Print

Print


Sarah Brightman is secondrate / puny compared with eg

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MsOZ-lLY_tU

(nice song; shame about the video......)

On 3 November 2011 19:02, Chokh Raj <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

>   "Memory!
>  You have the key,
>  The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
>  Mount. "
>
>  Cheers,
>    CR
>
>   *From:* Chokh Raj <[log in to unmask]>
> *To:* [log in to unmask]
> *Sent:* Wednesday, November 2, 2011 8:30 PM
>
> *Subject:* Re: [lbo-talk] rhapsody on a windy night/memories
>
>   I listened to a few versions but I liked this one the most:
>
> Barbra Streisand - HD STEREO - Memory - CC for lyrics
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78Ruh0ewBVo&feature=related
>
> CR
>
>  *From:* Chokh Raj <[log in to unmask]>
> *To:* [log in to unmask]
> *Sent:* Wednesday, November 2, 2011 8:11 PM
> *Subject:* Re: [lbo-talk] rhapsody on a windy night/memories
>
>   ARTIST: Andrew Lloyd Webber, Trevor Nunn and T. S. Eliot
> TITLE: Memory
> Lyrics and Chords
>
> http://www.guntheranderson.com/v/data/memory.htm
>
> CR
>
>  *From:* Carrol Cox <[log in to unmask]>
> *To:* [log in to unmask]
> *Sent:* Wednesday, November 2, 2011 7:25 PM
> *Subject:* FW: [lbo-talk] rhapsody on a windy night/memories
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: [log in to unmask] [mailto:[log in to unmask]]
> On Behalf Of MICHAEL YATES
> Sent: Wednesday, November 02, 2011 6:16 PM
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: [lbo-talk] rhapsody on a windy night/memories
>
>
> I recently referred to a dustup on a facebook page devoted to people who
> grew up in my hometown during the 1950s and 1960s. Members reacted angrily
> when I simply asked what they thought about OWS. They said that the site
> was
> only for memories of the past. One person said that she wanted and needed
> only warm and fuzzy memories. I have been thinking about this. I am a sap
> for pretty (and sometimes sappy) tunes, and I like the song Memory from
> Cats. I enjoy the version sung by Sarah Brightman, who was married to
> Andrew
> Llloyd Webber. Memory is the only song in the musical that doesn't come
> mainly from T.S. Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. It was
> written
> by Trevor Nunn, the musical's director. It is based in part on Eliot's
> poem,
> Rhapsody on a Windy Night. This is a great poem. It doesn't invoke warm and
> fuzzy feelings, but it makes Webber seem like he would be a good candidate
> for that facebook group!
>
>
>
>
>
> TWELVE o'clock.
> Along the reaches of the street
> Held in a lunar synthesis,
> Whispering lunar incantations
> Dissolve the floors of memory
> And all its clear relations
> Its divisions and precisions,
> Every street lamp that I pass
> Beats like a fatalistic drum,
> And through the spaces of the dark
> Midnight shakes the memory
> As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
>
>
> Half-past one,
> The street lamp sputtered,
> The street lamp muttered,
> The street lamp said, "Regard that woman
> Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door
> Which opens on her like a grin.
> You see the border of her dress
> Is torn and stained with sand,
> And you see the corner of her eye
> Twists like a crooked pin."
> The memory throws up high and dry
> A crowd of twisted things;
> A twisted branch upon the beach
> Eaten smooth, and polished
> As if the world gave up
> The secret of its skeleton,
> Stiff and white.
> A broken spring in a factory yard,
> Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
> Hard and curled and ready to snap.
>
>
> Half-past two,
> The street-lamp said,
> "Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
> Slips out its tongue
> And devours a morsel of rancid butter."
> So the hand of the child, automatic,
> Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
> I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
> I have seen eyes in the street
> Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
> And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
> An old crab with barnacles on his back,
> Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.
>
>
> Half-past three,
> The lamp sputtered,
> The lamp muttered in the dark.
> The lamp hummed:
> "Regard the moon,
> La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
> She winks a feeble eye,
> She smiles into corners.
> She smooths the hair of the grass.
> The moon has lost her memory.
> A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
> Her hand twists a paper rose,
> That smells of dust and old Cologne,
> She is alone
> With all the old nocturnal smells
> That cross and cross across her brain.
> The reminiscence comes
> Of sunless dry geraniums
> And dust in crevices,
> Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
> And female smells in shuttered rooms,
> And cigarettes in corridors
> And cocktail smells in bars."
>
>
> The lamp said,
> "Four o'clock,
> Here is the number on the door.
> Memory!
> You have the key,
> The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
> Mount.
> The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
> Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life."
>
>
> The last twist of the knife.
>
>
>
>
>
> ___________________________________
> http://mailman.lbo-talk.org/mailman/listinfo/lbo-talk
>
>
>
>
>
>
>