:: m u m i n h a ::

Olha só o que já caiu na rede
(apesar do lançamento estar marcado só pra Agosto):

O terceiro disco da inglesinha herdeira da PJ Harvey e da Patti Smith era um dos álbuns q eu tava esperando mais ansiosamente neste ano, até pra ver se finalmente o mundo vai finalmente fazer justiça à Carina Round, menina de um talento tão grande que não dá pra entender porquê ela ainda vive no quase completo anonimato até hoje. "Slow Motion Addict", o sucessor do excelente "The Disconnection" (um dos grandes discos de uma cantora/compositora nesta década), chegou bem diferente do que eu esperava: mais barulhento, visceral e nervoso do que seria de se esperar duma mina que parecia estar cada vez se movendo mais pro terreno da melancolia mórbida e das poesias declamadas. Surpresa: o novo som da Carina Round, por vezes, soa quase riot-girl, como na excelente e irônica-até-não-poder-mais "Take The Money" (que tem tudo pra ser o primeiro hit da carreira da Carina). O novo disco não se centra mais naquelas baladonas ultra-melancólicas do "The Disconnection", que soavam como um Portishead sem eletrônica ou um Jeff Buckley com vocais femininos: a Carina Round parece ter abraçado de vez o rock and roll de garagem; perdeu o medo da barulheira e da gritaria e agora faz músicas bem ao estilo da fodíssima "Into My Blood", do disco anterior. "Slow Motion Addict", mais radio friendly que os dois discos anteriores, pode acabar sendo o primeiro dos sucessos comerciais da carreira da moça - e ela merece. Poetisa de primeira linha, artista original e corajosa, cheia de energia e intensidade emocional, Carina Round é tudo o que uma garota rock and roll deveria ser. E vai ser sexy assim no inferno...

* * * * *

We live in the age of the short attention span - where vacuousness is a virtue, where time to stop and think isn't really found and where everything goes in one ear and out the other. But if you are still reading this, it suggests you may still be looking for someone or something more substantial and rewarding than the hoards of tight-troused retro-rockers or gay-for-pay gimmick peddlers of present day pop. Carina Round may not have the kind of slacks that court infertility and she probably won't share a snog with another girl if it gets her video played on MTV (although we can hope) but when regarding the essence of her music, there are few more arresting and striking sounds available to the human ear. I wanna make people feel something, explains Carina on her personal motivation. The music that I listen to most is the kind that reflects something that I feel. After all, isn't that why we all listen to music? To be excited and to be thrown into upheavel?

...the display of naked emotion through a rough and raw sound drew rave reviews from the more clued-up areas of the music press who saw shades of P J Harvey, Kristin Hersh and Patti Smith in the albums autobiographical energy. I've always been influenced by sentiment rather than style, continues Carina. So I think I have taken more from Charles Bukowski, Dorothy Parker, Tom Waits and Bjork. The way they articulate ideas and emotions is more important then their respective styles. (de uma matéria de Johnny Loftus.)

* * * * *

I'm thinking of a man I once knew, I thought I had the hang of
He never learnt that the heart is perishable without love...
But keep your heart out of it now, concentrate your vision!
I'm lying here like a forfeit awaiting your incision...
I don't wanna hear about it, your new infatuation!
I just wanna leave here wearing a smile...

I can think of a good few reasons to get fucked up but
You're just looking for an excuse to call yourself a fuck up
Look at her without the burden of what it is that you live for
She'll still be here when your carnival is over
She'll still be here when you are gone

* * * * *

Elegy

Something ripped me open
From my little death woken
Fading rhythm of lifeline
Is music for a dead child

I'm skirting the rim, skirting the rim of reality...
Skirting the rim - Love don't pull me in

Somehow everything is broken
Hours past and never replayed
I see the sickness of a love that
Though it breathes, can never be made

There are cracks where the white light burns through
It seems I see everything but the truth
Once more to that sacred place
The dream that sucks me under

* * * * *

I know broken bones don't come close to the pain of hidden truth...

* * * * *

Agora a Melhor Foto de Capa de Todos os Tempos:
(ALERTA: antes de olhar, coloca o babador!)