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Tražim ploču zbog puknuća vodovodne cijevi.
Sjećam se - bio sam jako mali kad je tata donio prvi gramofon. Polako ga je sastavljao nedopuštajuči nama dvojci da se približimo. Mi smo sve pratili preko njegovog ramena, nestrpiljivi kada će ta kutija početi ispuštati zvukove. Jedan zvučnik treba spojiti u ovu rupu, a drugi u ovu drugu. Staviš ploču u sredinu i digneš iglu ne rukom nego je bila ona poluga (koju smo kasnije razvalili pa smo imali alibi za nepodizanje ručice polugom), potegneš je u desno dok se ne čuje - klik - i ploča se počne vrtjeti. Onda naštimaš ručicu na početak ploče i polugom ju spustiš. I voila - eto muzike. Kakvo otkriće.
Od muzike smo imali klasiku jer je to slušao moj stari, par ploča hrvatskih božićnih pjesama i par onako, neoređenih ploča.
U ono vrijeme, brat i ja još nismo voljeli klasiku pa smo non stop vrtili jednu ploču na čijoj je naslovnici bila kaubojka 70-ih godina, duge, plave, valovite kose. Na sebi je imala smeđi kožni top ispod kojeg smo znali da skriva ogromne sise. Imala je vruče hlačice i visoke kožne čizme. U rukama je držala dva kaubojska revolvera i gledala me ravno u oči. Prejebena cura. Sad sam se sjetio na koga me podjećaju one trebe iz Monthy Pytona.
Braća i ja smo preslušali tu ploču milijun puta. Na njoj su nekakvi country klasici lakih nota. Bilo je tu i još nekih pjesama na njemačkom u country izvedbi i nas trojca smo znali blejati te izraze i nerazumljivo pjevati. Znali smo cijelu ploču napamet iako nismo kužili ni jednu jedinu riječ.
Puno puta sam u životu pomislio na tu ploču i na pjesme na njoj. Tu i tamo bi se i sjetio neke drage melodije no već sutra bi utonula u sve dublji zaborav. Na tu ploču sam pomislio i danas. Sjetio sam se te kaubojke, braće, djetinjstva opet se bezuspješno sjetiti neke od melodija. Ne ide.
Sinoć je pukla vodovodna cijev ispred naše zgrade tako da cijeli dan nismo imali vode. Voda je stigla danas oko podne, ali je odvratno šporka i neće se moći piti još par dana. I kaže Demjan da će umriti od žeđi i da joj odem kupiti vode na pumpu. Sjedam u auto i krećem prema benzinskoj.
U tom trenutku kreće pjesma na mom omiljenom "zagrebačkom radiju" . Pri prvim taktovima znao sam da je to pjesma sa ploče iz djetinjstva koje sam se danas sjetio. Kakav šok. To je to! Tom Dooley! Pa da. Tom Dooley. U jednom trenutku se sjećam cijele pjesme. Pjevam ja skupa sa radiom i tek sad otkrivam o čemu se zapravo u pjesmi radi.
Tom Dooley je ubio svoju curu, izbo ju je nožem i sutra će ga objestiti. ?!?!?!
Opet šok. Daj Tom Dooley čije sam ime u djetinjstvu milijun puta otpjevao je zapravo ubojica. Koji kreten bi napisao takvu pjesmu.
Pjevam ja u autu i stižem na pumpu, ali pjesma i dalje traje. Nisam lud izaći sad iz auta kad traje pjesma koju nisam čuo 27 godima. Sjedim u autu na pumpi i veličam ubojicu kojeg će sutra objesiti za stari hrast.
Pri povratku se pokušam sjetiti još koje drage melodije s te ploče. Bila je jedna u kojoj je frajer sa promuklim glasom kroz čije grlo je prošlo parsto litara viskija i milijune kubičnih metara duhanskog dima - pjevao: Pom porpm pom , pom porpom pom, pom pom pom pom pom pom pom pom. Nije bitno.
Uvodim polako Demjan u priču koja mi se dogodila i opisujem cover tog LP-a i tu curu. Kaže ona da je i ona imala tu ploču i da se točno sjeća te cure.
Sjedam za pc.
Googlam Tom Dolley. Otvaraju se svjetovi. Wikipedia piše o Tom Dolleyu. To je istinita priča koja sada dobiva i santa barbarovski zaplet. O tome pročitajte na kraju posta ako vas zanima.
Odmah sam skinuo Tom Dooleya i evo svira mi već sat vremena.
Nego, da sinoć nije pukla vodovodna cijev, mene žena nebi poslala po vodu nego bi se napila iz špine. U tom slučaju ja nebi sjeo u auto i slušao radio i nebi čuo Tom Dooleya i nebi se vratio u djetinjstvo. Ne bih potrošio sat vremena na istraživanje o Tomu Dolleyu i na kraju nebih napisao ovaj post i vi ga nebi čitali ove retke, a sasvim sigurno nebi skinuli ovaj mp3 i uživali u laganoj i zaraznoj melodiji.
A sve to samo zato što je puka vodovodna cijev.
Čudno, zar ne?
[Intro:]
Throughout history
There've been many songs written about the eternal triangle
This next one tells the story of a Mr Grayson, a beautiful woman
And a condemned man named Tom Dooley...
When the sun rises tomorrow, Tom Dooley... must hang...
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you're bound to die
I met her on the mountain
There I took her life
Met her on the mountain
Stabbed her with my knife
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you're bound to die
This time tomorrow
Reckon where I'll be
Hadn't a-been for Grayson
I'd a-been in Tennessee
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you're bound to die
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you're bound to die
This time tomorrow
Reckon where I'll be
Down in some lonesome valley
Hangin' from a white oak tree
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you're bound to die
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley
Poor boy, you're bound to die
Poor boy, you're bound to die
Poor boy you're bound to die
Poor boy, you're bound to die...
The murder of Laura Foster (January 1866) was committed a few miles from Doc's home. More than sixty years later, Doc, as a young boy, sat by the fireside at home and listened to heated discussions about the case.
Tom Dula was described to Doc as having been a handsome young man in his early twenties at the time of the murder. Local legend tells that both Laura Foster and Annie Melton were in love with Tom, and further that Sheriff Grayson, the man who took him in custody and also drove the horses from beneath him when he was hanged, was jealous of Tom. Some believe that he either committed the murder or helped Ann Melton who is reputed to have murdered Laura Foster out of jealousy. Around Doc's home, there was great sympathy for Tom. Local people who remembered the principals in that case described Laura Foster as "very beautiful... with chestnut curls and merry blue eyes... wild as a buck." (Brown, "North Carolina Folklore" Vol II). An old man from Wilkes County, N. C. said: "Ann Melton was the purtiest woman I ever looked in the face of. She'd a-been hung too, but her neck was jist too purty to stretch hemp. She was guilty, I knowed hit... 'Ef they'd a-been ary womern on the jury, she'd a-got first degree. Men couldn't look at the womern and keep their heads." (Brown ibid.). Two years after the murder, Ann was tried and acquitted. Tom had been hanged refusing to implicate her in any way.
Doc's great-grandmother, Betsy Triplett Watson, was called to Annie Melton's death bed and said she was told: "If I knew I would never get well again, there is something I would tell you about Tom's hanging." Doc's cousin, Ora Watson, and Rosa Lee both tell that great-granny Betsy (she is also Rosa Lee's great-grandmother) heard sounds around Annie's bed when she was dying: sounds like those of red hot rocks being dropped in a bucket of cold water. Ann Melton was said to have told Betsy Watson that she could see the flames of Hell at the foot of her bed.
Grannie Lottie Watson (married to Betsy's son, Smith Watson) used to sing the ballad in much the same version that Doc sings here. The version popularized by The Kingston Trio was based on the singing of Frank Proffitt who lives a few minutes ride down the road from Doc.
preuzeto sa
http://www.geocities.com/nashville/3448/tom.html
Post je objavljen 09.09.2006. u 01:03 sati.