Fa un parell d'anys un amic de Girona (gràcies Jusi!) em va enviar un paquet per correu amb tot d'objectes de regal. Un parell dels regals eren dos CD's d'un grup totalment desconegut per mi, Tunng. La veritat no sé com definir-los i menys encara després de veure algun vídeo seu al mig del camp i amb guitarres, xocava una mica amb el que havia sentit d'ells fins aquell moment. A la viquipèdia els defineixen com a grup del Regne Unit que fan folck experimental, crec que hi estic prou d'acord, la paraula és experimental. Tenen un parell de cançons que m'encanten. Així que millor us deixo que els descobriu i els pogueu definir vosaltres:Tunng - Tale from black (cliqueu)
She washes all the young blood from her hands in the sink
And she knows that the lights will be there for her
Breaks down the bodies to dark subtle ink
And she scrawls on the parchments that hang in the air
She rides a horse over stones in the night
And she closes her eyes and lets go of the reigns
She knows the radios run through the night
And she knows that the lights leave the prettiest stains
She builds a shrine and a typing machine
And she curls up to write down her tales from the black
Prays for a soft breeze and cool gentle rain
And she prays for the bodies that rise slowly back
She knows the dunes where the steel cities grow
And she knows when they jail her they'll grind down the key
She knows the lights lay the heaviest blows
And she knows that the sand must submit to the sea
She builds a bird out of plywood and gold
For to carry the old souls on up to the sun
Turns on the TV and sits in the cold
And she dreams that sometimes she's the prettiest one
She knows the thrill of the chase in her veins
And she knows that the sinking's a trick of the light
Prays for the silence and cool gentle rain
And she prays that the radios run through the night
Tunng - Faire doreen
And she knows that the lights will be there for her
Breaks down the bodies to dark subtle ink
And she scrawls on the parchments that hang in the air
She rides a horse over stones in the night
And she closes her eyes and lets go of the reigns
She knows the radios run through the night
And she knows that the lights leave the prettiest stains
She builds a shrine and a typing machine
And she curls up to write down her tales from the black
Prays for a soft breeze and cool gentle rain
And she prays for the bodies that rise slowly back
She knows the dunes where the steel cities grow
And she knows when they jail her they'll grind down the key
She knows the lights lay the heaviest blows
And she knows that the sand must submit to the sea
She builds a bird out of plywood and gold
For to carry the old souls on up to the sun
Turns on the TV and sits in the cold
And she dreams that sometimes she's the prettiest one
She knows the thrill of the chase in her veins
And she knows that the sinking's a trick of the light
Prays for the silence and cool gentle rain
And she prays that the radios run through the night
Tunng - Faire doreen
Oh fair Doreen the night has seen
You ply your trade so sweet
And though they come your soul to stun
No anvil shall you be
No anvil shall you be Doreen
No anvil shall you be
Although they come your soul to stun
No anvil shall you be
Oh fair Doreen your treacled lips
That taste of other worlds
Though they may claim your soul be stained
Thou art not Satan's girl
Thou art not Satan's girl Doreen
Thou art not Satan's girl
Though they may claim your soul be stained
Thou art not Satan's girl
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