“Is This the Life We Really Want?” by Roger Waters

Проблемите на днешния свят – тероризмът, ядрените оръжия на Северна Корея, войните в Близкия изток, бежанската вълна в Европа – живо занимават ROGER WATERS, бившият певец и бас китарист на Pink Floyd. Верен на себе си и принципите, които изповядва, той по типичния си безкомпромисен начин, така както го помним от албумите “Animals”, „The Wall” и “The Final Cut”, ги представя в дългоочаквания си нов албум.“IS THIS THE LIFE WE REALLY WANT” (ТОВА ЛИ Е ЖИВОТЪТ, КОЙТО НАИСТИНА ИСКАМЕ?), издаден на 2 юни тази година, 25 години след неговия студиен предшественик “Amused to Death”, представя необичаен поглед към тези проблеми и е истински \"вик от сърцето \".

ROGER споделя в интервю:

„Всичко започна с песента „Déjà Vu“ през 2010 г., която показах на продуцента NIGEL GODRICH (Radiohead, Paul McCartney, Beck, U2, \"From the Basement \"). Написах тази песен и по-късно тя се разви в дълго радио предаване с много други песни, които му пуснах. Той се вслуша и каза: \"Това е наистина интересно, но не мисля, че става за дългосвиреща плоча. \" А аз му отвърнах: \"Не става, прав си, това е радио предаване, но искаш ли да направим албум? - Да. – И ето така NIGEL се включи.

Работихме основно в Лос Анжелис, но едноименното парче „ТОВА ЛИ Е ЖИВОТЪТ, КОЙТО НАИСТИНА ИСКАМЕ“ е още от 2008 година, тогава написах стиховете, и беше в отговор на надеждата ни, че лошите времена от управлението на George W. Bush са вече минало. Имахме големи очаквания за Barack Obama. Вероятно беше смислен човек, но когато взе властта, реши, че програмата с дронове е наистина добра идея. Той направи списък с убийства и реши, че убийството на хора ще реши проблемите. Ясно е, че не е така. \"Да, да, ще отрежем главата на ламята! \" Но тогава ще получите още 50 нови! И броят на хората, които трябва да убивате, ще се увеличава, ще расте и расте, така че това бе началото на вечна война.

Ето защо има бежанци. Тези политики унищожават местата, където живеят хората и те трябва да напуснат. Днес не можеш да живееш в Сирия или в по-голямата част от нея. Всички сме виждали снимките от там, това са развалини. И тези хора, които не са номади, те са лекари и хора с професии. Но когато пристигнат в лагера на бежанците на границата ви, това изглежда сякаш няма значение. Всички те са човешки същества и ние имаме абсолютната отговорност да се грижим за тях и да им дадем убежище. Те затова са бежанци, защото се нуждаят от убежище. А сега всичко стана много сложно.

Всъщност започнах да пиша песните от този албум по време на турнето с „The Wall“ през 2010-2013 г., и когато имах свободно време в хотелските стаи, грабвах китарата и така се появиха няколко идеи. Написах най-напред \"DEJA VU \", както вече споменах. Предполагам, че идва момент, когато, ако критикувате или сте разстроен от някои от начините, по които се организира нашето общество, които причиняват болка и мизерия на много от хората – тогава бихте могли да си зададете въпроса: \"Е, ако имах някаква власт, какво бих могъл да направя?“
Има нещо странно пророческо в „Матрицата“ на братя Wachowski. Властите вече могат да имат RoboCop. Ако искаха да го направят, биха могли, включително с модули, с които биха могли да разпознават лицевите черти. Или може да го пуснат да се скита на улицата и да реши да ви убие в зависимост от това, как сте облечени. Знам, че звучи глупаво, но тази идея за целенасочено убийство е много странна. Ужасно е. Това наистина е ужасно, защото са решили да унищожат демократичен процес на 800 години. „Спомняте си Магна Карта? Haebus Corpus, член 39? Е, решихме да го премахнем. Ако мислим, че трябва да умреш, просто ще те убием. Това звучи ли ви като добра идея? Да! Страхотна идея, да го направим!“

Сега всички говорят за фалшивите новини. Някой се присмива, но това е много реален проблем. Изглежда, че живеем все повече и повече в свят, в който пропагандата е изключително важна и вече няма начин как да се разграничи каква може да е истинността на каквото и да е. Вярата стана много по-важна от факта. \"Вярвам, че това е вярно – и затова е вярно. Мога да кажа каквото си поискам и то ще бъде вярно \". Походът на науката от края на Тъмните векове през Просвещението ни доведе до една точка, в която може да кажем: \"О, добре, сега знаем, че Земята не е плоска, и сега ние знаем това, и знаем онова. Сега разполагаме с цялата тази информация, носим я в ръцете си с мобилните устройства. Можем да седнем около масата и да планираме бъдещето си“. Но изглежда много трудно за тази гледна точка да намерите почва.

Умните хора в нашето общество си кротуват в академиите. Те имат доста мъдри неща да кажат и много от тях знаят как обществото да стане по-добро – как да го направим по-егалитарно, как да го направим по-справедливо, как да ни дава повече радост, защото имаме право да помагаме на хората. Но тези учени са изтласкани на тихи места, защото са неудобни. Техните истини са неудобни. Същото стана с Al Gore, който направи този филм, „An Inconvenient Truth“ („Неудобната истина“), за климатичните промени. Подобна е ситуацията в наши дни и със Scott Pruitt от Агенцията за опазване на околната среда, защото истините, които говори, са неудобни. Това може да се дължи отчасти и на законите. Нима не е вярно, че в корпоративното право на САЩ единствената отговорност е към акционерите с цел максимално постигане на крайната цел? Там липсва текст за социалната отговорност към обществото като цяло. Затова умните хора не ги канят да седнат на масата, защото ще кажат: \"Ние трябва да променим този закон, той не е в полза на обществото като цяло. \" Но щом започнете да говорите за това, което би могло да бъде от полза за обществото като цяло, се надават истерични крясъци: „Ти говориш за социализъм, искаш всички да умрем!

Става дума за съчувствието. Аз самият преди години започнах да правя музика не от съчувствие към хората, а защото исках да печеля пари и да се оправям. Тъжно е обаче да се гледа мизерията по света, защото е напълно естествено човешките същества да извличат голяма радост, удовлетворение и удоволствие да помагат на други хора. Нашето общество обаче не насърчава помощта към други хора, то отрича на членовете на обществото радостта от даването. Като цяло човекът, който спира за да помогне на някого, например добрият самарянин, който остава и казва: \"Не, аз ще помогна на този човек \" – това го води до много по-радостен живот, отколкото човек, който преминава на другата страна на улицата и отива да види кога може да получи частния си самолет или каквото и да е. Така че, ако човек може да играе макар и малка роля в насърчаването на хората да обръщат внимание на изпадналите в беда, това ще е добро начало, поне засега“ – завършва ROGER WATERS.

Албума “IS THIS THE LIFE WE REALLY WANT” или „ТОВА ЛИ Е ЖИВОТЪТ, КОЙТО НАИСТИНА ИСКАМЕ?“ ще чуем в предаването “Картини от една изложба” на програма “Хоризонт” на БНР в събота, 29 юли, след новините от 21.00 ч.

 

 


В предаването на 29.07.2017 г.: Roger Waters и албумът „Това ли е животът, който наистина искаме?“

ROGER WATERS
IS THIS THE LIFE WE REALLY WANT?
Date of Release: 2 June 2017


SONGS/TRACKS:

1. \"When We Were Young\" - 1:39
2. \"Déjà Vu\" - 4:27
3. \"The Last Refugee\" - 4:13
4. \"Picture That\" - 6:48
5. \"Broken Bones\" - 4:58
6. \"Is This the Life We Really Want?\" - 5:55
7. \"Bird in a Gale\" - 5:31
8. \"The Most Beautiful Girl\" - 6:09
9. \"Smell the Roses\" - 5:16
10. \"Wait for Her\" - 4:56
11. \"Oceans Apart\" 1:08
12. \"Part of Me Died\" - 3:12

© 2017 Jule Pond Productions LLC, under exclusive license to Columbia Records, a division of Sony Music Entertainment

CREDITS:

All tracks written by Roger Waters, except \"Wait for Her\" which is Waters & Mahmoud Darwish.

Roger Waters – vocals, acoustic guitar, bass guitar
Nigel Godrich – Keyboards, Guitar, Arranged By, Sounds [Collages], Arranged By [Strings]
Gus Seyffert – guitar, keyboards, bass guitar
Jonathan Wilson – guitar, keyboards
Roger Joseph Manning, Jr. – keyboards
Lee Pardini – keyboards
Joey Waronker – drums
Jessica Wolfe – vocals
Holly Laessig – vocals
Voice – Celia Drummond, Emma Clarke, Ingrid Schram, Jane Barbe, Kathy Somers, Rachel Agnew

Notes

David Campbell – string arrangements
Donald Trump – introductory vocals on track 6

Producer, Mixed By: Nigel Godrich

Creative Director, Design – Sean Evans

Design – Dan Ichimoto, Danny Kamhaji
Engineer –Sam Petts-Davies, Nigel Godrich
Engineer [Assistant, Electric Lady] – Gosha Usov
Engineer [Assistant] – Monique Evelyn, Rouble Kapoor, Wesley Seidman
Engineer [United Recording] – Darrell Thorp
Lacquer Cut By – Bazza
Mastered By – Bob Ludwig
Mastered By [Vinyl] – Barry Grint
Management – Mark Fenwick
Management [Associate] – Kate Watkins
Photography By [Smell The Roses] – Viktor Bulla
Photography By [The Most Beautiful Girl] – Richard Rowley

LYRICS:

When We Were Young
When we were young, we could piss up the boys boat wall
A black expanse of pitch, or tar, or whatever it was
It doesn t matter much anymore
And tussles with the girls before the advent of pubescent awe and confusion
Knickers thick, pasty in the roar of adolescence s dawn
How innocent and cruel
Ran the gauntlet of first stirrings in the changing rooms of May
Where are you now? Don t answer that
I’m still ugly
You’re still fat
I’ve still got spots
I’m still afraid
Our parents made us what we are
Or was it God?
Who gives a fuck, it’s never really over

Déjà Vu
If I had been God
I would have rearranged the veins in the face to make them more 
Resistant to alcohol and less prone to ageing
If I had been God
I would have sired many sons and I would not have suffered 
The Romans to kill even one of them
If I had been God
With my staff and my rod
If I had been given the nod
I believe I could have done a better job
If I were a drone
Patrolling foreign skies
With my electronic eyes for guidance
And the element of surprise
I would be afraid to find someone home
Maybe a woman at a stove
Baking bread, making rice, or just boiling down some bones
If I were a drone
The temple s in ruins
The bankers get fat
The buffalo s gone
And the mountain top s flat
The trout in the streams are all hermaphrodites
You lean to the left but you walk to the right
And it feels like déjà vu
The sun goes down and I m still missing you
Counting the cost of love that got lost
And under my Gulf Stream, in circular balls
There s ninety-nine cents worth of drunkards and fools

The Last Refugee
Lie with me now
Under lemon tree skies
Show me the shy slow smile you keep hidden by warm brown eyes

Catch the sweet hover of lips just barely apart
And wonder at love s sweet ache
And the wild beat of my heart
Oh, rhapsody tearing me apart

And I dreamed I was saying goodbye to my child
She was taking a last look at the sea
Wading through dreams, up to our knees in warm ocean swells
While bathing belles soft beneath hard bitten shells
Punch their iPhones, erasing the numbers of redundant lovers
And search the horizon

And you ll find my child, down by the shore
Digging around for a chain or a bone
Searching the sand for a relic washed up by the sea

The last refugee

Picture That
Picture yourself as you lean on the port rail
Tossing away your last cigarette
Picture your finger pushing the doorbell
Picture the skull and crossbones on the doormat
Picture yourself on the streets of Laredo
Picture the Casbah, picture Japan
Picture your kid with his hand on the trigger
Picture prosthetics in Afghanistan
Picture a courthouse with no fucking laws
Picture a cathouse with no fucking whores
Picture a shithouse with no fucking drains
Picture a leader with no fucking brains
No fucking brains, no fucking brains
No fucking brains, no fucking brains
No fucking brains, no fucking brains
No fucking brains, no fucking brains
Follow me filming myself at the show
On a phone from a seat in the very front row
Follow Miss Universe catching some rays
Wish You Were Here in Guantanamo Bay
Picture a seat on a private plane
Picture your feet nailed to the floor
Picture a crew who are clearly insane
Picture no windows, picture no doors
Glued to a screen in the state of Nevada
To follow the dream gets harder and harder
Picture her wrapping a gift for the wedding
Picture her boiling the water for tea
Picture the kids climbing into the backseat
Picture my hand turning the key
Oh, picture that
Picture the dog in the pickup ahead
Picture the tree at the side of the road
Picture my hands growing steadily colder
Colder, colder
Colder, colder
Colder, colder
Colder, colder
Follow me down to a place by the river
Sold for my kidneys, sold for my liver
Why so weedy, so fucking needy
There’s no such thing as being too greedy

Broken Bones
Sometimes I stare at the night sky
See them stars a billion light years away
And it makes me feel small like a bug on a wall
Who gives a shit anyway?
Who gives a shit anyway?
When World War II was over
Though the slate was never wiped clean
We could have picked over them broken bones
We could have been free
But we chose to adhere to abundance
We chose the American Dream
And oh mistress liberty
How we abandoned thee
How we abandoned thee
And oh Mistress Liberty
How we abandoned thee
Could have been born in Shreveport
Or he could have born in Tehran
It don t much matter wherever you re born
Little babies mean us no harm
They have to be taught to despise us
To bulldoze our homes to the ground
To believe their fight is for liberty
To believe their God will keep them safe and sound
Safe and sound
Safe and sound
We cannot turn back the clock
Cannot go back in time
But we can say \"fuck you\" we will not listen to
Your bullshit and lies
Your bullshit and lies

Is This The Life We Really Want?

[Donald Trump:]
\"As a example you re CNN. I mean it s story, after story, after story is bad. I won. I won. And the other thing, chaos. There s zero chaos. We are running - this is a fine-tuned machine...\"

The goose has gotten fat
On caviar and fancy bars
And subprime loans
And broken homes
Is this the life, the holy grail?
It s not enough that we succeed
We still need others to fail

Fear, fear drives the mills of modern man
Fear keeps us all in line
Fear of all those foreigners
Fear of all their crimes
Is this the life we really want?
It surely must be so
For this is a democracy and what we all say goes

And every time a student is run over by a tank
And every time a pirate s dog is forced to walk the plank
Every time a Russian bride is advertised for sale
And every time a journalist is left to rot in jail
Every time a young girl s life is casually spent
And every time a nincompoop becomes the president
Every time somebody dies reaching for their keys
And every time that Greenland falls in the fucking sea it s because

All of us, the blacks and whites
Chicanos, Asians - every type of ethnic group
Even folks from Guadaloupe, the old, the young
Toothless hags, supermodels, actors, fags, bleeding hearts
Football stars, men in bars, washer women, tailors, tarts
Grannies, grandpas, uncles, aunts
Friends, relations, homeless tramps
Clerics, truckers, cleaning ladies, ants
Maybe not ants
Why not ants?
Well, because it s true
The ants don t have enough IQ to differentiate between
The pain that other people feel
And well, for instance, cutting leaves
Or crawling across window sills
In search of open treacle tins
So like the ants, are we just dumb?
Is that why we don t feel or see
Or are we all just numbed out on reality TV?

So every time
The curtain falls
Every time the curtain falls on some forgotten life
It is because we all stood by silent and indifferent
It s normal!

Bird In A Gale
Are you blowing like a bird in a gale?
Does the pain of your loss seep into your feathers like rain?
Do the bars of your cage feel warm or cold to the touch?
Were my caresses too gentle? 
Did I love you too much?
Your dog is scratching at the door
The boy is drowning in the sea
Can I crash out on your floor?
The loon is howling at the sea
Can I crash out on your floor?
Is there room in the story for me?

The Most Beautiful Girl
She may well have been
The most beautiful girl in the world
Her life snuffed out
Like a bulldozer crushing a pearl
The secret committee
Deep in its lair
Conveniently far
From the cold desert air
Puts a tick in a box
Turns the key in a lock
To loosen the bonds in her hair
Sleep if you can
Wrapped safe in your cloak
The tumbledown twilight
Havana smoke
Caught in your throat
Mistress Liberty s dance
Held you in its trance
Her bosoms were loaded with nectar and lances
\"Well, boys, \" she said
\"You have broken the trust
Hold on to that stick if you must\"
Take a fresh grip
On the crucible rune
The patchwork of ashes
Sweeps away love like a broom
Madness comes down
Like the crackpot of ages
The raging of angels
Cathedral of stars
Christopher Robin says
\"Alice, go home now
They re no longer changing the guard\"
\"Hold on, \" she said
\"You re breaking my heart\"
It s weird how the steel rails
Disappear into the dark
They clung to the ivory tower on her braids
They were never afraid of falling
But the bomb hit the spot where the numbers all stop
And the last thing they heard was her calling...
Home
I m coming home
I m the life that you gave
I m the children you saved
I m the promise you made
I m the woman you crave
So hold on
I m coming home (hold on, I m coming home)

Smell the Roses
There s a mad dog pulling at his chain
A hint of danger in his eye
Alarm bells raging round his brain
And the chimney s broken in the sky
Wake up
Wake up and smell the roses
Close your eyes and pray this wind don t change
There s nothing but screams in the field of dreams
Nothing but hope at the end of the road
Nothing but gold in the chimney smoke
Come on honey it s real money
This is the room where they make the explosives
Where they put your name on the bomb
Here s where they bury the buts and the ifs
And scratch out words like right and wrong
Wake up
Wake up and smell the phosphorus
This is the room we keep a human heir
Don t ask, don t tell, it couldn t be lost for us
Yeah, little less cash in the stash in the cupboard
At the bottom of the stair
Money, honey
Wake up
Wake up and smell the bacon
Run your greasy fingers through her hair
This is the life that you have taken
Just a line in the captain s log
Just a whine from a resident dog
Another kid didn t make the grade
Come on honey it s a fair trade
Wake up
Wake up and smell the roses
Throw a photo on the funeral pyre
Yeah, now we can forget the threat she poses
Girl you know you couldn t get much higher

Wait for Her
With a glass inlaid with gemstones
On a pool around the evening
Among the perfumed roses
Wait for her
With the patience of a packhorse 
Loaded for the mountains
Like a stoic, noble prince
Wait for her
With seven pillows laid out on the stair
The scent of womens incense fills the air
Be calm, and wait for her
And do not flush the sparrows 
That are nesting in her braids
All along the barricades
Wait for her
And if she comes soon
Wait for her
And if she comes late
Wait
Let her be still as a summer afternoon
A garden in full bloom
Let her breathe in the air 
That is foreign to her heart
Let her lips part
Wait for her
Take her to the balcony, see the moon soaked in milk
Hear the rustle of her silk
Wait for her
Don t let your eyes alight upon the twin doves of her breast
Lest they take flight
Wait for her
And if she comes soon
Wait for her
And if she comes late
Wait
Serve her water before wine
Do not touch her hand
Let your fingertips rest as her command
Speak softly as a flute would to a fearful violin
Breathe out, breathe in
And as the echo fades from that final fusillade
Remember the promises you made

Oceans Apart
She was always here in my heart
Always the love of my life
We were strangers, oceans apart
But when I laid eyes on her 
A part of me died

Part of Me Died
The part that is envious, cold hearted and devious
Greedy, mischievous, global, colonial
Bloodthirsty, blind, mindless and cheap
Focused on borders and slaughter and sheep 
Burning of books, bulldozing of homes 
Given to targeted killing with drones 
Lethal injections, arrest without trial
Monocular vision, gangrene and slime
Unction, sarcasm, common assault
Self-satisfied heroic killers
Lifted on high
Piracy adverts, acid attacks
On women by bullies and perverts and hacks
The rigging of ballots and the buying of power
Lies from the pulpit
Rape in the shower
Mute, indifferent
Feeling no shame
Portly, important
Leering, deranged
Sat in the corner watching TV
Deaf to the cries of children in pain
Dead to the world
Just watching the game
Watching endless repeats out of sight, out of mind
Silence, indifference
The ultimate crime
But when I met you, that part of me died
Bring me a bowl to bathe her feet in
Bring me my final cigarette
It would be better by far to die in her arms than to linger
In a lifetime of regret

BIOLINKS:

https://rogerwaters.com/
https://www.facebook.com/rogerwaters

 

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