For a while I've been meaning to talk about the Cuban Nueva Trova -a kind of New Song movement a là Bob Dylan. Probably, the first kick of will came from a very curious, intellectually and emotionally rewarding conversation with Claudia and some Italian friends. While talking, we re-discovered with astonishment that there were a bunch of musical movements (one can hardly called them genres), virtually all with the same features (e.g., a mix of local folk music with classic guitar or sophisticated arrangements, poetic lyrics, and ideologically oriented songs), appearing in the world in the late 60s and early 70s. The reasons may vary from country to country. Among the local reasons, in Cuba it is somehow related to the rising of Revolution, and probably, in the US, to the social discontent with the Vietnam war. But actually, it was the state of the world as a whole, the preceding and current History of mankind, the emergence of new progressive ideas (to quote Bob Dylan, the changing times), that put all these singers and songwriters to work inline with each other even not knowing their same-breed cousins all over the world. This sudden surprise about a worldwide movement might seem banal to you, in the internet era. After all, ideas are always emerging and spreading quickly in complicated times, even without the need for technology (e.g., Christianity expanded within a generation or so). But what amazes me is the use of the very same vehicle to express such new ideas. This cocktail of popular music traditions with high literacy in the lyrics and music, made the idea to pass over not only effective but also moving and endearing.
I want to share with you some examples from Cuba, Italy and the US (one from each). (Please Claudia, tell me if you have an example from Portugal.) Since the lyrics hold a big part of the strength of the song, I will translate the Spanish and Italian.
Let us start from a Cuban song, "Fusil contra fusil" composed and interpreted by Silvio Rodríguez in 1967 and dedicated to Che Guevara after his death.
Fusil contra fusil
El silencio del monte va
preparando un adiós.
La palabra que se dirá
in memoriam será,
la explosión.
Se perdió el hombre de este siglo allí,
su nombre y su apellido son:
¡Fusil contra fusil!
Se quebró la cáscara del viento al sur
y sobre la primera cruz
despierta la verdad.
Todo el mundo tercero va
a enterrar su dolor.
Con granizo de plomo harán
su agujero de honor, su canción.
Dejarán el cuerpo de la vida allí,
su nombre y su apellido son:
¡Fusil contra fusil!
Cantarán su luto de hombre y animal
y en vez de lágrimas echar, con plomo llorarán.
Alzarán al hombre de la tumba al sol
y el nombre se repartirán:
¡Fusil contra fusil!
¡Fusil contra fusil!
¡Fusil contra fusil!
Fusil contra fusil (English translation: Rifle agains rifle)
The silence of the mountain
is preparing a farewell.
The word that will be said
in memoriam will be,
The explosion.
The man of this century was lost there,
his name and his surname are:
Rifle vs. rifle!
The shell of the south wind was broken
and on the first cross
awakens the truth.
All the third world goes
to bury his pain.
With lead hail they will made
his honour hole, his song.
They will leave the body of life there,
his name and his surname are:
Rifle vs. rifle!
They will sing their mourning of man and animal
and instead of tears to throw, with lead they will cry.
They will lift the man from the grave to the sun
and the name will be shared:
Rifle vs. rifle!
Rifle vs. rifle!
Rifle vs. rifle!
The second example is Italian. "Il vecchio e il bambino" is composed and interpreted by Francesco Guccini in 1971. (I came to know this song through Federico's father.)
Il vecchio e il bambino
Un vecchio e un bambino si preser per mano
e andarono insieme incontro alla sera;
la polvere rossa si alzava lontano
e il sole brillava di luce non vera...
L' immensa pianura sembrava arrivare
fin dove l'occhio di un uomo poteva guardare
e tutto d' intorno non c'era nessuno:
solo il tetro contorno di torri di fumo...
I due camminavano, il giorno cadeva,
il vecchio parlava e piano piangeva:
con l' anima assente, con gli occhi bagnati,
seguiva il ricordo di miti passati...
I vecchi subiscon le ingiurie degli anni,
non sanno distinguere il vero dai sogni,
i vecchi non sanno, nel loro pensiero,
distinguer nei sogni il falso dal vero...
E il vecchio diceva, guardando lontano:
"Immagina questo coperto di grano,
immagina i frutti e immagina i fiori
e pensa alle voci e pensa ai colori
e in questa pianura, fin dove si perde,
crescevano gli alberi e tutto era verde,
cadeva la pioggia, segnavano i soli
il ritmo dell' uomo e delle stagioni..."
Il bimbo ristette, lo sguardo era triste,
e gli occhi guardavano cose mai viste
e poi disse al vecchio con voce sognante:
"Mi piaccion le fiabe, raccontane altre!"
Il vecchio e il bambino (English translation: the old man and the boy)
An old man and a boy held hands
and went together toward the night;
the red powder was up in the air, far away,
and the sun shined untruth light...
The immense valley seem to extend
as far as the man's eye can look at
and no one was around:
only the dreary shape of smoke towers...
Both were walking, the day was falling,
the old man was speaking and calmly crying:
with the absent soul, with his wet eyes,
he continued remembering past myths...
The old men engage the offences of the years,
they do not distinguish truth from dreams,
the old men don't know, in their mind,
to distinguish, in their dreams, the false from the truth...
And the old man was saying, looking far away:
"Imagine this covered with grain,
imagine the fruits and imagine the flowers,
and think about the voices and think about the colours
And in this valley, up to the horizon,
growing trees and everything green,
the rain fell, the sun marked
the rhythm of man and seasons..."
The boy laughed, his face was sad,
and the eyes were looking at things never seen,
and afterwards he said to the old man with a dreamy voice:
"I like fables, tell me some more!"
The third example is more international. It is a Bob Dylan's song from 1963. (By the way, I came to know this song from Federico.)
Masters of war
Come you masters of war
You that build the big guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly
Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain
You fasten all the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
While the death count gets higher
Then you hide in your mansion
While the young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud
You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins
How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I'm young
You might say I'm unlearned
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you
Even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do
Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead
I want to share with you some examples from Cuba, Italy and the US (one from each). (Please Claudia, tell me if you have an example from Portugal.) Since the lyrics hold a big part of the strength of the song, I will translate the Spanish and Italian.
Let us start from a Cuban song, "Fusil contra fusil" composed and interpreted by Silvio Rodríguez in 1967 and dedicated to Che Guevara after his death.
Fusil contra fusil
El silencio del monte va
preparando un adiós.
La palabra que se dirá
in memoriam será,
la explosión.
Se perdió el hombre de este siglo allí,
su nombre y su apellido son:
¡Fusil contra fusil!
Se quebró la cáscara del viento al sur
y sobre la primera cruz
despierta la verdad.
Todo el mundo tercero va
a enterrar su dolor.
Con granizo de plomo harán
su agujero de honor, su canción.
Dejarán el cuerpo de la vida allí,
su nombre y su apellido son:
¡Fusil contra fusil!
Cantarán su luto de hombre y animal
y en vez de lágrimas echar, con plomo llorarán.
Alzarán al hombre de la tumba al sol
y el nombre se repartirán:
¡Fusil contra fusil!
¡Fusil contra fusil!
¡Fusil contra fusil!
Fusil contra fusil (English translation: Rifle agains rifle)
The silence of the mountain
is preparing a farewell.
The word that will be said
in memoriam will be,
The explosion.
The man of this century was lost there,
his name and his surname are:
Rifle vs. rifle!
The shell of the south wind was broken
and on the first cross
awakens the truth.
All the third world goes
to bury his pain.
With lead hail they will made
his honour hole, his song.
They will leave the body of life there,
his name and his surname are:
Rifle vs. rifle!
They will sing their mourning of man and animal
and instead of tears to throw, with lead they will cry.
They will lift the man from the grave to the sun
and the name will be shared:
Rifle vs. rifle!
Rifle vs. rifle!
Rifle vs. rifle!
The second example is Italian. "Il vecchio e il bambino" is composed and interpreted by Francesco Guccini in 1971. (I came to know this song through Federico's father.)
Il vecchio e il bambino
Un vecchio e un bambino si preser per mano
e andarono insieme incontro alla sera;
la polvere rossa si alzava lontano
e il sole brillava di luce non vera...
L' immensa pianura sembrava arrivare
fin dove l'occhio di un uomo poteva guardare
e tutto d' intorno non c'era nessuno:
solo il tetro contorno di torri di fumo...
I due camminavano, il giorno cadeva,
il vecchio parlava e piano piangeva:
con l' anima assente, con gli occhi bagnati,
seguiva il ricordo di miti passati...
I vecchi subiscon le ingiurie degli anni,
non sanno distinguere il vero dai sogni,
i vecchi non sanno, nel loro pensiero,
distinguer nei sogni il falso dal vero...
E il vecchio diceva, guardando lontano:
"Immagina questo coperto di grano,
immagina i frutti e immagina i fiori
e pensa alle voci e pensa ai colori
e in questa pianura, fin dove si perde,
crescevano gli alberi e tutto era verde,
cadeva la pioggia, segnavano i soli
il ritmo dell' uomo e delle stagioni..."
Il bimbo ristette, lo sguardo era triste,
e gli occhi guardavano cose mai viste
e poi disse al vecchio con voce sognante:
"Mi piaccion le fiabe, raccontane altre!"
Il vecchio e il bambino (English translation: the old man and the boy)
An old man and a boy held hands
and went together toward the night;
the red powder was up in the air, far away,
and the sun shined untruth light...
The immense valley seem to extend
as far as the man's eye can look at
and no one was around:
only the dreary shape of smoke towers...
Both were walking, the day was falling,
the old man was speaking and calmly crying:
with the absent soul, with his wet eyes,
he continued remembering past myths...
The old men engage the offences of the years,
they do not distinguish truth from dreams,
the old men don't know, in their mind,
to distinguish, in their dreams, the false from the truth...
And the old man was saying, looking far away:
"Imagine this covered with grain,
imagine the fruits and imagine the flowers,
and think about the voices and think about the colours
And in this valley, up to the horizon,
growing trees and everything green,
the rain fell, the sun marked
the rhythm of man and seasons..."
The boy laughed, his face was sad,
and the eyes were looking at things never seen,
and afterwards he said to the old man with a dreamy voice:
"I like fables, tell me some more!"
The third example is more international. It is a Bob Dylan's song from 1963. (By the way, I came to know this song from Federico.)
Masters of war
Come you masters of war
You that build the big guns
You that build the death planes
You that build all the bombs
You that hide behind walls
You that hide behind desks
I just want you to know
I can see through your masks
You that never done nothin'
But build to destroy
You play with my world
Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand
And you hide from my eyes
And you turn and run farther
When the fast bullets fly
Like Judas of old
You lie and deceive
A world war can be won
You want me to believe
But I see through your eyes
And I see through your brain
Like I see through the water
That runs down my drain
You fasten all the triggers
For the others to fire
Then you set back and watch
While the death count gets higher
Then you hide in your mansion
While the young people's blood
Flows out of their bodies
And is buried in the mud
You've thrown the worst fear
That can ever be hurled
Fear to bring children
Into the world
For threatening my baby
Unborn and unnamed
You ain't worth the blood
That runs in your veins
How much do I know
To talk out of turn
You might say that I'm young
You might say I'm unlearned
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you
Even Jesus would never
Forgive what you do
Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul
And I hope that you die
And your death'll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I'll watch while you're lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I'll stand o'er your grave
'Til I'm sure that you're dead
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