Stamani stavo cercando un teatro a New York dove ho prenotato un musical per Sabato, e, complice un fallo da cartellino rosso tra indici e anulari delle mano destra e sinistra, Google mi ha restituito l’album pubblicato nel 1989 da Lou Reed.

Pedro lives out of the Wilshire Hotel, he looks out a window without glass
The walls are made of cardboard, newspapers on his feet, his father beats him ‘cause he’s too tired to beg
He’s got 9 brothers and sisters, they’re brought up on their knees
it’s hard to run when a coat hanger beats you on the thighs, Pedro dreams of being older and killing the old man
but that’s a slim chance he’s going to the boulevard, He’s going to end up, on the dirty boulevard
he’s going out, to the dirty boulevard, He’s going down, to the dirty boulevard

Visto da pubblico e critica come il primo chiaro successo della sua carriera da solista, dopo aver abbandonato il sodalizio con i Velvet Underground che erano all’epoca ancora all’apice del successo, il disco è da considerarsi più per la forza delle parole nelle canzoni, che per l’arrangiamento musicale – da alcuni definito addirittura “musica per camionisti”.

This room cost 2, 000 dollars a month, you can believe it man it’s true 
somewhere a landlord’s laughing till he wets his pants, 
No one here dreams of being a doctor or a lawyer or anything
they dream of dealing on the dirty boulevard, Give me your hungry, your tired your poor
I’ll piss on ‘em, that’s what the Statue of Bigotry says
Your poor huddled masses, let’s club ‘em to death, and get it over with and just dump ‘em on the boulevard
Get to end up, on the dirty boulevard, going out, to the dirty boulevard

Forti reazioni sono state causate anche dagli aperti e critici riferimenti a personaggi dell’epoca, ivi incluso Donald Trump, futuro (sic) Presidente degli Stati Uniti.

Outside it’s a bright night, there’s an opera at Lincoln Center: movie stars arrive by limousine
The klieg lights shoot up over the skyline of Manhattan, but the lights are out on the Mean Streets
A small kid stands by the Lincoln Tunnel, he’s selling plastic roses for a buck
The traffic’s backed up to 39th street, the TV whores are calling the cops out for a suck
And back at the Wilshire, Pedro sits there dreaming, he’s found a book on magic in a garbage can
He looks at the pictures and stares at the cracked ceiling, “At the count of 3” he says, “I hope I can disappear”
And fly fly away, from this dirty boulevard, I want to fly, from dirty boulevard
I want to fly, from dirty boulevard, I want to fly-fly-fly-fly, from dirty boulevard
I want to fly away, I want to fly, Fly, fly away, I want to fly
Fly-fly away (Fly a-), fly-fly-fly (-way, ooohhh…), Fly-fly away (I want to fly-fly away)
fly away (I want to fly, wow-woh, no, fly away)

Foto? Mi è venuto in mente “Walk on the wild side” (sempre di Lou Reed) riguardando questa immagine che ho scattato tre settimane fa a Singapore, dove pare che la ragazza e la bambina stiano camminando in sincronia …


It's been almost 50 years that I travel across the word (and the 7 seas), on business or vacation, but always carrying with me a Leica camera. I started keeping this kind of journal a while ago. Even if sometime I disappear for ages, I'm then coming back with semi-regular updates: publishing is a kind of mirroring of my state and emotions, and you need to take it as it is. All published photos are mine.

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