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Tchaikovsky's Compositions
Created on 2003-07-08 03:30:36 (#1168046), last updated 2009-06-17
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Basic Info| Name: | Tchaikovsky |
|---|---|
| Birthdate: | 1983-07-06 |
| Location: | Birmingham, United Kingdom |
| Website: | An Angel Odyssey and By Any Other Name |
Contact:
toby.hester@gmail.com BioFrom Proust's Du cote de chez Swann:
On our way home from mass we would often meet M Legrandin, who, detained in Paris by his professional duties as an engineer, could only (except in the regular holiday seasons) visit his house at Combray between Saturday evenings and Monday mornings. He was one of that class of men who, apart from a scientific career in which they may well have proved brilliantly successful, have acquired an entirely different kind of culture, literary or artistic, for which their professional specialisation has no use but by which their conversation profits. More lettered than many men of letters, (we were not aware at this period that M Legrandin had a distinct reputation as a writer, and we were greatly astonished to find that a well-known composer had set some verses of his to music), endowed with greater "facility" than many painters, they imagine that the life they are obliged to lead is not that for which they are really fitted, and they bring to their regular occupations either an indifference tinged with fantasy, or a sustained and haughty application, scornful, bitter, and conscientious.
The last time I saw Richard was Detroit in ’68,
And he told me
All romantics meet the same fate someday,
Cynical and drunk and
Boring someone in some dark café.
You laugh he said,
You think you’re immune,
Go look at your eyes, they’re full of moon,
You like roses and kisses and
Pretty men to tell you all those pretty lies,
Pretty lies.
When you gonna realise they’re
only pretty lies
Only pretty lies,
Just pretty lies?
He put a quarter in the Wurlitzer,
and he pushed three buttons and the thing began to whirr
and a barmaid came by in fishnet stockings and a bow tie and she said
Drink up now its gettin on time to close.
Richard, you haven’t really changed,
I said, It’s just that
Now you’re romanticizing some pain that’s in your head -- you got tombs in
Your eyes, but the songs you punched are dreaming.
Listen,
They sing of love so sweet,
love so sweet
When you gonna get yourself
back on your feet?
Oh and, love can be so sweet,
love so sweet.
Richard got married to a figure skater,
And he bought her a dishwasher
and a coffee percolator and he
Drinks at home now most nights with the TV on and all the house lights left up bright.
--I’m gonna blow this damn candle out
I don’t want nobody coming over to my table
I got nothing to talk to anybody about
All good dreamers pass this way some day
Hiding down bottles in dark cafes
Dark cafes
Only a dark cocoon before I get my gorgeous wings and fly away.
Only a phase,
these dark cafe days.
-Joni Mitchell
TCH
On our way home from mass we would often meet M Legrandin, who, detained in Paris by his professional duties as an engineer, could only (except in the regular holiday seasons) visit his house at Combray between Saturday evenings and Monday mornings. He was one of that class of men who, apart from a scientific career in which they may well have proved brilliantly successful, have acquired an entirely different kind of culture, literary or artistic, for which their professional specialisation has no use but by which their conversation profits. More lettered than many men of letters, (we were not aware at this period that M Legrandin had a distinct reputation as a writer, and we were greatly astonished to find that a well-known composer had set some verses of his to music), endowed with greater "facility" than many painters, they imagine that the life they are obliged to lead is not that for which they are really fitted, and they bring to their regular occupations either an indifference tinged with fantasy, or a sustained and haughty application, scornful, bitter, and conscientious.
The last time I saw Richard was Detroit in ’68,
And he told me
All romantics meet the same fate someday,
Cynical and drunk and
Boring someone in some dark café.
You laugh he said,
You think you’re immune,
Go look at your eyes, they’re full of moon,
You like roses and kisses and
Pretty men to tell you all those pretty lies,
Pretty lies.
When you gonna realise they’re
only pretty lies
Only pretty lies,
Just pretty lies?
He put a quarter in the Wurlitzer,
and he pushed three buttons and the thing began to whirr
and a barmaid came by in fishnet stockings and a bow tie and she said
Drink up now its gettin on time to close.
Richard, you haven’t really changed,
I said, It’s just that
Now you’re romanticizing some pain that’s in your head -- you got tombs in
Your eyes, but the songs you punched are dreaming.
Listen,
They sing of love so sweet,
love so sweet
When you gonna get yourself
back on your feet?
Oh and, love can be so sweet,
love so sweet.
Richard got married to a figure skater,
And he bought her a dishwasher
and a coffee percolator and he
Drinks at home now most nights with the TV on and all the house lights left up bright.
--I’m gonna blow this damn candle out
I don’t want nobody coming over to my table
I got nothing to talk to anybody about
All good dreamers pass this way some day
Hiding down bottles in dark cafes
Dark cafes
Only a dark cocoon before I get my gorgeous wings and fly away.
Only a phase,
these dark cafe days.
-Joni Mitchell
TCH
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