The Walking Dead – here we go again…

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Ce faci cand ai la dispozitie una dintre cele mai bune povesti cu si despre zombi, fie ea si inspirata dintr-un comic book?

Te gandesti, daca esti Frank Darabont, sa o transformi in serial. Pentru ca, oricat de multe seriale cu si despre supra si para-normal sunt pe lumea asta, intotdeauna e loc de mai mult.

Deci, dupa cativa ani de The Walking Dead in scris si desen (Robert Kirkman, Tony Moore si Charlie Adlard), te pregatesti sufleteste si moral sa imparti lumii the ultimate TV show.

Premiera serialului a avut loc pe 31 octombrie 2010, fix de Halloween. Tin minte ca am vazut varianta pre-air cu vreo doua saptamani inainte si am fost atat de incantata, ca am revazut episodul (lung de aproximativ o ora) de vreo doua-trei ori.

Dupa doua sezoane, unul de sase episoade, celalalt de 13, show-ul de la AMC a revenit pe ecrane, cu un nou episod, la jumatatea lui octombrie.

14 octombrie e ziua in care toti fanii TWD si-au pus sperantele. Multi stiau comic book-ul dinainte, altii au aflat de el abia dupa ce s-au uitat la serial. Inevitabil, comparatii intre cele doua s-au facut, de cele mai multe ori in defavoarea serialului.

Eu recunosc ca am ajuns cu cititul la numarul 102 din comic book, dar de vreo doua luni m-am oprit, pentru ca… Adevarul e ca in ea libertatile pe care si le permite Kirkman sunt infinit mai multe decat ce au la dispozitie niste producatori TV. Se joaca cu soarta personajelor (si chiar soarta personajelor iubite de public) fix cum vrea el, ajutandu-se de o franchete si o violenta uneori gratuite.

Cand s-a terminat cel de-al doilea sezon am fost momiti cu personaje noi (pentru serial) si cu locuri noi (pentru serial). Asa ca vara a trecut, gandindu-ne la Michonne si la The Governor si la Prison.

Vara a trecut, dupa un lung sezon doi impiedicat si cu povesti greoaie si lungite fara rost. Octombrie venea cu povesti noi si oameni noi, introdusi usor diferit fata de cei din comic book, dar la fel de spectaculosi.

Primul episod din cel de-al treilea sezon The Walking Dead a debutat brusc. Incercand parca sa intareasca ideea ca „This isn’t a democracy anymore”, vedem dintr-o data cum tot grupul lui Rick se comporta ca un tot unitar, toata lumea stie brusc sa foloseasca arme de foc, ba unde mai pui ca apar si amortizoare de tot felul.

Dupa un raid scurt al unei case aparent parasite, dupa un kill rapid al tuturor inhabitantilor de vitalitate indoielnica, dupa ce ramai uimit de burta lui Lori (sau Whori, cum o alinta fanii pe internet), dupa ce ramai socat de faptul ca T-Dogg nu e total inutilizabil, iar Carl parca incepe si el sa asculte de autoritatea parinteasca, ii vezi pe toti grabiti sa dispara din casa respectiva,
din cauza grupurilor de zombie atrasi de ei.

Daryl inca n-a renuntat la „salbaticia” lui, si nici la motocicleta. Carol nu e total useless. Rick o ignora pe Lori din ce in ce mai mult. Lori e din ce in ce mai ingrijorata de soarta ei, a copilului si a lor toti. Fetele lui Hershel s-au trezit brusc dintr-o viata indestulata in Sud intr-o lume incredibila si moarta, Hershel si-a pierdut directia, iar Glenn parca e lipit de Maggie.

Astea fiind zise, dramele sunt putine. Vorbele sunt putine, ceea ce inseamna, pentru urmaritorii fideli, ca mare parte din greselile sezonului doi sunt spalate.

Grupul face cunostinta cu inchisoarea. Din ce-am putut observa, Rick-din-serial inca n-a devenit Rick-din-comic-book. Fervoarea celui din urma, disperarea amplificata de o speranta continua, de sentimentul de „stiu ca poate fi mai bine de atat” inca nu poate fi redat pe sticla. Mult timp, Rick-din-serial a avut parte doar de calitatile pozitive ale confratelui sau din comic book, pe cand pe
cele negative i le-a pasat aproape integral lui Shane. Personajul e usor subdezvoltat, dar sper ca acest Prison-story-arc sa-l ajute sa ajunga omul care e in comic book.

In inchisoare se intampla chestii. In prima faza, „curata” zombii de la intrare. In a doua faza, dorm in celule. In a treia faza, se incearca curatarea restului inchisorii. Maggie se dovedeste cea mai utila femeie, luptandu-se cot la cot cu restul barbatilor. Hershel ii ia locul lui Dale, fiind el muscat de picior. Rick e pus fata in fata cu decizia de a-i taia piciorul. O face rapid, dar mult mai sec si mai fricos decat in comic book. La final, ii vedem pe cei patru (?) – atatia erau in comic book – inmates din sala de mese. Blackout – s-a terminat episodul.

In paralel, in scurte momente, avem parte de Michonne si Andrea. Michonne si sabia ei, Michonne si zombii ei, Michonne si dedicatia cu care sta alaturi de Andrea, care e the same old bitchy woman with a clear deathwish care era si inainte.

Per total, episodul a avut mai putine vorbe. Putin dialog, putin cantec, cateva scene gandite prost (Daryl si Carol, Lori si Rick, Rick si conserva, Andrea si Michonne, cantecul la focul de tabara, soldatii in echipamentele alea greoaie).

Pe de alta parte, au schimbat genericul, au lasat melodia. Totul pare mai dramatic, totul pare mai intens, asteptarile sunt mai grele. Acest prim episod din cel de-al treilea sezon nu e CHIAR ce trebuia sa fie, dar e mai mult decat nimic – e semnul ca lucrurile se indreapta in directia cea buna.

Ce mi-as dori de la sezonul trei? Nu neaparat zombi, ci actiune. As dori mai multe conflicte interne, as dori mai multe pericole din exterior, altele decat eternii „umblatori”. As vrea ca personajele sa devina imprevizibile, sa reactioneze neasteptat. As vrea sa nu le fie frica sa le dea personajelor noi
dimensiuni. As vrea sa-i vad cum se lupta cu mai multe chestii de-odata (de exemplu, cu zombi, cu unii care vor sa le ia adapostul, intre ei si cu vremea).

Sper ca macar la jumatatea sezonului sa devina chestia aia curajoasa care este The Walking Dead – the comic book.

Sursa poze: 1, 2, 3.

Lover’s Lana

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Sunday afternoons are trying to get ahead of us. What ever that means.
Sparks are seen flying all over the town, like little wings of butterflies cuddled up in mid-air.

Lana was arranging her hair with her fingers, a little bit stumpy, but with long nails and one little ring on her middle one. From time to time, the clock on the wall accompanied the silence in the room.

On the bed, with flowery sheets and pillows, Lana could be seen lying on her back, gazing at the ceiling. The Sundays were lazy, and so was she.

Distant sounds, like distant planets, were making her jumpy, but only for a little while. After that, Lana came back to herself, lying and playing with her hair.

“Oh, look what the cat brought in.”

As if it had a silencer, a grey cat with blue eyes and a very slim tail entered the room, looking at everything in here suspiciously and cautiously.

Lana stood up; wanting to go and pet the cat, but it had already flown away at the sound of her rising.

“The sound of her rising… Ha ha ha!”

I swear, sometimes it feels like Lana can hear thoughts.

The afternoons are passing by slowly, dragging onto time as if today would never end. And in the bad days, you could only hope that today would end, because bad things always bring more bad things.

“Why do I always think of bad things?”

Lana had no answer to that question.

—

Mondays, at school, everything seemed to fit perfectly into one perfect little piece. From her school uniform, that resembled a Catholic school girl’s uniform, to her tight ponytail and her black backpack, everything went according to the plan.

What plan could she have? Was she a mastermind of planning, like Machiavelli or other people of that sort?

Lana started laughing. She liked Monday mornings, because she could lie in bed, thinking about nothing, rolling from one side to another, without a care in the world.

Who was she kidding? She had no school, she had no job, and she had nothing else to do but take a shower and feed the cat.

Thinking about the cat, it was there. And her blue eyes were checking her up, while stretching under the cozy blanket. Then the cat jumped on Lana, trying to make some kind of a nest between the blanket and the flowery sheets. This made Lana giggle with all her awake powers.

She threw the cat away, and stretched a little bit more. Then, when she got out of the bed, the cat could observe that Lana was naked under all that blankets and sheets and what-not.

“Oh, dear God!” the cat thought, and it could feel itself blushing under all the fur.

“Oh, dear God what?!”

The cat had forgotten that Lana could hear its thoughts and turn away quickly, with a little smirk on its face.

“You don’t even give me a name, I have no identity in this house and yet you are appalled at my appallence…”

“Is that even a word?!”

Lana started laughing, her breasts moving up and down along with her. The cat sighed internally and left the room.

—

Tuesdays were a day of headache. On Tuesday mornings, everything seemed foggy and autumnal, like all the sun in the world disappeared.

If Mondays were still reminiscent of the weekends and the laziness that comes with them, Tuesdays were a drag.

Lana usually woke up at 11, without setting her alarm clock, without the cat that usually woke her up, without the sun that usually bathed her in the morning.

Tuesdays would find her fully dressed under her blanket, sporting her jeans and socks and an old T-shirt, all of them thrown on her since Monday night.

She made a habit out of sleeping like this, thinking that it would made her more efficient. Efficient for God knows what!

Only one good thing on Tuesdays: the cat seemed to get in the ground, as if it was never there. And that calmed Lana more than she could admit to herself.

Oh, no. Tuesdays had two good things: the missing cat and coffee.

It was the day that Lana drank so much coffee, almost like if she was thinking in bathing in it.

She started each morning with a big cup of coffee, black of course. And by the end of the day, she had in her all the cappuccinos and moccacinos and frappucinos and whatever-cinos were available in the town, mostly over 20-30 cups of something caffeinated in one day.

And at the end, she was still nervous and still tired, so she would fall asleep in her jeans and T-shirt.

—

Wednesdays were a delight. So close to the end and so close to the beginning, you never knew if you wanted to start something or end it.

Lana took her time on Wednesday to read a little, white riding a bike, and during a football match live on TV. She used to order pizza, while drinking champagne, and try her hand at Chinese cooking, while cutting one of her favorite pair of jeans short.

Wednesdays were amazing, all the stuff that could be done in a weeks worth of time should be done Wednesdays.

—

Thursdays were the best time to catch up with a story. So Lana would stay up in bed, with cookies beside her and a hot chocolate, and read with her eyes closed.

The cat would often enter the room and silently watch her master (or is it mistress?)…

“I heard that!”

Lana’s eyes would open wide in a second, at the first sign of disobedience and pierce through the poor cat as if it was thin air.

After that, she would return to her reading, eyes closed and cookie crumbles all over her flowery sheets.

—

Ah, the long awaited Fridays!

They started as a party and ended in party.

Lana would get out of bed, naked again, but the cat was nowhere in sight.

She would start her morning exercise, lying on her pink mat, stretching and doing some sort of yoga that some people call Pilates. After all that, she would fill her bath tub with hot-hot water and bubbles of vanilla and she would lie in there for ages.

It was only after the bathing ritual that she would start trying on different clothes and outfits and trying her hand at smokey eyes make-up.

After all the preparations, she would jump into a tight dress, or maybe a black skirt with a white top, put on some heels and jump into a taxi.

Friday just ended for Lana…

—

But I can’t say the same for Saturday.

This was the day when Lana never woke up in her bed. The day when the cat was king and Lana was just a party girl with too much alcohol.

But Lana never drank, so why did she stay up so late? She made a habit of coming home on Saturday morning, at 12 pm.

Everything on her looked as glossy as it did last night; the only exception was that her smile was wider.

This was the day when Lana managed to clean the house a bit, maybe cook a little meal for herself and eventually feed the poor cat.

She used to stay indoors, waiting for the next day to come, with its sun and laziness and all the butterflies…

—

“So, do you like it?”

The girl’s height was medium, 1.65 meters at best (and I don’t know what is that in the imperial system), and her hair was a weird color of grey. Her fingers were not long, but her nails were, and they were painted red. A little ring, with a red stone, was sitting on her middle finger. Her skin was white, but not so white, and it looked as if it was smooth.

She was surrounded by two other girls, a freckled redhead in a summer dress and a tall brunette, with shorts. They were examining a piece of paper, each looking at a different page.

“Well, the writing seems to indicate that more than one person wrote this…”

The brunette was holding the first page, as far as I can tell, and she was chewing on her index finger. I always thought she was the brightest one.

“Hmm…”

“What?”

The red head looked up, as if she was scared, and her eyes moved from one girl to the other.

“What?”

Lana was beginning to lose her patience, I could tell that.

“No-no-nothing!”

The little freckled girl was almost about to cry, when the brunette took her under her arm.

“Hey, calm down! Why are you so scared?”

“I thought you were asking me, but since I can’t even read this whole thing properly-“

“Yeah, we know. You don’t have your glasses with you. You never do!”

The brunette and Lana both started laughing, which only made things worse.

“You two are so mean and always have been mean!”

She ran out of the room, throwing her piece of paper on the floor. I stepped out a little, just so she wouldn’t trip.

“So what do you think?” Lana asked.

“Well, I think nothing. I still believe you woke up from some kind of sleep and wrote this and then went to bed and totally forgot about it. This, or maybe you sleep-wrote it. I can’t think of anything else-“

“But that’s so absurd! How can I forget what I do at night?! Do you hear yourself?!”

“Yes, I do. But since I am not Sherlock Holmes or some other detective, I can’t help you with that…”

“But how do you explain different hand writings? And look here – here everything is written with a type writer or a computer at best. How can you explain that? I don’t have a type writer!”

Lana was almost screaming. I could hear the ginger crying silently in the bathroom and I knew it was because she thought they think she’s stupid. Well, she was. But that was not the point.

The brunette looked at Lana with her small, brown eyes.

“Need I remind you that you were the best prankster there is?”

“But this is not a prank! I swear to you!”

“Lana, please. You fooled so many people into thinking ridiculous stuff, that I can’t even remember all of it! And now you come up with THIS?!”

She folded the papers carelessly and threw them in Lana’s face. One of the pieces hit her in the eye and she instantly put her hand around it.

“Oh, you! You shut up! You were always jealous that people used to listen to me and not you! So what you were smarter than me in physics? Nothing you said outside of school ever mattered!”

“Get over yourself! You think you are so important, but you’re not! How come we are the only friends you have? If you are so good and mighty, how come people always end up running away from you?”

“Why didn’t you run away? Huh? Loser!”

The brunette started laughing.

“Yeah, I am a loser. But so are you, and stop pretending you were ever something else!”

“Stop fighting!”

Lana and the brunette turned around in under a second. In the doorway, the red head was all cried out and her clothes were wrinkly.

“I don’t know who wrote this stupid story, I can’t even read it! I am sick of you two fighting and of all the cries and all the stories and the backstabbing! I wish you could just stop doing that!”

The red head was crying and throwing her fists at Lana and the brunette, while both of them were trying to calm her down. And while her fists were hitting them harder and harder, everything started to go black and gloomy and the time seemed to stop, until…

The last punch was, surprisingly, a knife. The red head had, instead of her little hands, some sharp tools, that pierced into Lana’s body and into the brunette’s body. She stabbed and stabbed until her eyes were dry. And after she stabbed and everything stopped, she saw what she was doing, and the fear came rushing down on her.

She looked at Lana’s bloody body and then she looked at the brunette’s bloody body. She looked at her tiny hands, covered in her friends’ blood and she got so scared. She started panicking and ran to the bathroom.

After a few noises, I could tell she locked herself in there. She was still crying and I heard how she was looking through the cabinets, searching for something. She cried for a half an hour or so, and after all that, the crying and the noises stopped.

—

I waited for a few hours, to see if there is still motion in the house. Nothing but the phone, but since no one could answer that, I figured I could step in and look at stuff.

In Lana’s room, the girls were on the floor, bathed in blood. They were still facing each other, even in after life. Their smiles were cruel and their bodies were stiff, as far as I could smell them. In my defense, they smelled pretty bad.

I got out of the window and entered the bathroom, where the red head was, from outside. She was indeed stupid, since she left that window open.

All around her I could see spilled shampoos and shower gels and lotions of all sorts, even alcohol. All the pill cases were empty, so I suppose she ingested them all. Oh, no. There are a few blue ones and a few pink ones on the floor.

I think this is somewhat funny. She was so stupid to drink shampoo, and only after that she could think of trying the pills.

—

Why did I do that?

Why did I write the stupid letter?

Well, it wasn’t a letter. It was an accurate depiction of my life with Lana. I was sick of her and her games, and she never bothered to care about me.

She never fed me or gave me water. She didn’t play with me. I didn’t have a name.

And every morning, when I looked at her, she was staring back at me, looking right through me. As if I never existed.

He was so good to her! He would hold her and love her, and always cook her breakfast. I could hear her how she never loved him. Oh, I wish she knew what I really thought about her! Then she would’ve been so afraid, so scared of what might happen, that she would love him and be the girlfriend he always needed.

I never understood why he gave me to her. She was mean and idiotic at some times, she never deserved him.

But I’m glad he gave me to her, that’s the way I got to have him.

He always petted me and fed me, and he even gave me a name. Grey. That’s what he called me.

Oh, shit! He’s home!

—

“Honey, I’m home!”

“Honey? Lana?”

“Grey? What’s with all the blood on your fur?”

“Lana?”

—

I’m glad I wrote that. Now we can be together…

Sa citesti o carte nasoala…

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Sa citesti o carte nasoala* e rau. Iti face rau, pentru ca o perioada esti tentat sa te scalzi in mediocritatea ei si iti spui „hai bai, daca tot am inceput-o…”. Si tragi de tine s-o citesti, s-o termini, sa afli concluzia finala. Care nu se intampla.

Vii acasa. Obosit, flamand and what-not. Te arunci pe canapea sau pat, stai asa in nemiscare cateva minute si apoi… „Bai, am zis ca citesc!”. Si nu citesti.

Nu citesti, pentru ca e o carte imposibil de placut, plictisitoare si plina de clisee. Si iti zici „ma apuc de alta”. Doar ca nu poti. Constiinta te roade si-ti zice „termina, ma, porcaria aia si apoi te deduci in exclusivitate cui vrei tu”. Si, din spirit de ceva, nu te apuci de alta carte. Nu vrei sa inseli porcaria cu ceva mai bun. Vrei ca ceva-ul ala bun sa aiba parte de atentia ta intreaga.

Si trece timpul, si zilele trec. Te mai plimbi prin locuri, iesi in oras, te duci la serviciu. Si n-ai timp sa termini porcaria. Si nu vrei sa pui mana pe-o carte buna. Si intri intr-o stare de nu ai chef sa faci nimic, si trece timpul, si vina creste. Si eu nu stiu ce sa citesc.

*Porcaria este Shadow of Night, de Deborah Harkness. Nu va recomand. Plina de clisee, de-mi vine sa cred ca Sandra Brown scrie mai bine decat respectabila doamna. Prima carte, A Discovery of Witches, mai era cum mai era, dar asta e…

Muzica

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Muzica e pentru orice. Asa cum in filme avem soundtrack-ul care mentine echilibrul psihologic al personajelor, asa trebuie tratata muzica si in viata reala.

De multe ori aud fraza „I can relate to that!”, auzind o piesa. Uneori sunt eu persoana care o gandeste.

Am muzica pentru plans. Muzica pentru ras. Muzica de dormit. Porn music. Sexy music (which is different). Angry music. Drive-insanely-fast music. Sports music. Muzica de stat. Muzica de facut treaba. Muzica de linger.

Cineva mi-a zis o data ca toata viata mea e un soundtrack. Si da, este. Si am nevoie de sunetele astea, si am nevoie de cuvintele de pe ele, si am nevoie de toata galagia lor, ca s-o acopar pe cea din mine, si pe cea de-afara, si pe cea din lume…

Muzica nu e galagie. E sentiment. Si imi place cand mi se zbarleste pielea. Imi place cand simt ca inima imi bate mai repede si respiratia mi se intretaie, ca dupa o fuga lunga. Iar uneori ma intreb daca fug de mine, atunci cand fug in muzica…

Muzica nu e galagie. Deschide ochi si deschide inimi si, in timp ce ma inchid in mine mai adanc, simt cum ma deschid, mai pura si mai fara pata.

Muzica nu e galagie. E suflet si e putere si, daca nu e putere, ti-o da, ti-o arunca cu totul si te loveste cu ea, fara mila si fara tagada.

Cum as putea sa ignor strigatele din muzica, tacerile lungi si suferintele aprinse? Ma simt atat de atinsa de tot ce e nota, tot ce e cuvant, si-mi place s-o absorb in mine secunda cu secunda, pana ce toata fiinta mea devine sunet. Si stiu ca, orice s-ar intampla, muzica e acolo, perete intre mine si lume, caci lumea mea e departe si lumea mea e sfanta si lumea mea-i curata. Aici nimic nu e negru, e liniste si pace si sunt acasa.

High Priestess du jour

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Daca ma intind,
Ma zvarcolesc,
Ma ratacesc.
Gheara mea-nrosind
Flacari ce mocnesc.
Tot in jurul meu,
Suflet de ateu,
Scuipa-se deasupra,
Sa imi crape crusta.
Rasuflata-n zeu,
Astazi si mereu,
Singura, doar eu
In tine-mi agat fusta.
Intre stalpii mei,
S-au nascut si ei,
Monstri, derbedei,
Suflete de zmei.
Fara cautare,
In lumea cea mare,
S-au pierdut in zare.
Cu ochii blestem
Si de nu ma tem
E pentru ca cern
Tot ce e etern.
Si de nu ma pierd,
E pentru ca sterg
Pe sub talpa huma
Si in suflet ciuma.

Albumul lunii septembrie: The Killers – Battle Born

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Cui ii era dor de The Killers pre-Day & Age? Mie! Pentru toata suflarea indie-wannabe-80s-wannabe-brit-something-wannabe (da, stiu, nu ma pricep la genuri si clasificari, sue me), Battle Born (for some unknown reason, imi vine sa scriu numai Born Again, o sa vedeti de ce) este ceea ce ar fi trebuit sa fie Day & Age.

Pentru cineva care e fan The Killers, Battle Born e ALBUMUL. Poti asculta piesele, fara sa fii sigur carei etape din viata lor le atribui. Poti fi sigur ca s-au maturizat, atat pe plan profesional, cat si pe plan personal. Poti incerca sa regasesti salbaticiunea Las Vegas-ului, asa cum numai Brandon Flowers o poate descrie. Poti invata sa iubesti curvele si betiile si greselile, cum numai Brandon Flowers o face, cu tot sufletul sau mormon si socially awkward. Bine, poate nu e socially awkward, dar mie asa imi pare.

Battle Born e albumul lor de rezistenta, dupa un tumult inregistrat pe mai multe planuri. Creativitatea a fost lasata libera, fara nicio jena fata de povestile siropoase de dragoste si episoadele de rock anthems. Cand spun ca Battle Born e un album bun, nu o spun din prisma unui fan avid de muzica noua (desi e si asta un factor). O persoana care a avut de la inceput cam 80% din fiecare album The Killers constant in playlist e mai mult decat un fan. Cineva care nu poate trai fara sa asculte si povestile din Nevada incepe sa vada si sa simta cu ochii lui Flowers si uneori nu ma pot abtine sa nu cad prada visatului cu eyes wide open, just because.

Venit dupa o pauza de vreo 2 ani, Battle Born e regasirea The Killers-ilor, zvacul lor original si emotiile adolescentine (da, pare o chestiune usoara, dar nu trebuie tratata ca atare), combinat cu o suferinta si o seriozitate aparute in urma cresterii ca persoana. In octombrie 2011, conform Wikipedia, trupa s-a reunit. Dupa momentele initiale, in care totul a fost ciudat, a aparut Runaways. Runaways si Miss Atomic Bomb sunt „the backbone of this album”, dupa cum declara insusi domnul Flowers, si bine zice. Ascultand Runaways pentru prima data, am simtit cum stilul The Killers binecunoscut ma inunda si ma copleseste, asa ca pot sa ii sustin afirmatia.

Albumul debuteaza cu Flesh and Bone, o piesa cu o tenta usor electronica, care la primele note te face sa te intrebi ce cauta pe un album rock. Versurile, usor introspective at first, te deruta si apoi Brandon Flowers face ce stie el mai bine. Un rock anthem exploziv si energic, care deschide calea unui album extraordinar.

Runaways, singlelul ales pentru promovare, e o poveste tragica (as zice eu) de dragoste, in spiritul direct si confuz, in acelasi timp, al lui Brandon. O poveste ciudata de iubire, in care lucrurile merg prost dintr-o graba stupida, dar imi place totusi nota usor pozitiva, speranta ca pana la sfarsitul totul se va indrepta. Instrumentele fac totul in piesa asta si imi place energia ei ciudata.

A treia piesa, The Way It Was, e un ceva ce nu pot descrie. Nu-mi place extraordinar de mult, dar nu-mi displace incat s-o sterg din playlist. E usor seaca, usor banala, iarasi versuri despre Elvis si povesti despre County-ul din care sunt si, dintr-o data, incepe povestea… Refrenul compenseaza pentru starea confuza. Imi place ca e o piesa linistita, o piesa care te face sa vrei sa conduci fara capota pe o sosea, cu soarele ce apune in spatele tau…

Here With Me e prima balada de pe album. Dominata de keyboard si vocea lui Flowers, e o declaratie de dragoste atat de simpla si de directa, incat as putea s-o tin pe repeat si sa ma indragostesc de tine in fiecare zi…

A Matter of Time e efortul combinat al celor 4 membri ai formatiei. Ciudata si energica, impiedicata pe alocuri, cu tente de rock si disco(?) al anilor 80, inca nu m-am hotarat daca imi place sau nu, desi nu o s-o sterg din playlist (imi da uneori senzatia de My List, o alta piesa buna de la The Killers).

A sasea piesa e pur si simplu ciudata. Nu stiu cum s-o descriu si nici nu cred ca am ascultat-o de mai mult de cinci ori. Nu cred ca-mi va placea vreodata, desi cred ca o pastrez pentru ca mi se pare ca are o tenta usor biblica. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Muzical vorbind, Deadlines and Commitments e o piesa simpla, fara hookups sau chestii catchy, fara versuri usoare, imbogatita mult de sintetizatoare (I blame Brandon here too).

Miss Atomic Bomb. The backbone of the album. Se simte atat de mult The Killers in piesa asta, atat muzical, cat si in versuri. Gasesti de toate: the bad girl, sperante, naivitate, deceit, toata buba care suntem noi, oamenii. O sa vrei sa gonesti pe autostrada, sa cresti viteza odata cu tempo-ul piesei, o sa vrei sa dai din picioare, fara sa-ti dai seama. O sa vrei, ca mine, sa o asculti pe un stadion plini de oameni, care-l acopera pe Flowers si care striga si sar mai sus decat el.

Hmm… The Rising Tide. De aproape trei saptamani nu am o explicatie plauzibila pentru piesa asta. Electro. 80s. Tobe. Versuri de la The Killers. Incepe sec si se termina energic. Dar, daca ma intrebi, nu stiu de ce o pastrez in playlist, pentru ca de fiecare data ii dau skip (I use suffle a lot).

Heart of a Girl, a noua piesa de pe album, imi pare un lullaby. Din cate stiu eu, Brandon Flowers e „posesorul” unei fetite, dar daca ma insel, astept corectarile de rigoare. Nu ma atinge prea mult, dar piesa e foarte linistita si reuseste sa transmita mesajul dorit.

From Here On Out e o… „chestie”. Imi place aspectul ei usor jumpy, so 80s (cum ar zice MTV), senzatia de cantec „popular” (de la tara, adica) transformat. Bine, asta e doar ideea mea, dar am senzatia ca Nevada a „suferit” de multe astfel de creatii populare/anonime si li se potriveste tare bine celor de la The Killers.

Be Still e o balada introspectiva, mult prea intensa pentru ce stiu eu ca sunt baladele de la The Killers. E pur si simplu superba, prin compozitia si mesajul ei. Versul meu preferat e: „Life is short to say the least/We’re in the belly of the beast”. PS: pe refren are un usor vibe de George Michael prin anii 80.

Piesa care da titlul albumului. Battle Born. Titlul e ales special pentru ca pe steagul Nevadei sta scris „Battle Born” (Nevada a devenit stat in timpul Razboiului Civil din 1861-1865). Trebuie sa recunosc ca e piesa mea preferata de pe album. Imi place feelingul de concert pe stadion pe care il am cand o ascult. Imi place ca simt cum prind viteza cand ascult „up against the wall”. Imi place energia pe care mi-o insufla. Imi place mesajul sau, de a continua, oricat de greu e drumul. Tobele se impletesc cu chitarile perfect, iar vocea lui Flowers seamana cu a unui copil rasfatat care vrea totul ACUM. E un final atat de bun al albumului, incat il vei mai asculta o data.

Tracklist:

Flesh and Bone (Flowers) – 9

(This could decay)
This could decay
Like the valley below
Defences are down
The stakes are high
(Scouting the crowd for a face of compassion)
The fairytale end
(To face off the journey that fathers no more)
The staggering blow
(You’ll find the truth in the roots of desire)
You lead with your chin
(Thinkin’ with your corners, just a compass and the sun)
This could be real
(Thinkin’ with your corners, just a)
Simple

Runaways (Flowers) – 9

We used to look at the stars and confess our dreams
Hold each other to the morning light
We used to laugh, now we only fight
Baby are you lonesome now?

The Way It Was (Flowers, Keuning, Stoermer, Vannucci and Lanois) – 9

If I go on
With you by my side
Can it be
The way it was
When we met
Did you forget all about those golden nights?

Here with Me (Flowers and Healy) – 9

Don’t want your picture
On my cell phone
I want you here with me
Don’t want your memory
In my head now
I want you here with me

A Matter of Time (Flowers, Keuning, Stoermer, Vannucci) – 8.5

I know you’re weary, look at me
Flailing in the corner
Here’s the towel
Go on, throw it in

It was a matter of time
Can’t you see that it’s tearing me up inside?
Look what’s laying at our feet
That’s the wreckage of broken dreams
And burned out halos
And it’s here on our street

Deadlines and Commitments (Flowers) – 8

If you should fall upon hard times
If you should lose your way
There is a place
Here in this house
That you can stay

Miss Atomic Bomb (Flowers and Vannucci) – 9.5

Miss Atomic Bomb
Making out, we’ve got the radio on
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone

Racing shadows under moonlight
Through the desert on a hot night
And for a second there we’d won
Yeah, we were innocent and young

The Rising Tide (Flowers) – 8

The streets of persuasion
Are plated with gold
Your heart’s in the right place,
But you travel down the wrong road
Like so many before you
The gates open wide
Here come the rising tide (rising tide)

Heart of a Girl (Flowers, Keuning, Stoermer, Vannucci and Lanois) – 8

That night I called her and she said
„Daddy daddy daddy, all my life
I’ve been trying to find my place in the world”
And I said to her
„Baby baby babe, I got all night to listen to the heart of a girl”

From Here On Out (Flowers) – 8.5

Hey, from here from out
Friends are gonna be hard to come by
Left us wonderin’ what it all was about
He had it easy, man he chose the hard way
Walk that old, lonely road in the shadow of a doubt
From here on out

Be Still (Flowers and Lanois) – 9

Be still
Close your eyes
Soon enough you’ll be on your own
Steady and straight
And if they drag you through the mud
It doesn’t change what’s in your blood
(Over chains)
When they knock you down

Battle Born (Flowers, Keuning, Stoermer, Vannucci) – 10

Up against the wall (Up against the wall)
There’s something dying on the street
When they knock you down (Up against the wall)
You’re gonna get back on your feet
Cause you can’t stop now (Cause you can’t stop now)
Did they break your heart? (Did they break your heart?)
And did they cause your soul to mourn
Remember what I said
Boy you was battle born
Cause you can’t stop now (Cause you can’t stop now)

Come on show your face
Come on give us one more spark
So we’ll start a fire
Unless we fall into the dark
And you can’t stop now (No, you can’t stop now)

Albumul, in varianta Deluxe Edition, mai are inca 3 piese. Carry Me Home (Flowers), o electronica-disco-rock anthem care nu inteleg cum de n-a ajuns pe albumul standard. Un remix de la Jacques Lu Cont al piesei Flesh and Bone, destul de bun (spune o persoana careia nu ii plac remixurile). Observ ca nu e prima data cand Jacques Lu Cont remixeaza o piesa de la The Killers si imi place, deci probabil ca face ceva bine. Prize Fighter e o alta declaratie de dragoste, cum numai Flowers stie sa faca. Comparatii peste comparatii si energie si cuvinte simple adresate oamenilor simpli, care exprima doar iubire.

Per total, albumul nu e bun. E foarte bun. Desi la prima vedere, piesele nu se „leaga”, tema e aceeasi. Renasterea. Trupa a renascut. A redevenit ceea ce e a fost, din punct de vedere al stilului. Fanii vechi recunosc asta de la primele acorduri. Fanii noi ar putea fi usor derutati dupa Day & Age. Ne-fanii nu prea ar gusta asa ceva, poate doar ascultatorii de 80s electronica. Tematic vorbind, e despre depasirea obstacolelor. Despre renasterea din cenusa. Tehnic, about being battle born.
Sursa poza.

dialoguri

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– tu esti tot ce puteam sa am mai bun
– nu sunt tot ceea ce puteam sa fiu
– pentru mine esti perfect
– iti fac rau si nu o meriti
– daca simti ca-mi faci rau, opreste-te
– nu vreau sa fiu asa cu tine
– dar cum vrei sa fii?
– nu stiu cum, dar lasa-ma sa fiu
– orice ai face, sa stii ca sunt aici
– nu pot sa cred ca ai atata rabdare
– un singur lucru il vreau de la viata
– care?
– inca n-ai inteles care?