bob theil

Bob Theil “So Far” Lp 1982, Reissue Golden Pavilion Records, 2018

Golden Pavilion Records, ubicada en Portugal, ha reeditado recientemente la obra maestra atemporal “So Far” del cantautor escocés Bob Theil, publicada en 1982.
La voz aterciopelada de Bob y su manejo de la guitarra de 12 cuerdas imprime al disco una atmósfera particular. Los excelentes músicos de sesión que participan en el disco contribuyen en el magnetismo de la grabación.
En algunas ocasiones hay toques de guitarra eléctrica y en otros breves teclados, cierta influencia de música céltica y folck progresivo como de la música de Roy Harper, Nick Drake, Sandy Denny, Richard Thompson o John Martyn.
Todo ello origina una música triste y melancólica.
Obra más propia de los setenta, apenas tuvo repercusión en su época, donde la tendencia se arrimaba al Post Punk y la New Wave; en cambio, ha sido valorada en su justa medida con posterioridad, hecho que corroboran las periódicas reediciones entusiastas.

Bob Theil, Vocals, 12 String, Acoustic Guitars, Synth; Bill Power, Bass Guitar; Mark Brzezicki, Drums, Percussion; Jed Marchant, Electric Guitar; Steve Hall, Synth, Keyboards; Jimmy Litherland, Electric Guitar; Jim Covington, Acoustic & Electric Guitar.


(Lyrics and music R.G.Theil, 1982)

You looked at me with troubled eyes,
And brushed the hair from your face,
Then asked me into your room,
I knew what you were trying to say.

I saw shadows dance and die,
In the flames, upon the walls,
You said you couldn’t find the words,
But I knew that soon you would be gone.

I pictured firelight in your hair,
As the moments slipped away.
We sat holding memories till morning,
And watched the coming calls of dawn.

Your voice in whispers soft but clear,
In the silence of the room,
You couldn’t find the words,
But I knew that soon you would be gone.

One day, today or tomorrow
(Lyrics and music R.G.Theil, 1982)

Reality spread in confusion,
Time has no pity to offer your eyes,
As you walk in the rain splashed neon,
That calls out in pain.
The statue stands with its arms to the wind,
That beckons you forward
To win or to lose, your game.

The sad-eyed waitress
Winding her way through the streets of decay,
Lit by the streetlight outside,
And feeling alone watching lights of the good life,
And slipping sleeplessly,
Into the grey sheets of the night.
And watching hope rise and fall,
Ah! She’ll win her ways,
One day, today of tomorrow.

So pursuing her games,
Into the night’s lonely unfeeling eyes,
As the first cracks appear,
On the lining of the sky,
She waits to hold close to her feeling,
The first touch of light,
To caress the ceiling, in play.

And standing alone in the square,
Not a sound anywhere,
And wondering, now,
How I came to be there.


Who are we now?
(Lyrics and music R.G.Theil, 1982))

Oh how quickly the pages turn in my hands,
My ways now are colder,
The photographed times of all that once was,
Leaves me in wonder,
In the cold winter stone,
No reason is true to my knowing,
As I sit in my solitude, thinking,
Did I know you?

As the door opens wide,
a greeting is called,
I stumble in darkness,
And reaching the hands for the far away times,
I need to hold on to,
“Oh, it’s strange being here”, but somehow,
You don’t understand me,
As my words are all lost,
I feel that, I just don’t belong here.

December 1918

(Lyrics and music R.G.Theil, 1982)

Our footsteps are naked, retreating to hide
In the ruins of some place she came from,
Her eyes fleeting quickly, not resting upon
The empty streets that surround her,
With the signs in the distance
Aging but bright
Facing the winds of the winter
With the sky melting slowly on pillars of stones,
There is a cry in the air of the frightened.

His words softly strangled still hangs in her pain,
Though the years are now far between them,
There’s a ghost in some shelter his uniform stained,
In vain, reaching to touch her,
With the flash of the gunfire, splitting the night
Tearing the soul from his future,
With the words of some promise, ingrained in his mind,
He lay as the wild snows fell freely.

And now are you sleeping?
With the stillness of death in the air,
Oh where are you sleeping?

Her gaze in remembrance is watching the fall,
Of the fresh fallen snows on her window,
With the red of the sky sinking low in her eyes,
The warlord’s eagles are resting,
And trembling she cries, through the mists of desires,
Lain far in the depths of the evening,
And her eyes are glazed as the cold stings her face,

And the emptiness sings of the future.
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