tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216759022024-03-07T15:08:56.030-06:00Three Hundred BarsA collective blog which is also a bar, or several bars,<br>
where good pop songs inspire inebriated and often bilingual conversations <br>
"<i>Great rock writing has moved to where the music is moving. Somewhere out there</i>" -Paul MorleyErnestohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03953877785664466289noreply@blogger.comBlogger252125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-49735413805573570102009-11-20T22:11:00.000-06:002009-11-20T22:12:19.389-06:00Five Years Across Thirty SevenFIVE YEARS, WHAT A SURPRISE!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-12253983877394531442009-01-07T01:13:00.005-06:002009-01-07T01:24:10.938-06:00Nothing Compares 2 U, by Sinéad O'ConnorSe hace uno el macho. Se hace uno el muy cabrón. Mientra madres y recuerda cosas que nunca ocurrieron. Se rompe el corazón imaginario, se destruye la dignidad inexistente.Levanta uno el pecho y la barbilla como un gallo peleador, se bufa por la nariz el desprecio hacia ella, aquella, ésa.Qué ganó con decir que cambiaste mi suerte, qué gano yo con decir que sin ti, mejor muerto.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-73937704084248126682008-08-07T01:23:00.002-05:002008-08-07T01:32:31.111-05:00Woman Driving, Man Sleeping, by eelsA picture song. I'm not talking photographic. E paints with words. You are driving. You take the responsibilities. I'm nothing but your copilot. I look for the streets in the map. I tell you where to turn, although you already know that. Should I be afraid of getting lost? No. There's certain anxiety in me. But, in the end, I know exactly where you're taking us. That's why I can fall asleep. Or Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-11094589881260503542008-07-24T16:16:00.002-05:002008-07-24T16:28:58.581-05:00Everyday is Like Sunday, by MorrisseyI dreaded sundays as a youngster. They were heavy and slow. They were late-wakeuppers and didn't involve much more than eating, watching the telly and mourning for saturdays past.My head is more psychotic when bored, so sundays represented too much time with myself and being miserable. My self was a bombarded town.Youth is gone, and now sundays are minute and fleeting. They almost aren't there. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-1049395613604029762008-07-24T12:50:00.009-05:002008-07-25T02:45:22.827-05:00Take me to the river, by Talking HeadsEras flaco, tenías el cabello chino y dorado. Eras el pinche güerito de la escuela activa y todos te detestaban porque "eras un farol burgués". La primera vez que te vi no podía creer que existiera alguien como tu. Tenías puesto un overol y parecías un modelo de algún video de MTV de los ochenta, pero con lentes de botella. Pensándolo en restrospectiva seguramente usabas overol porque te sentías Andrea Catalina Cabrerahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13835443695595881061noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-22475052141778803732008-07-22T04:36:00.009-05:002008-07-22T05:23:30.429-05:00Miss Misery by Elliot SmithI deserved to be killed. How could you still love me and take care of me and hold me in your arms. Your love hurt me. It hurt me to know I was lovable. After I destroyed everything that was left I came back to you, knowing that I had finally won the battle against myself, that I had finally convinced you it wasn't a good idea to be with me. I had abandoned you, stabbed your back. In sum, I was a Andrea Catalina Cabrerahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13835443695595881061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-40073420029465253272008-07-07T16:09:00.003-05:002008-07-07T16:15:05.302-05:00All I Want is You, por U2 Puede ser lo que quieres que sea... Tu miedo o tu dolor, mi tristeza o mi deseo. Pueden ser la tristes historias que cargamos. Puede ser que seamos distintos. O iguales. Puede parecer complicado o imposible. Puede ser que otras personas se sientan heridas. Podría pensarse que hicimos algo mal. Tal vez peleemos. Tal vez lloremos. Hay posibilidades de lastimarnos. Puede ocurrir que Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-48944560981718353122008-06-23T10:30:00.002-05:002008-06-23T11:02:24.057-05:00Train In Vain (Stand By Me), by The ClashOne of the saddest lyrics ever. This song refers to what Rob says in High Fidelity: "Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss". However, music doesn't connect with the sadness. Fortunately. It is as if Joe Strummer had said: "Yes, you have made me particularly miserable, but look at the masterpiece I created"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-88360798392823189282008-04-07T17:33:00.004-05:002008-04-07T17:46:03.107-05:00Here's Where the Story Ends, by The SundaysLos fantasmas nunca nos abandonan y viven para cazar nuestros silencios. En un descuido una fotografía tuya se escondió bajo un librero hace algunos meses. Ayer, en la tranquilidad falsa que ofrece la tarde del domingo la encontré sólo para sentarme en la cama y contemplar tu risa que tanto extraño. ¿Qué significa este hallazgo? Las epifanías de un día común se llenan de memoria y de pequeñas Eveliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04771286619103867299noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-72607021033545154522008-04-01T02:04:00.003-06:002008-04-01T02:12:13.931-06:00Knives Out, by RadioheadHúmedo lecho de muerte es tu boca devorándome cada noche. Haciendo de mi cuerpo un mastique viejo, sin sabor. ¿Es que no puedes tragar mi tristeza de un bocado? La he alimentado toda mi vida con las penas más pesadas, para que juntos, en esta destrucción amorosa, caigamos pronto hasta el fondo de nuestra tumba matrimonial.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-75751335448383207412007-12-29T03:01:00.000-06:002007-12-29T16:39:04.083-06:00Solitary Man, por Neil DiamondTodos los días me enamoro, de antiguas esperanzas o nuevos deseos. Cada mañana imagino mi cama oliendo a ti, desconocida, como algo lejano. Mientras mi corazón siga siendo una piedra que sangra, seguiremos siendo tú y yo, mas nunca nosotros.Feliz año nuevo a todos.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-19719173459125774482007-12-17T19:29:00.001-06:002007-12-17T19:40:29.723-06:00This Time Tomorrow, by The KinksWalking at dawn. Wondering where will we be, not only tomorrow, but all the tomorrows we have ahead of us. The wind blowing hard. My eye aches because of polution. Does it really matter after last night? After all the nights before? People walking and pushing each other trying to step inside the buses, making noise. Nothing worries me now. None of that noise bothers me. "This time tomorrow where Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-34178432952342077912007-10-20T21:40:00.000-05:002007-10-20T21:49:27.106-05:00Protection, by Massive AttackThere are songs which were made to guide your way back home. Walking late at night, not a soul on the street and you feel the breeze of the rain which fell earlier. The earphones pumping as the only thing you can hang on to yourself. There are songs which were written for specific reasons, to make us feel that nothing really is that important. You can always return home (whatever you want to Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-38525130490115924432007-10-09T01:09:00.000-05:002007-10-09T01:18:18.627-05:00Famous Blue Raincoat, by Marcel et Isabelle KancheNo need to explain: love was gone before you left through the door. All I have is this song.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-40732730408033408172007-10-07T21:17:00.000-05:002007-10-07T21:58:07.373-05:00Kangaroo, by This Mortal CoilLos fantasmas se niegan a morir: existen para abandonarnos o ser nuestros nombres escondidos. Decapitados, nos abandonan en las calles que recorremos en la madrugada. Claro que esperamos encontrarlos en cada gesto familiar que reconocemos. Pero la memoria es una ciencia de nombres, de gratitudes que nos salvan y que nos hacen vulnerables. "Estamos como/de otoño//sobre árboles/las hojas" escribio Eveliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04771286619103867299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-83931250816892701602007-09-18T08:49:00.001-05:002007-09-18T08:56:54.624-05:00Have You Forgotten, by Red House PaintersLas preguntas esenciales a veces se omiten. Por miedo, por desidia, por olvido. Generación perdida en el cinismo: pasar de la intimidad total al desconocimiento. Cuando te vuelves extraño. Normalizamos las separaciones y las rupturas, tomamos nuevas rutas y pensamos que eso nos aleja del lugar donde venimos. ¿Ya se te olvido, acaso, cuando éramos amigos? Pregunta esencial, sin duda. Another pint Ernestohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03953877785664466289noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-77275498674682317082007-09-08T19:43:00.000-05:002007-09-08T19:54:26.339-05:00Something's Always Wrong, by Toad the Wet SprocketCuando tenía 16, parecía que todo estaba mal, o por lo menos ALGO estaba mal todo el tiempo. Nunca podía tener un momento donde todo se conjugara mágicamente para llenarme por completo. Algo, alguien faltaba.Con el paso del tiempo sigo pensando que algo está mal todo el tiempo. Los 360 grados que rodean mi cuerpo en algún punto muestran un horizonte no muy agradable. Lo bueno es que hay otros 359Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-16513747422171996232007-09-06T21:51:00.000-05:002007-09-06T22:00:36.729-05:00The Grudge, by ToolChip on my shoulderDragging me down, with each drink I have, the void in my eyes getting darker, the voice in the past fading faster: You should have, should have not.Another glass of bile, a second pouring of scorn, a third and fourth damming of my inability to remember what I did wrong.Let goLet goLet go.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-16347191585309966622007-09-03T01:05:00.001-05:002007-09-03T01:10:22.334-05:00Objeción denegada, by Juan Pablo Sopa¡Sufragio efectivo, NO REGGAETON!Y arriba 31 Minutos...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-72615177404524840182007-08-28T23:19:00.000-05:002007-08-28T23:30:43.495-05:00Cliffs, by Aphex TwinCuando el cielo no nos alcanza,la tierra intenta extenderse,acariciarnos.Sus accidentes dejan de serlo,se convierten en patronesa noventa kilómetros por hora.Nadie los dibuja,pero se borrany se forman.Se borrany se forman.Las repeticionesno cesan, quieren romperse,la monotonía se quiebra,nos dice:“verde, azul”. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-16259874244942799622007-08-21T11:02:00.001-05:002007-08-21T11:12:11.263-05:00You Know I'm No Good, by Amy WinehouseSome women are like a force of nature. We must accept we are helpless before them. You just have to let go, because otherwise you will live in hell: your chest, your stomach, your whole body will burn with a mixture of jealousy, desire, envy, passion, lust. We can't but fall in love with them: no fair warning will help us from falling into the darkness of their abyss. Sweat, whiskey, sex and sax:Ernestohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03953877785664466289noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-60022751039249892792007-08-20T15:49:00.000-05:002007-08-20T16:08:05.569-05:00A Little Soul by PulpUntil very recently, I didn't want to have children. Not that I was afraid that they'd ruin my career, or that I was too young but might change my mind as I got older, or even anything about world population levels - I was afraid that I'd be a bad parent.Yeah, I wish I could be an example.Wish I could say I stood up for you and fought for what was right. But I never did.Specifically I didn't wantSmall Ball of Angerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10906014342789929454noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-76823418590097451042007-08-19T08:46:00.000-05:002007-08-19T08:51:15.688-05:00Amoeba, by The Future Sound of London“The beautiful”, he wrote,is not the veil’tis not the veiled object either“The beautiful”, he wrote,is the object in its veillike the layers of the seathe placenta underwatersthe aura of a new beginningand thenin the pages of a notebooktightly interfolded like cotyledonsa suggested improvement on nature:“The beautiful”, he dreamed,would have the sound of this sea,memory flowing, dreamscaping,the Ernestohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03953877785664466289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-2498953972984403872007-08-12T23:39:00.000-05:002007-08-13T00:01:33.560-05:00Untitled 1, by Sigur RosPocas canciones son destino:La mañana más fría de mi vida estuve viendo el amanecer como un sonámbulo. El mundo naciendo sin cesar ese día de marzo me hizo ver que mi destino no era estar a tu lado. El frío salía callado de ese departamento que habitamos y que confundimos con esperanza. A las cinco de la mañana me levanté de la cama para encontrar una verdad en las tinieblas. Yo había dejado el Eveliohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04771286619103867299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21675902.post-45535438131269702922007-07-19T01:24:00.000-05:002007-07-19T01:39:39.266-05:00The Dress, by Blonde RedheadSiempre me hiciste llorar. Hablando por teléfono, antes de conocernos, sabía que eras el amor de mi vida. Tus llamadas por la mañana nunca he vuelto a recibirlas. Después de vernos, y tocarnos, decidiste quedarte con tu novio, y lloré de camino a casa... vivíamos tan lejos.Años después, dudaste, y volvimos a la misma esquina de siempre. Dudaste poco y te casaste, pero no conmigo y volví a Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0