Trasher

Hay momentos en los que la música nos regala pequeñas joyas. Y si hay algún artista que nos ofrezca joya tras joya este es Neil Young. La última es Living With War, una denuncia a la guerra en Irak y a la política de Bush. Es un disco eléctrico, con un Neil Young salvaje y estridente. Pero ahora me gustaría remontarme a su faceta acústica, esa que tantas veces ha provocado mi emoción con una simple guitarra y una harmónica, y en concreto al álbum de 1979 Rust Never Sleeps. Consistente en una cara A acústica y en una cara B eléctrica, este disco es una de las obras maestras de Young. Acompañado de los Crazy Horse consigue crear un disco completo e imprescindible. Todos los temas son dignos de mención, pero hoy me quedo con uno en especial: Trasher. ¿Qué mejor poema y qué mejor música?

"Thrasher"

They were hiding behind hay bales,

They were planting

in the full moon

They had given all they had

for something new

But the light of day was on them,

They could see the thrashers coming

And the water

shone like diamonds in the dew.

And I was just getting up,

hit the road before it's light

Trying to catch an hour on the sun

When I saw

those thrashers rolling by,

Looking more than two lanes wide

I was feelin'

like my day had just begun.

Where the eagle glides ascending

There's an ancient river bending

Down the timeless gorge of changes

Where sleeplessness awaits

I searched out my companions,

Who were lost in crystal canyons

When the aimless blade of science

Slashed the pearly gates.

It was then I knew I'd had enough,

Burned my credit card for fuel

Headed out to where the pavement

turns to sand

With a one-way ticket

to the land of truth

And my suitcase in my hand

How I lost my friends

I still don't understand.

They had the best selection,

They were poisoned with protection

There was nothing that they needed,

Nothing left to find

They were lost in rock formations

Or became park bench mutations

On the sidewalks

and in the stations

They were waiting, waiting.

So I got bored and left them there,

They were just deadweight to me

Better down the road

without that load

Brings back the time

when I was eight or nine

I was watchin' my mama's T.V.,

It was that great

Grand Canyon rescue episode.

Where the vulture glides descending

On an asphalt highway bending

Thru libraries and museums,

galaxies and stars

Down the windy halls of friendship

To the rose clipped by the bullwhip

The motel of lost companions

Waits with heated pool and bar.

But me I'm not stopping there,

Got my own row left to hoe

Just another line

in the field of time

When the thrasher comes,

I'll be stuck in the sun

Like the dinosaurs in shrines

But I'll know the time has come

To give what's mine.