Musica country de la america profunda

Azote de ilusos(Lisboeta) escribió:

Aquí en Hispa hay un buen intérprete del bluegrass que es sureño (pero de Sevilla), Raúl Cabezalí.

Gracias por la mención, pero yo soy un matao.

Para Bluegrass auténtico hispano, mi colega Ramón Ramos y sus bandas (Blue Mountain, Surrounders), el asturiano Angel Ruiz - (premio a Mejor Canción Internacional hace unos años por la IBMA) y nuestro más internacional Lluis Gómez, de Barcelona. Lluis está en el circuito de bluegrass internacional en Europa y EEUU, como intérprete y como docente, codo con codo con todas las leyendas pasadas y actuales del género. Nivelazo estratosférico.

Por cierto, un servidor huye como de la peste de bandas, ya sean patrias o de EEUU, ataviadas con pantalones de peto, sombreritos de camboi, camisas de cuadros y pinta desaliñada. Me parece que van disfrazados. Los bluegrasseros de verdad van vestidos como las personas normales que son.

Todo eso seguramente es bastante aproximado, pero tú, maestro Cabezalí, tienes la gracia que os queda a los sevillanos sosos (vamos, gente seria que no se acomoda al chiste tópico) , que es inmensa comparada con la de otros.
Imensamente agradecidos (al menos unos cuantos) por regentar esa parte de maravilla.

Bobitodéforo ConTOC escribió:

En vez de country a secas busca listas de reproducción de bluegrass, hillbilly, death country, alternative country, punk cow, punk folk, etc... y encontrarás joyitas nada lilas.

gracias por la aclaracion, supongo que hay estaba mi error.

tal vez debiera haber titulado el tema "musica folk estadounidense". y siguiendo con mi ignorancia ¿no se podria considerar el country como una
simplificacion o dulcificacion de los estilos aqui expuestos, como el bluegrass?, algo asi como la simplificacion del rock a la que llamamos pop.

por cierto, he disfrutado con los temas aqui colgados. muy agradecido.

De folk norteamericano sólo tengo este disco. No es una música que me entretenga, pero este disco me encanta.

Outlaw Country: Subgénero definido a grandes rasgos por su carácter más visceral, abrasivo e independiente surgido en los 70's como reacción frente al predominante sonido "lila" del country de Nashville, más comercial y cercano al pop.

Hank Williams III



The Rebel Whitin

Well the bottles getting lower again my friend
And hard times are trying it's best to get in
The bottles getting lower again my friend
So do yourself a shot and lets start to sin

The bottles getting lower again my friend
And do yourself a shot and lets start to win
The bottles getting lower again my friend
So lets light up a smoke and live hard till the end

And i'm doing right and you can do me wrong
Look out darling cause you know i'm cock strong
You can do me right and i'll do you wrong
Look out darling cause i'm showing you the rebel within

I'm drunk, again
You're stoned, again
Let's fuck, again
Till dawn, again
(x2)

The more i try to keep on headin down, it makes me feel like i've lost everything i've owned
maybe it was all the hell i raised, or that fifth of whiskey that I drank for days
Was it cause I don't fit in, or maybe it was cause I had the devil as a friend
Now I know I never made momma proud, lets light up a smoke and we'll shoot it down

I'm drunk, again
You're stoned, again
Let's fuck, again
Till dawn, again

I'm drunk, again
You're stoned, again
Let's fuck, I'm showing you the rebel within

The more I try to do right, it just seems wrong
I guess that's the curse of livin' out my songs
Born of bad blood since day number one
Hell I was born soft? and a loaded gun
The life I live has always been fast as can be
And i never let the hard times make me weak

the bottles gettin' lower again my friend again
so lets light up a smoke and live hard to the end
And i'm doing right while you're doing wrong
Look out darlin' cause you know i'm c*ck strong
You can do me right and i'll do you wrong
Look out darlin' cause i'm showing you the rebel within

I'm drunk, again
You're stoned, again
Let's fuck, again
Till dawn, again
(x4)

The rebel within (i'm showing you), the rebel within (BIS)

Johny Cash: Folsom Prison Blues



I hear the train a comin'
It's rollin' 'round the bend
And I ain't seen the sunshine
Since, I don't know when
I'm stuck in Folsom Prison
And time keeps draggin' on
But that train keeps a-rollin'
On down to San Antone

When I was just a baby
My Mama told me, "son
Always be a good boy
Don't ever play with guns"
But I shot a man in Reno
Just to watch him die
When I hear that whistle blowin'
I hang my head and cry

I bet there's rich folks eatin'
In a fancy dinin' car
They're probably drinkin' coffee
And smokin' big cigars
Well, I know I had it comin'
I know I can't be free
But those people keep a-movin'
And that's what tortures me

Well, if they freed me from this prison
If that railroad train was mine
I bet I'd move it on a little
Farther down the line
Far from Folsom Prison
That's where I want to stay
And I'd let that lonesome whistle
Blow my blues away

Kriss Kristofferson. Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down (aka La balada de la resaca)



Well I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head
That didn't hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't
Bad so I had one more for dessert

Then I fumbled through my closet
For my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
And I shaved my face
And combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs
To meet the day

I'd smoked my brain the night before
With cigarettes and songs
That I've been pickin'
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Cussin' at a can that he was kickin

Then I crossed the empty street and
Caught the sunday smell
Of someone fryin chicken
And it took me back to something
That I'd lost somehow
Somewhere along the way

On the sunday morning sidewalk
Wishing lord that I was stoned
Cause there's something in a sunday
That makes a body feel alone
And there's nothing short of dying
Half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleeping city sidewalk
Sunday morning coming down

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl
He was swingin
And I stopped beside the Sunday school
And listened to the song
That they were singing

Then I headed back for home
And somewhere far away
A lonely bell was ringing
And it echoed thru the canyon like
The disappearing dreams of yesterday

On the sunday morning sidewalk
Wishing lord that I was stoned
Cause therels something in a sunday
That makes a body feel alone
And there's nothing short of dying
Half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleeping city sidewalk
Sunday morning coming down

Willie Nelson. Me and Paul.



It's been rough and rocky traveling
But I'm finally standing upright on the ground
After taking several readings
I'm surprised to find my mind's still fairly sound

I guess Nashville was the roughest
But I know I've said the same about them all
We received our education
In the cities of the nation, me and Paul

Almost busted in Laredo
But for reasons that I'd rather not disclose
But if you're staying in a motel there and leave
Just don't leave nothing in your clothes

And at the airport in Milwaukee
They refused to let us board the plane at all
They said we looked suspicious
But I believe they like to pick on me and Paul

It's been rough and rocky traveling
But I'm finally standing upright on the ground
After taking several readings
I'm surprised to find my mind's still fairly sound

guess Nashville was the roughest
But I know I've said the same about them all
We received our education
In the cities of the nation, me and Paul

On a package show in Buffalo
With us and Kitty Wells and Charlie Pride
The show was long and we're just sitting there
And we'd come to play and not just for the ride

Well, we drank a lot of whiskey
So I don't know if we went on that night at all
But I don't think they even missed us
I guess Buffalo ain't geared for me and Paul

It's been rough and rocky traveling
But I'm finally standing upright on the ground
After taking several readings
I'm surprised to find my mind's still fairly sound

I guess Nashville was the roughest
But I know I've said the same about them all
We received our education
In the cities of the nation, me and Paul

Townes Van Zandt. Pancho and Lefty.



Living on the road my friend
Was gonna keep you free and clean
Now you wear your skin like iron
Your breath's as hard as kerosene
You weren't your mama's only boy
But her favorite one it seems
She began to cry when you said goodbye
And sank into your dreams

Pancho was a bandit boys
His horse was fast as polished steel
Wore his gun outside his pants
For all the honest world to feel
Pancho met his match you know
On the deserts down in Mexico
Nobody heard his dying words
That's the way it goes

All the federales say
They could have had him any day
They only let him hang around
Out of kindness I suppose

Lefty he can't sing the blues
All night long like he used to
The dust that Pancho bit down south
Ended up in Lefty's mouth
The day they laid poor Pancho low
Lefty split for Ohio
Where he got the bread to go
There ain't nobody knows

All the federales say
They could have had him any day
They only let him slip away
Out of kindness I suppose

The poets tell how Pancho fell
Lefty's livin' in a cheap hotel
The desert's quiet and Cleveland's cold
So the story ends we're told
Pancho needs your prayers it's true,
But save a few for Lefty too
He just did what he had to do
Now he's growing old

A few gray federales say
They could have had him any day
They only let him go so wrong
Out of kindness I suppose

Billy Joe Shaver. I Been to Georgia on a Fast Train.



On a rainy, windy morning that's the day that I was born on
In the old sharecroppers one room country shack
They say my mammy left me, same day that she had me
Said she hit the road and never once looked back

And I just thought I'd mention, my Grandma's old age pension
Is the reason why I'm standing here today
I got all my country learning, living and a churning
Pickin' cotton, rasin' hell, and bailin' hay

I've been to Georgia on a fast train honey
I wudn't born no yestday
Got a good Christian raisin' and an eighth grade education
Ain't no need in y'all a treatin' me this way

And now sweet Caroline, I don't guess I'll ever find
Another woman put together like you all
With your wiggle and your walkin', and your big city talkin'
Your brand new shiny Plymouth rag-top car

Yeah it's hurry up and wait, in this world of give and take
Seems like haste makes for waste every time
And I pray to my soul, when you hear those ages roll
You better know I'm gonna get my share of mine

I've been to Georgia on a fast train honey
I wudn't born no yestday
Got a good Christian raisin' and an eighth grade education
Ain't no need in y'all a treatin' me this way

I've been to Georgia on a fast train honey
I wudn't born no yestday
Got a good Christian raisin' and an eighth grade education
Ain't no need in y'all a treatin' me this way

Ain't no need in y'all a treatin' me this way

Gary P. Nunn. London Homesick Blues (Home With the Armadillo).



Well when you're down on your luck
And you ain't got a buck
In London you're a goner
Even London Bridge has fallen down
And moved to Arizona
Now I know why
And I'll substantiate the rumor
That the English sense of humor
Is drier than the Texas sand
You can put up your dukes or you can bet your boots
But I'm leavin' just as fast as I can

I want to go home with the armadillo
Good country music from Amarillo and Abilene
The friendliest people and the prettiest women
You've ever seen

Well it's cold over here Lord I swear
I wish they'd turn the heat on
And where in the world is that English girl
I promised I would meet on the third floor
And of the whole damn lot the only friend I got
Is a smoke and a cheap guitar
My mind keeps rollin' and my heart keeps longing
To be home in Texas bar

I want to go home with the armadillo
Good country music from Amarillo and Abilene
The friendliest people and the prettiest women
You've ever seen

Well I decided that I'd get my cowboy hat
And go down to Marble Arch Station
Cause when a Texas fancies he'll take his chances
You know chances will be taken that's for sure
And them Limey eyes they were eyin' the prize
Some people call manly footwear
And they said you're from down south
And when you open your mouth
You always seem to put yout foot there

I want to go home with the armadillo
Good country music from Amarillo and Abilene
The friendliest people and the prettiest women
You've ever seen

Raul Cabezali escribió:

Por cierto, un servidor huye como de la peste de bandas, ya sean patrias o de EEUU, ataviadas con pantalones de peto, sombreritos de camboi, camisas de cuadros y pinta desaliñada. Me parece que van disfrazados. Los bluegrasseros de verdad van vestidos como las personas normales que son.

Como en todo lo que rodea aquel pedazo nación hay mucho estereotipo y tópico, es cierto, y fuera del pais parece que se potencia. Pero es un pais muy grande y diverso.
A mi como vistan me trae sin cuidado, más bien me importa como suenan

Estos sin peto:



Por otro lado, con lo de "américa profunda" y "lila" la mayoría hemos tirado al Hillbilly, bluegrass etc. Pero hay country que no es nada de eso y de lila (pobre color de flor, no tiene culpa) no tiene un pelo, como acreditan el bueno de Johnny Cash y compañía.

Guitarristas

Algunos de los omnipresentes en las grandes reunión del blue grass son intérpretes señalados en el country

Albert Lee:



Aquí le vemos con Jerry Douglas o Earl Scrugds u otros muy señalados del blue grass en el clásico Foggy Mountain

Es sumamente raro ver una batería en una banda de blue grass; pero se ven en estas reuniones.



Vince Hill es otro que no falta a casi ninguna:

Más al country:



O más al blue grass:

Tony rice:




Del McCoury, aquí con la plana mayo del Blue Grass: