We are Augustines

Publié le par christophe bouquerel

Nous sommes des enfants d'Août.

 

 

 

  The old man turned and scratched his chin
He said "Son I wouldn't know where to begin, but your daddy's gone,
He's gone down south... it was all he would talk about"

We never blamed it on the soil
Or the sunburned earth
Or the prices of the oil
This border town is my home
I got rattlesnake guts
In a desert full of bones

Tell my sister I've gone and to find someone
cause I won't come back no more, no more

Lord I see red and it's storming in my head
I got cathedrals in my ears and I think my Daddy's dead
Lord I see red and I'm prayin' on my bed
I got a drunk for a mother
Got a saint for a brother

Now the sun is shinin' on my hood
The statue on the dashboard
Of Maria looks beautiful,
And I'm headin' down south
I got tequila in my veins
And the devil in my mouth,

Tell my sister I've gone
And to find someone
Cause I won't comeback no more...
No more

Lord I see red and it's storming in my head
I got cathedrals in my ears and I think my Daddy's dead
Lord I see red and I'm prayin' on my bed
I got a drunk for a mother
Got a saint for a brother

But hey it's alright
I got jukebox tears and stones for eyes
Hey it's alright
I got jukebox tears
Under turquoise skies...
Hey.

So now I got hell on my trail
It took some demons to get even
No my demons are countin' rosaries
We never blamed it on the soil
Or the sun scorched earth
Where the desert meets the sky

Tell my sister I've gone and to find someone
Cause I won't come back no more...
No more.

 

We are Augustines tiré de leur premier album "Rise Ye Sunken Ships"

Un groupe qui évoque l'Amérique profonde et qui vient pourtant de Brooklyn. La voix rauque et puissante de Billy Mac Carthy, le chanteur compositeur, qui évoque un peu Springsteen. Sa belle gueule, entre Kerouac et Brad Pitt. La présence d'un frère junky et suicidé qui hante ses textes.

La recherche de l'émotion brute.

Beau premier album.

Et live, c'est fort aussi.

 

 

 

Philadelphia,  city of brotherly love. Un au piano, l'autre à la voix. Une façon brute, masculine d'aller dans l'émotion, presque jusqu'au pathos, jusqu'aux pleurs, et de le traverser.

 

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