24 déc. 2015

Xmas Guitar

Si vous aimez la guitare rock, en voici vingt minutes au plus haut niveau.
Dire Straits, on ne présente pas. Sultans of Swing à un train d'enfer, c'est le cadeau de Noël de Steppique Express.

You get a shiver in the dark
It's a raining in the park but meantime
South of the river you stop and you hold everything
A band is blowing Dixie, double four time
You feel alright when you hear the music ring
Well now you step inside but you don't see too many faces
Coming in out of the rain they hear the jazz go down
Competition in other places
Uh but the horns they blowin' that sound, blowin' that sound
Way on downsouth
Way on downsouth
London town
Check out guitar George, he knows all the chords
Mind he's strictly rhythm he doesn't want to make them cry or sing
They said an old guitar is all he can afford

When he gets up under the lights to play his thing

And Harry doesn't mind if he doesn't make the scene
He's got a daytime job, he's doing alright
He can play the honky tonk like anything
Savin' it up, for Friday night
With the Sultans
We're the Sultans of Swing
Then a crowd a young boys they're a foolin' around in the corner
Drunk and dressed in their best brown baggies and their platform soles
They don't give a damn about any trumpet playin' band
It ain't what they call rock and roll
Then the Sultans
Yeah the Sultans they play creole, creole

And then the man he steps right up to the microphone
And says at last just as the time bell rings
Goodnight, now it's time to go home
And he makes it fast with one more thing

We are the Sultans
We are the Sultans of Swing

Songwriter: Mark Knopfler ©Universal

Encore un Knopfler mais avec de la bouteille en compagnie d'Eric Clapton (un 'ti coup de vieux) et Phil Collins. On comprend pourquoi certains chez nous ont percé, d'autres moins. Je vous fais grâce des paroles, elles n'apportent rien de plus.
Enjoy, c'est du lourd :

Un dernier Knopfler pour la route des rêves, la main droite n'a pas changé. Brothers in arms, une façon de penser ce soir à nos gars partis loin au rempart de la civilisation chauffée au gaz :

These mist covered mountains
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be
Some day you'll return to me
Your valleys and your farms
And you'll no longer burn
To be brothers in arms

Through these fields of destruction
Baptisms of fire
I've witnessed all your suffering
As the battle raged higher
And though they did hurt me so bad
In the fear and alarm
You did not desert me
My brothers in arms

There's so many different worlds
So many different suns
And we have just one world
But we live in different ones

Now the sun's gone to hell
And the moon's riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it's written in the starlight
And every line on your palm
We're fools to make war
On our brothers in arms

A la bonne vôtre ! Y a pas mieux !

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