Ani Di Franco is finibusterrae. His stand on the border is the element that arouses my unbounded admiration for the little folk singer of Buffalo.
Many, indeed, are its boundaries. For example, Ani communicates over a line that is no longer acting, but is still singing. It 'an old storyteller of modern America. I wonder if the abused term "folk singer" can be translated with our "storytellers"? I think so because Ani Di Franco is really a storyteller. It acts on the border between the market and nothing has recorded music for a long time with personal selling household appliances after concert. He then founded his own record company that made independent of the majors forcing her to a career niche (but his loyal followers have always been particularly fascinated determined and proud, myself among them).
Well, after a period of sound experiments that recently added to its expressive power (back to urlarci your thousands of words against the powers, Ani!) seems to have returned to a more acoustic and singles, how he had come full circle. Ani Di Franco is amazing how incredible is that few people know, guilt of his words that hurt, open wounds, indignant. And that guitar really cuts through the air with syncope and convulsions that seem to follow a period of no music but the stomach, the vibration of a punch in the stomach.
Jewish mother and Italian father, on the edge of the city wasp, a bit 'black and a little' white and said to be bisexual, but it does not matter is a boundary, as this is felt by many, and perhaps even from themselves.
My technique has developed largely due to the fact that years ago I began experimenting with fake nails. This allows me to sound more energetic, because the nails that the Lord has given me fall apart. Use the action nailene length, which are large, thick, ugly and repulsive, but perfect for playing the guitar. the attack with an extra-strong glue, which helps prevent fungal [...]
beam my fingers with tape just below the middle knuckle. often tear and pull the strings, and the tape keeps my knuckles bleed and helps also to ensure that the strings get stuck under the fingernails, something brutal. I feel like a football player when they are stuffed and ready to slam against each other, but I'd feel naked if mounted up a box without wrapping my fingers. "
Yes , we are all just poetry
90% metaphors
with a sense of poverty
approaching all'iperdistillazione
yet there was a time we were moonbeams
and slid down the neck of a giraffe
yes, a slip for that long corridor
despite what it says the voice system
yes, slide for those long stairs
with the whiskey of eternity fermented and distilled to eighteen minutes
that burned his throat
down the hall
downstairs
of a building so tall that remain there forever
so ago part of a couple
there on the bow of Noah's Ark
most prestigious that the couple see the ball
against a perfectly blue sky
that morning sublime
with its beauty from Indian summer
the day that America fell to his knees
after walking upright for a century
never say thanks or please
and the shock was subsonic
deafening and the smoke
because we were all at work on time that day
and we were all aboard that flight
and then while the fires raged
us We all climbed on the sill
and then we took her hand,
and we all launched into the sky
and each district has looked up
when he heard the first outbreak
and every stupid action movie suddenly appeared exceeded
and exodus of people and cars
resembled the war
more than anything else I've seen so far
so far, for now
so fierce and ingenious
a poetic ghost reappeared after two centuries
that every commentator found herself babbling idiot
"oh my god" and "is incredible,"
nothing for hours and hours
and I want to tell you one thing, while we're at:
you can keep the Pentagon
keep the propaganda keep each and every television
who tried to convince
to join the plan, some high school fanatic
for orchestrating retaliation
just as the blue smoke and toxic
of our example of retaliation
is still infect the air
and we have ashes on shoes
and ash in their hair
a mantle of fine silt
from Hell's Kitchen in Brooklyn
and the streets are full of stories
of turns unforeseen delays and providential
and every bar
is filled to the rafters with tales of disaster narrowly avoided
and whiskey flowing like never
while throughout the country, people shake their heads and pouring a drink.
So let's make a toast
to all those who live in Palestine
Afghanistan Iraq El Salvador
a toast to all those who live in the Pine Ridge Reservation
under the cold stare and petrified
Mount Rushmore
a toast to all those doctors
and those nurses
that every day allow women to choose
facing a threat as big as Oklahoma City
only to hear the voice of a girl
a toast to all those sentenced to death
that right now waiting for their guillotine
Smothering terror
and can escape only in themselves
to find peace in the form of a dream
Take us away because our playstation
and we are a third world nation
dominated by a kind of noble heir
that has usurped the Oval Office
and those fake elections
I mean,
sure that it does not take a weatherman
to look out weather
Jeb said he would deliver Florida, folks,
all right and if he succeeded
and these are our self-evident truths
1. George Bush is not president
2. America is not a true democracy
3. the media do not tease me
because I am a poem
careful all'iperdistillazione
I have no room for a lie so verbose
embrace with a look
my whole family of humans
and lifted his glass in a toast
it's our last sip
of fossil fuels
vow to end it with this poison
to disperse swarms of commuter planes
and find that train ticket
we lost
because there was a time when the railroad ran along the river
and curiosity in all the courtyards
and there was laundry hung
ammicavano and graffiti from brick walls and bridges
shooting between mountains and valleys
under the stars
I dream of traveling such as Duke Ellington
in my private carriage
dream of waiting
on the high blond wood benches
in a central station flooded with grace
and then standing on the platform
feel the wind on your face
return to the night its distant whistle
return to the darkness the soul
send fuck off once and for all the big oil companies
and learn again the rock'n'roll
yes, the examples around us
and we expect a change
and therefore it is time to examine the debris
the streets clean and freshen the air
cosringere the Government
to pull out his big bird from the desert sand of someone else
rinfilarselo pants
and be done with the hypocritical slogan of lasting freedom
because when that one phone called
in 2001 at nine and ten the 911
which is the number that we all called when that one phone rang
behind the wall by the desk
up the corridor
along the endless stairs
of a building so tall
that the world has turned
only to see it fall.
And while we remember the first time?
the bomb? the truck?
underground parking?
the princess, who had not even noticed the pea?
you remember how we joke about it?
can you imagine how many paper cups are expected to change decoration
chasing the incredible change the skyline of New York?
was just a joke, of course
just a joke
and it happened only a few years ago
and then this investigation demonstrates
that the FBI was involved in the case
that the plot was obvious and visible to all
and to examine the area religiously
the CIA - or the KGB ?
who has committed countless crimes against humanity
always with this event as an excuse
for all abuses committed
one after the other
without a clue
look there is another window above,
the 104th floor
another key another door
literal 10%
90% metaphor
three thousand poems disguised as people
in a nearly perfect day
should be something more
than pawns in some asshole's passion play
so now it's up to you and it's my turn
do so they do not die in vain.
Shhhhh ...... listen baby, do you hear the train?
Readings
Ani DiFranco , Self evident. Poems and drawings . Minimum Fax
Music
Ani DiFranco, Canon , Righteous Babe Records
Images
Ani DiFranco taken up by various photographers
Ani Di Franco on Youtube 1 and 2
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