming back from where our collective imagination was asleep, perhaps because they have not yet left the hands fall into spaces of illusion.
What a delicious fantasy ...
The days have been rough, days that do not know the wander of hours, the hours of tar ... and to find the lost members of our pack, has been a long desired surprise.
I do not know, because the sweat fogs my stare in the burning of the my veins, but I can almost bet all the little that is scarcely enough, that I found my eyes across the stage, listening to all my faults and all the tenderness and sincerity with which we finally brought the wolf out of the den.
I remember well when I was broken.
how about you?