Made with Akai iMPC app on an iPad. Lyrics improvised in Spanish.

GN Junkyard Beats #1

Música compuesta y grabada en abril de 2020. El poema pertenece a la colección "Los mitos ciegos", publicada en 2009 (https://www.amazon.es/gp/product/1435706757/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i1)

Un hombre vestido
Con una remera negra
Que tiene un dibujo estampado
En su centro:

El dibujo de un hombre vestido
Idéntico al hombre que lleva la camiseta,
Pero alejándose,
De espaldas;

En la parte posterior de la remera de ese hombre dibujado,
Otro hombre,
Vestido como los dos anteriores,
Se acerca; 

En su camiseta, un hombre más, vestido como los previos,
Se aleja, y así
Hasta que ya no es posible
Imprimir más dibujos sobre el género de la remera original,

Aunque entre las hebras siguen apareciendo hombres,
Cada vez más grandes,
Grandes hasta que empiezan a superar en tamaño
Al primer hombre,
Miles de gigantes de negro
Acercándose y alejándose al mismo tiempo.

¿Cuántos son?
¿A dónde van?
¿Quién llegará primero?
¿Cuántos hombres habrá
Si uno de ellos se mata
O se detiene frente a un espejo?

Diseño sobre una remera negra

Guitar and voice recorded in a single take on an iPhone at home in the summer of 2019. Some noise cleaning and strings arrangement added in April 2020.

Our love was so perfect
as this brand new TV
if not for that dead pixel 
on the screen

Blinking bright in the dark
of our room without view
guiding light of the path
to our doom 

We tried hard for a while
all the tricks that we knew
ill advice from our friends
tips from the chosen few

For a time all the cracks seemed to stop 
but they were only waiting the moment
to explode

Turn it on, turn it off
just to see if it works
we know nothing 'bout TVs
or love

'Til one morning we woke up
had a look at the screen
saw a black hole of dead pixels 
on it

We tried hard for a while
all the tricks that we knew
ill advice from our friends
tips from the chosen few

For a time all the cracks seemed to stop 
but they were only waiting the moment
to explode

Our love was so perfect
As this brand new TV
If not for that dead pixel 
On the screen

Dead Pixel

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c3N168EhT6g&list=PLtQ4DLIMvGaLt0pIFAvfxvm38IYWduP07

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/track/7GYfS3Sq7y81UTq7Vrokdz?si=9QK0EaO7Q0mxgNkymQohkA

La estrella polar
Hoy se resfrió 
Cuando el odio desde la ventana
Con su mirada te fulminó. 

Un caballo le dio una coz
en la quijada a nuestro amor
Lo cosimos con alambre
y ahora cuando ríe infunde terror.

Vuelcas todo lo que piensas
En una olla a presión 
(Bien condimentada la noche estará)
Y enciendes la mecha del dolor. 

En una Mar del Plata
Que de cerca se ve que es de lata
La princesa no procesa lo que digo
Y de repente se arrebata.

La poeta clandestina 
Clandestina sus versos en secreto
De un golpe los pare y los cobija
Y de un abrazo los asfixia con esmero.

Vuelcas todo lo que piensas
En una olla a presión 
(Bien condimentada la noche estará)
Y enciendes la mecha del dolor. 

Delectación,
Fragmentación,
Descompo-Descomposición.
Juntos hicimos la canción 
donde vivimos.

Delectación,
Fragmentación,
Descompo-Descomposición.
Juntos hicimos la prisión
donde vivimos.

Delectación

My father, my mother —they never knew how
My brothers and sisters —they never showed up
My forgiving friends —they also seem lost
My well-caring enemies are crying the most

They all say: "Ah...
Nobody told us in advance"
They all say: "Ah...
It’s all familiar strangers around."

My love, you're familiar, and yet so strange
My kisses are missing their targets again
The closer we get, the bitter our words
And when I ask you why, you simply say, you simply say:

"Ah...
Nobody told me in advance"
"Ah...
You're a familiar stranger around."

It's four in the morning, I'm lurking the dawn
Shaded up in blue, but fading into fawn
Surrounded by mirrors that nothing reflect
But this iron-clad smile I once used to wear

And the mirrors say: "Ah...
All these faces we’re casting somehow"
They say: "Ah...
It's another familiar stranger around."

"Ah...
All these faces we’re casting, somehow
Ah...
It's another familiar stranger around."

Familiar Strangers

Familiar Strangers (feat. Valen Frassa)

Escrita en Buenos Aires en 1997. Grabada en Madrid en septiembre de 2020.

Letra: 

¡Mastaba!

Somos tan buenos, tan malos
como el destino nos deje.
Hoy mi sombra nace en vos y
tu ausencia nace en mí.

Entré a tu amor. Creí que era un templo.

Cultivamos un susurro
Lo convertimos en grito.
Oigo lo inevitable,
O bien no escucho nada.

Entré a tu amor. Creí que era un templo
y era una mastaba.
Mastaba.

Cuatro dudas belicosas
entretejen la honradez,
Como hiedra trepadora
entretiene a la pared.

Y el mar lame los bordes.

El agua golpea a mi puerta
y devora mis mañanas.
Pleamar toda la noche
y un tifón para la siesta.

El mar lame los bordes
de la culpa.
Culpa.

De la culpa.
Culpa.

Mastaba

War is being smelled 
And there’s no place to hide
Space, time against each other
And your body is the prize.

War is being announced
And you have no flag to cry
Words I’ve never dared to tell you
are coming back to watch you die.

Arguments colliding
'Round our TV at home
Launching couch-to-couch attacks 
Hitting targets, burning slow.

Arms are being delivered 
Roaring crowds around the bedroom
Chanting bloody songs of blood
And glory.

What is your super, your superpower?
“Constant sorrow”, you said to me
“Plus your choice of hate, revenge
Or whatever fucking feeling you have to share.”

Arguments colliding
'Round our TV at home
Launching couch-to-couch attacks 
Hitting targets, burning slow.

Turning yourself into the monster
War needs to feed upon
Learning that all victories are pyrrhic 
When it’s too late to learn at all.

Fight has been decided 
Seething monks with dripping pens 
Sending dead love letters into coffins 
Now we have a life for remembering. 

Turning yourself into the monster
War needs to feed upon
Learning all victories are pyrrhic 
When it’s too late to learn at all.

War is being forgotten
War is lying low
Waiting for its next time, humming
Silent melodies of war.

All Victories Are Pyrrhic

This is basically the same recording I made with Valen Frassa and released back in August 2020, but with a slightly different percussion set, and more carefully mixed and mastered. I hope you enjoy it!

Lyrics:

My father, my mother —they never knew how
My brothers and sisters —they never showed up
My forgiving friends —they also seem lost
My well-caring enemies are crying the most

They all say: "Ah...
Nobody told us in advance"
They all say: "Ah...
It’s all familiar strangers around."

My love, you're familiar, and yet so strange
My kisses are missing their targets again
The closer we get, the bitter our words
And when I ask you why, you simply say, you simply say:

"Ah...
Nobody told me in advance"
"Ah...
You're a familiar stranger around."

It's four in the morning, I'm lurking the dawn
Shaded up in blue, but fading into fawn
Surrounded by mirrors that nothing reflect
But this iron-clad smile I once used to wear

And the mirrors say: "Ah...
All these faces we’re casting somehow"
They say: "Ah...
It's another familiar stranger around."

"Ah...
All these faces we’re casting, somehow
Ah...
It's another familiar stranger around."

Familiar Strangers - feat. Valen Frassa (remastered)

Mar del Plata, Buenos Aires, Madrid. I dream of songs that I'm not skillful enough to write, let alone play. My finished songs are reverse puzzles made of these bits of dreams. For entomologists, I'd say: South American folktronica, forcefully lo-fi, badly sung or spoken in Spanish and English, with a flair for orchestral string outbursts and tragic lyrics. 

Mar del Plata, Buenos Aires, Madrid. Sueño canciones, pero sin la habilidad suficiente para escribirlas, y mucho menos interpretarlas, cuando las convierto en grabaciones se vuelven pequeños rompecabezas inversos e incompletos, hechos de esos fragmentos soñados. Para entomólogos, diría: folktronica sudamericana, obligadamente lo-fi, pobremente cantada o recitada en español o inglés, con cierta tendencia al arrebato orquestal en los arreglos y a la tragedia en las letras.

Germán Nadie