A piece that can be related to the song "Democracy" could be "American Idiot" by Green Day. There's a passage where the subjects of both songs mention televisions. While television could be designated as a source of information (or entertainment), it can propagate the idea of nihilism or just dreaming about the what ifs ("hopeless little screen" in Cohen's song, "Television dreams of tomorrow" in Green Day) instead of potentially inspiring hope and actively contributing to a better society. Another thing that both songs have in common is the idea of American people already living in a fascism-type environment (the mention of Tienanmen Square and "From the wars against disorder/from the sirens night and day" in "Democracy, and "Now everybody do the propaganda./And sing along to the age of paranoia." in the other song).
The Green Day lyrics mentioned earlier and also "One nation controlled by the media/Information age of hysteria" could be compared to sensationalism, taken to the negative extreme. The media appeals to emotions of the American people (hysteria) and can manipulate the actual truth, thus bringing an "age of paranoia".
The song "American Idiot" also mentions how hostility can be produced within the described environment ("Welcome to a new kind of tension/All across the alienation"). A topic also explored in Maus, with the relationship between the Jewish people and the Nazi during the Holocaust times.
O que é que a América tem? No Roterdão, depois dum concerto, fazíamos uma espécie de concurso: haverá alguma banda americana de jeito? Para nós, o rock é domínio britânico, mesmo que pareça americano. Falávamos de colectivos (chegámos aos Jefferson Airplane e aos Doors), não de interpretes, de cantores, de cantautores. Dylan, Cohen, Seeger, Guthrie – esses amamos, conhecemos, partilhamos. Estávamos no ano de 2008. A América, ainda com um pé no Iraque e o outro no Afeganistão, ofereceu-nos a crise, o empobrecimento, a falta de perspectiva e o fim do sonho. Em Lisboa, mais particularmente em Algés, no conselho de Oeiras, a América oferecia-nos dois dos grandes em concerto. Num fim-de-semana, foi o Bob Dylan. No outro, foi o Leonard Cohen. Apetecia perguntar-lhes «which side are you on?», mas respondiam na mesma. Cinicamente, sem nos olhar nos olhos, Dylan respondia-nos (cantava-nos), agarrado ao seu órgão, com uma outra questão: «how does it feel?». Mas o Cohen olhava-nos nos olhos e respondia, agradecendo, que era do nosso lado que ele estava, mesmo que ali estivesse, em cima do palco, para pagar o desfalque da sua contabilista. Voltando mais para trás. Adolescente, desconhecendo ainda o PREC, sonhava com os anos 60 americanos mais do que com o Maio de 68 e muito menos do que com a revolução de 1917. Toda aquela liberdade, toda aquela simplicidade, toda aquele senso-comum de se ser contra a guerra, todo aquele ódio às regras do Estado e dos pais, todas aquelas barbas e cabelos compridos, todos aqueles copos vazios, todos aqueles corpos cheios e todas aquelas drogas que iluminariam a mente de qualquer um. O sonho era conseguir viver assim – nunca consegui, bolas, merda, mas fiz outras coisas, que bom. A América, os Estados Unidos da América, aquele país que não é – nem nunca foi – dos hippies, aquele país que nos entra pelas casas dentro, que está em todo o lado, a terra dos bravos e da quinta emenda, de pradarias e arranha-céus, de auto-estradas e poetas, de desigualdades e da propriedade privada (no tresspassing, this is private property!), das lojas sempre abertas, das universidades e do novo esperanto, da esperança e do tem que ser assim, dos heróis e dos detectives, da justiça pelas próprias mãos e do vencer sozinho, das margens comprimidas (sim, roubado ao Brecht), dos filmes de fim do mundo e de extraterrestres, invasões, italianos, irlandeses, negros, africanos, mexicanos, árabes, gente e gente, igrejas cristãs e seitas que nunca mais acabam. A América onde qualquer um pode andar com uma arma e a América da guerra infinita e constante por todo o lado. Assim poderia ser uma lista de coisas a ver quando visitar a América. E parece que esquecemos, que eles se esqueceram. Vemos o entretenimento, todo aquele fel, toda aquela diarreia divertida e vemos, também, sim, claro, tudo aquilo que gostamos. Estes heróis americanos, verdadeiros universal soldiers, que cantam a mudança, o sindicato, o amor, o ódio, o conflito, a vida e a morte. Estes heróis que nos investigam, que procuram por baixo da superfície, com todas as cedências possíveis e necessárias, com todas as contradições, descobrindo aquilo que precisávamos de ouvir para uma nova liberdade, sem nunca saberem (e sabermos) o que isso seria e como se faria. Em 2016, na mesma semana em que é eleito Donald Trump como presidente dos E.U.A., morre Leonard Cohen, aquele que cantava que as fronteiras são prisões, que falava do heroísmo real, verdadeiro, humano, de quem morria sem um suspiro. «Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing...». Toda a gente sabe, sim, talvez saiba – e agora?
After Jon's betrayal in failing to take his life for the good of mankind, Rorschach abandoned his masked companions for good. He left New York (as there wasn't much of it left, anyway) for Washington D.C., and took up a job as a private detective. It suited him: it was solitary, toilsome work, from which came no recognition but a check that kept him going for the next couple of months. In ’97 he took a bullet to his right ankle which left him permanently disabled, forcing him to retire. He had lived in miserable conditions since: his shabby and dreary apartment provided little warmth during the harsh winter months, and no amount of food stamps sufficed to strengthen his wizened, ailing body. Rorschach was not too content on having escaped a heroic death, and was all the more bitter considering what he had had to witness since: the complete and utter destruction of decency and morals in American society. Nakedness, promiscuity, sexual deviancy; it was all around him, in adds, on the news, in conversations overheard, in Congress. Rorschach was disgusted with what his country had become. He had abstained from voting since 2000, as he had lost all faith in politics (if he had ever had any to begin with); it was much too contaminated by the diseased to still be worth saving. When the Twin Towers came down in 2001, he didn’t bat an eye, but merely nodded his head knowingly, as if seeing the confirmation of something he had predicted long ago. His prophetic soul was proven wrong, however, in 2015. A man he had thought a despicable clown stood out among a sea of the Establishment’s cronies as an eccentric, orange beacon of hope. He was a rogue in the world of politics, despised by all for his inflammatory remarks and opinions. And yet, he grew more popular by the day. Despite not having purchased a single item of clothing in decades, Rorschach found himself buying a cap with his Messiah’s slogan. He even began accompanying the candidates’ campaigns on the television – not at home, of course, as he thought it a capricious waste of money to have a device like that in his apartment, but at his local bar. On the 8th of November of 2016, he limped his way to Jone’s as he had done so many nights before. Tonight was a special night, however: tonight, the fate of the nation was decided. Rorschach was not feeling too enthused; he had seen the recent polls and was more or less expecting a defeat. But if he had accompanied the election thus far, and had broken his long abstinence from voting, he might as well see it through to the finish line. The bar was crowded, as was to be expected. Most seats were already occupied by men much like himself: old, white, and tattered, moping over half-empty glasses of this drink or the other. He sat amongst them, going unnoticed with his usual aptitude. He ordered a beer and sat drinking it, occasionally lifting his eyes to the television screen but mostly staring into nothing with a deadpan expression. He broke from his trance when the buzz of conversation around him became too loud for alienation to be possible. Looking at the television screen, Rorschach found that the tide might just be turning: Trump had won Florida and Ohio, and it looked like he was about to win Pennsylvania! The news brought Rorschach to a state of unrest that he was unable to shake off, as were the men around him. This prolonged itself for about an hour; and as the last swing state turned red on the map closely watched by all, the men jumped from their seats in unabashed exhilaration, and Rorschach, unable to restrain himself, jumped as well, shouting “Trump! Trump! Trump!” along with the crowd. The jump had hurt his right foot, and his hat seemed to have fallen off his head. Startled, Rorschach looked around him and quickly found his red cap lying on the floor. Though his foot still hurt, he grabbed hold of it in an instant. Reassured, he carefully pressed the words “Make America Great Again” onto his head.
A piece that can be related to the song "Democracy" could be "American Idiot" by Green Day. There's a passage where the subjects of both songs mention televisions. While television could be designated as a source of information (or entertainment), it can propagate the idea of nihilism or just dreaming about the what ifs ("hopeless little screen" in Cohen's song, "Television dreams of tomorrow" in Green Day) instead of potentially inspiring hope and actively contributing to a better society. Another thing that both songs have in common is the idea of American people already living in a fascism-type environment (the mention of Tienanmen Square and "From the wars against disorder/from the sirens night and day" in "Democracy, and "Now everybody do the propaganda./And sing along to the age of paranoia." in the other song).
ResponderEliminarThe Green Day lyrics mentioned earlier and also "One nation controlled by the media/Information age of hysteria" could be compared to sensationalism, taken to the negative extreme. The media appeals to emotions of the American people (hysteria) and can manipulate the actual truth, thus bringing an "age of paranoia".
The song "American Idiot" also mentions how hostility can be produced within the described environment ("Welcome to a new kind of tension/All across the alienation"). A topic also explored in Maus, with the relationship between the Jewish people and the Nazi during the Holocaust times.
O que é que a América tem?
ResponderEliminarNo Roterdão, depois dum concerto, fazíamos uma espécie de concurso: haverá alguma banda americana de jeito? Para nós, o rock é domínio britânico, mesmo que pareça americano. Falávamos de colectivos (chegámos aos Jefferson Airplane e aos Doors), não de interpretes, de cantores, de cantautores. Dylan, Cohen, Seeger, Guthrie – esses amamos, conhecemos, partilhamos.
Estávamos no ano de 2008. A América, ainda com um pé no Iraque e o outro no Afeganistão, ofereceu-nos a crise, o empobrecimento, a falta de perspectiva e o fim do sonho. Em Lisboa, mais particularmente em Algés, no conselho de Oeiras, a América oferecia-nos dois dos grandes em concerto. Num fim-de-semana, foi o Bob Dylan. No outro, foi o Leonard Cohen. Apetecia perguntar-lhes «which side are you on?», mas respondiam na mesma. Cinicamente, sem nos olhar nos olhos, Dylan respondia-nos (cantava-nos), agarrado ao seu órgão, com uma outra questão: «how does it feel?». Mas o Cohen olhava-nos nos olhos e respondia, agradecendo, que era do nosso lado que ele estava, mesmo que ali estivesse, em cima do palco, para pagar o desfalque da sua contabilista.
Voltando mais para trás. Adolescente, desconhecendo ainda o PREC, sonhava com os anos 60 americanos mais do que com o Maio de 68 e muito menos do que com a revolução de 1917. Toda aquela liberdade, toda aquela simplicidade, toda aquele senso-comum de se ser contra a guerra, todo aquele ódio às regras do Estado e dos pais, todas aquelas barbas e cabelos compridos, todos aqueles copos vazios, todos aqueles corpos cheios e todas aquelas drogas que iluminariam a mente de qualquer um. O sonho era conseguir viver assim – nunca consegui, bolas, merda, mas fiz outras coisas, que bom.
A América, os Estados Unidos da América, aquele país que não é – nem nunca foi – dos hippies, aquele país que nos entra pelas casas dentro, que está em todo o lado, a terra dos bravos e da quinta emenda, de pradarias e arranha-céus, de auto-estradas e poetas, de desigualdades e da propriedade privada (no tresspassing, this is private property!), das lojas sempre abertas, das universidades e do novo esperanto, da esperança e do tem que ser assim, dos heróis e dos detectives, da justiça pelas próprias mãos e do vencer sozinho, das margens comprimidas (sim, roubado ao Brecht), dos filmes de fim do mundo e de extraterrestres, invasões, italianos, irlandeses, negros, africanos, mexicanos, árabes, gente e gente, igrejas cristãs e seitas que nunca mais acabam. A América onde qualquer um pode andar com uma arma e a América da guerra infinita e constante por todo o lado. Assim poderia ser uma lista de coisas a ver quando visitar a América.
E parece que esquecemos, que eles se esqueceram. Vemos o entretenimento, todo aquele fel, toda aquela diarreia divertida e vemos, também, sim, claro, tudo aquilo que gostamos. Estes heróis americanos, verdadeiros universal soldiers, que cantam a mudança, o sindicato, o amor, o ódio, o conflito, a vida e a morte. Estes heróis que nos investigam, que procuram por baixo da superfície, com todas as cedências possíveis e necessárias, com todas as contradições, descobrindo aquilo que precisávamos de ouvir para uma nova liberdade, sem nunca saberem (e sabermos) o que isso seria e como se faria.
Em 2016, na mesma semana em que é eleito Donald Trump como presidente dos E.U.A., morre Leonard Cohen, aquele que cantava que as fronteiras são prisões, que falava do heroísmo real, verdadeiro, humano, de quem morria sem um suspiro. «Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing...». Toda a gente sabe, sim, talvez saiba – e agora?
versão spoken word aqui: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUIuAT97c4w
ResponderEliminarAfter Jon's betrayal in failing to take his life for the good of mankind, Rorschach abandoned his masked companions for good. He left New York (as there wasn't much of it left, anyway) for Washington D.C., and took up a job as a private detective. It suited him: it was solitary, toilsome work, from which came no recognition but a check that kept him going for the next couple of months.
ResponderEliminarIn ’97 he took a bullet to his right ankle which left him permanently disabled, forcing him to retire. He had lived in miserable conditions since: his shabby and dreary apartment provided little warmth during the harsh winter months, and no amount of food stamps sufficed to strengthen his wizened, ailing body.
Rorschach was not too content on having escaped a heroic death, and was all the more bitter considering what he had had to witness since: the complete and utter destruction of decency and morals in American society. Nakedness, promiscuity, sexual deviancy; it was all around him, in adds, on the news, in conversations overheard, in Congress. Rorschach was disgusted with what his country had become. He had abstained from voting since 2000, as he had lost all faith in politics (if he had ever had any to begin with); it was much too contaminated by the diseased to still be worth saving. When the Twin Towers came down in 2001, he didn’t bat an eye, but merely nodded his head knowingly, as if seeing the confirmation of something he had predicted long ago.
His prophetic soul was proven wrong, however, in 2015. A man he had thought a despicable clown stood out among a sea of the Establishment’s cronies as an eccentric, orange beacon of hope. He was a rogue in the world of politics, despised by all for his inflammatory remarks and opinions. And yet, he grew more popular by the day. Despite not having purchased a single item of clothing in decades, Rorschach found himself buying a cap with his Messiah’s slogan. He even began accompanying the candidates’ campaigns on the television – not at home, of course, as he thought it a capricious waste of money to have a device like that in his apartment, but at his local bar.
On the 8th of November of 2016, he limped his way to Jone’s as he had done so many nights before. Tonight was a special night, however: tonight, the fate of the nation was decided. Rorschach was not feeling too enthused; he had seen the recent polls and was more or less expecting a defeat. But if he had accompanied the election thus far, and had broken his long abstinence from voting, he might as well see it through to the finish line.
The bar was crowded, as was to be expected. Most seats were already occupied by men much like himself: old, white, and tattered, moping over half-empty glasses of this drink or the other. He sat amongst them, going unnoticed with his usual aptitude. He ordered a beer and sat drinking it, occasionally lifting his eyes to the television screen but mostly staring into nothing with a deadpan expression. He broke from his trance when the buzz of conversation around him became too loud for alienation to be possible. Looking at the television screen, Rorschach found that the tide might just be turning: Trump had won Florida and Ohio, and it looked like he was about to win Pennsylvania! The news brought Rorschach to a state of unrest that he was unable to shake off, as were the men around him. This prolonged itself for about an hour; and as the last swing state turned red on the map closely watched by all, the men jumped from their seats in unabashed exhilaration, and Rorschach, unable to restrain himself, jumped as well, shouting “Trump! Trump! Trump!” along with the crowd. The jump had hurt his right foot, and his hat seemed to have fallen off his head. Startled, Rorschach looked around him and quickly found his red cap lying on the floor. Though his foot still hurt, he grabbed hold of it in an instant. Reassured, he carefully pressed the words “Make America Great Again” onto his head.