Migala - Gurb Song (Lyrics and info)
And starts breaking things and crashes with doors and windows
Leaving chaos and destruction.
This is why I accepted her kisses as someone who has been given a leaflet at the subway.
I knew, don't ask me why or how, that we were gonna share even our toothpaste.
We got to know each other by caressing each other's scars.
Avoiding getting too close to know too much.
We wanted happiness to be like a virus that reaches every place in a sick body.
I turned my home into a water bed and her breasts into dark sand castles.
She gave me her metaphors, her bottles of gins and her North Africa stamp collection.
At night we would talk in dreams, back to back and we would always, always, agree.
The sheets were so much like our skin that we stopped going to work.
Love became a strong big man with us, terribly handy, a proper liar, with big eyes and red lips.
She made me feel brand new.
I watch her get fucked up, lose touch, we listened to Nick Drake in her tape recorder and she told me she was a writer.
I read her book in two and a half hours and cried all the way through as watching Bambi.
She told me that when I think she has loved me all she could, she was gonna love me a little bit more.
My ego and her cynicism got on really well and we would say "what would you do in case I die" or
"what if I had Aids?" or "don't you like the Smiths" or "let's shag now". We left our fingerprints all around
my room, breakfast was automatically made, and if it would come to bed in a trolley, no hands,
we did compete to see who would have the best orgasms, the nicer visions, the biggest hangovers.
And if she came pregnant we decided it would be God hand's fault.
The world was our oyster.
Life was life.
But then she had to go back to London, to see her boyfriend and her family and her best friends and her pet
called "Gus".
And without her I've been a mess. I've painted my nails black and got my hair cut.
I open my pictures collection and our past can be limitless and I know the process is to slice each
section of my story thinner and thinner until I'm left only with her, I've felt like shite all the time
no matter who I kiss or how charming I try to be with my new birds.
This is the point, isn't it? New birds that will project me along a wire from the underground into the air,
into the world.
Avoiding getting too close to know too much.
We wanted happiness to be like a virus that reaches every place in a sick body.
I turned my home into a water bed and her breasts into dark sand castles.
She gave me her metaphors, her bottles of gins and her North Africa stamp collection.
At night we would talk in dreams, back to back and we would always, always, agree.
The sheets were so much like our skin that we stopped going to work.
Love became a strong big man with us, terribly handy, a proper liar, with big eyes and red lips.
She made me feel brand new.
I watch her get fucked up, lose touch, we listened to Nick Drake in her tape recorder and she told me she was a writer.
I read her book in two and a half hours and cried all the way through as watching Bambi.
She told me that when I think she has loved me all she could, she was gonna love me a little bit more.
My ego and her cynicism got on really well and we would say "what would you do in case I die" or
"what if I had Aids?" or "don't you like the Smiths" or "let's shag now". We left our fingerprints all around
my room, breakfast was automatically made, and if it would come to bed in a trolley, no hands,
we did compete to see who would have the best orgasms, the nicer visions, the biggest hangovers.
And if she came pregnant we decided it would be God hand's fault.
The world was our oyster.
Life was life.
But then she had to go back to London, to see her boyfriend and her family and her best friends and her pet
called "Gus".
And without her I've been a mess. I've painted my nails black and got my hair cut.
I open my pictures collection and our past can be limitless and I know the process is to slice each
section of my story thinner and thinner until I'm left only with her, I've felt like shite all the time
no matter who I kiss or how charming I try to be with my new birds.
This is the point, isn't it? New birds that will project me along a wire from the underground into the air,
into the world.
Artist: Migala
Album: Así Duele Un Verano (1998)
Migala was a rock-based experimental band hailing from Madrid, Spain.
1996-2005
Migala:
Rubén Moreno
(batería, percusiones, violín),
Jordi Sancho
(piano rhodes, teclados, bajo),
Coque Yturriaga
(teclados, ruidos, delays, guitarra eléctrica, coros),
Abel Hernández
(voz, guitarras acústicas y eléctricas, teclados, melódica, ruidos, efectos especiales),
Diego Yturriaga
(acordeón, dulzaina, casiotone, hierros, coros) y
Rodrigo Hernández
(bajo, guitarras acústicas y eléctricas, teclados, percusiones, melódica, coros, ruidos, efectos especiales).
Colectivo de no-músicos de número fluctuante y procedencia indeterminada, aunque con base en la periferia noroeste de Madrid, Migala no es lo que suele llamarse un grupo. Desde el verano de 1995 esta comuna artística viene trabajando mediante aparatos de grabación en cuatro pistas, algún que otro artilugio de fabricación o uso casero, e instrumentos propios del rock, así como un ordenador, en la búsqueda de canciones clásicas pasadas por un filtro enrarecido.
En su vertiente más desarrollada, la de la grabación, tras dos maquetas (marzo y noviembre del 96) en octubre del 97 ve la luz un extenso primer álbum de debut, "Diciembre, 3 a.m.". En los 18 temas del disco puede apreciarse la manera constante, personalizada y anárquica en que Migala trabaja con las canciones (unidad de letra, melodía y textura de la voz y ambiente musical) y una especie de breves cortinas sonoras de corte más experimental que denominan cuñas. Para construir ambas fórmulas (no siempre separadas) en ocasiones utilizan la apropiación, la revisión, el collage y el sampleado. Un oído avezado podría decir que suenan a Tom Waits, Tortoise, Neil Young, Nick Drake, George Moustaki, Nick Cave, Palace, Leonard Cohen o Lambchop, pero con tantas reservas que su tradición no ha impedido que "Diciembre 3 a.m." fuese elegido entre los tres mejores elepés nacionales del 97 en medios como Rock de Lux, Avui o AB.
"Así duele un verano" fue el titulo de su segundo elepé: trece canciones clásicas y atípicas, densas e introspectivas, que por fin les abrió las puertas de algunos mercados internacionales y que tienen un denominador común: la tensión emocional e instrumental. "Así duele un verano" se publicó en Francia con un CD-EP extra "The North On Fire" y algunos temas inéditos, además de distribuirse en el Reino Unido, Bélgica y Holanda.
Poco después de tocar en el Fib 2000, de participar en el recopilatorio "Brumario" y en un CD-Single de homenaje a The Cure, y de un puñado de contados conciertos en Gijón, Namur (Bélgica) o Madrid, han editado un 7" en el Club del Single de Sub Pop. Los temás -el primero totalmente inédito- son "Sad Corner song" y "The North on Fire".
A finales de 2000 Acuarela publicó "Arde", su tercer disco. Ya en 2002 ha editado "Restos de un incendio". El disco de despedida se llama "La increíble aventura" y es del año 2004.
Migala Wikipedia
Migala Wikipedia
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