..con un arrangiamento più pieno sarebbe una formidabile hit M.G.

Ca démarre comme chez mon voisin et puis on s'amuse avec les paroles et une guitare bien sympa ... et jolie petite récompense pour les amateurs après ;)

Waiting for the player to load the album, I thought to pass the time. Do we really need Jamendo? In my opinion, for what it has done to us so far and given to each of us, that its existence is predicated by the reality or not, makes no difference. Unlikely that something so badly managed can change someone's life. When I was ten, I gave the rope to a friend of a couple of years younger for a whole summer simply promising him something that he wanted badly - a comic book or a radio, I do not remember - getting from him that he did for me everything I wanted to without question and without making me wait. The summer after that he first confronted me and told me to have realized that I had never intended to give him anything;he had had all winter to think about it far from me and removed from my influence and so I had lost a valuable slave. I was only ten years and had not fully refined the art of being boss. Here, on the Web, is different. Of willing slaves are plenty in the back, and you feel Jamendo's breath on your neck all year round. But doesn't it seem odd that there is always a "bug" at the root of everything? A ready excuse but also a very obvious one. Sony, Universal, BMG, Virgin and Polygram do not want you, But so isn't it strange that Jamendo wants you, really wants you and that it want you so much to rave to rework your scores? The first thing we know is that in CreativeCommons the artist waives its right to make a profit from his work and to have a commercial representation. But, oh! isn't it odd that, by definition, your CreativeCommons involve the renunciation of something inalienable? Personal right and renunciation are conflicting terms. If someone teaches you that, to assert your right, you just have to relinuish something, be assured that he's jerking you around and the invention, a decade old, of the CC looks like a tool to fool the largest number of people in the shortest possibile time. You acquire a right when you turn a waiver: that' rich! Anyway, the artists who are eager to participate in Jamendo-PRO seem to corroborate this line of thinking with their registration, and the registrations of their single works,to the traditional national agencies responsible for collecting the authors’ royalties: 4 out of 5 are registered with SIAE, GESAC, SGAE, MCPS-PRS Alliance etc. I don’t like twilight zones and I am pleased to steer clear of all shadoewlands where Arlecchino strives to serve two masters at a tmie. To me, the chambers of compensations are a liability on submergibles, inflated tennis courts and in all those Economies where a central credit institutions still comminates stocks and state bonds har copc, but a dirty cnnection and a reproachful scam of public and private or of common and commercial where Laws state otherwise, that these two extremes must not meet. Jamendo belongs to the latter and I am grateful to all those “friends “of mine ” who must have known that I knew” for having no more lately asked me any written opinion on their outporing. Still, the portrait of the dishonesty anyone can read on the face of Jamendo is far from complete if you leave out from the picture the plethora of unrealistic and slothful counterfeited musicians who crowd this particular kind of digitazed Anti-Inferno and are the perfect replica of the hordes of braggarts that all over the world choke publishers mail boxes with their unreadable manuscripts . You really need the nerve of a Rembrandt to sketch it throughly out, giving life to the hidous portrait through words in the process. The hand which aims the stone hesitates, faced by so many targets. And speaking of sinners reminds me the main sin done at the time of 2.0, the downloading for free of entertaining copyrighted matérièl for anybody can get for a price in more orthodox ways. This sums up to the idea that “legal download” is but another word for illegal download. There’s no line between what’s legal and illegal once the BitTorrent and P2P clients are on place and thus the legal and the unlawful downloaders coexist in the same user 100%. That’ something Oscar Wilde put in admirable form when he stated that there are not good nor bad books but only books badly written and books well written. If a victorian gentleman could unterstand it, it would be a surprise for us if, when applied to downloadable items, the same concept will turn out as though when explained to the Jamendo public. Those who make use of Jamendo’s services are employing with the same ise those supplied by BTJunkie, Mininova and, in a recent past, the PirateBay. What if all this fuss about re-defined or soon to be be re-defined ( read this as: ‘downgraded’ ) artists rights was a screen to assert, in critical times for the P2P, the umpunishable right of a few to upload anything, anything more profitable than a Jamendo album I stress, and make available on the Net in spite of its legal owners? This goal can be easily reached using Jamendo as a battering ram and by twisting the current European law on such ventures: shoved to the doors, the criminals will come back yjrough the windows. Hold on, GB: have you gone sf? -Or fascist: maybe it’s about time for a turn of the screw in such matters if It really’s on the artists’/workers’ side the Europarliament and its satellite Parliaments should devise a mean to crasck down for good any BitTorrent and P2P platform? In my wiew, Jamendo’s corrupting the young blossoms of the musical landscape to come, that’s for sure, with its questionable advances as are stated in its new terms and conditions of use. Think this out wisely, at least: do you want to be corrupted? Never mind the being pushed around and cheated and duped by means of newsletters, forums and no-wages policies ( no cheese for the mouse at the end of the month ) while you endlessly wait for Prince Charming; but being corrupted? If your answer is Yes, that’s easily done and I shall point out for you the surest path to hell, surer than your miss-placed good-intentions. Go to the local theathre, night-club, club privé and pray the manager to hire you as scene attendant. I mean, want to be an artist and have such a status? Sneak into the showbiz and accept avery menial services are thrown at you: at times you’ll be asked to write music and words for others and give up your babies without a cry, on some other occasions you’ll have to provide heroine, ecstasy and minors and now and then thow a party and occasionally prostitute yourselves but when you’ll come on top - and you’ll get there if you do are you’re supposed to do - you’ll be an accomplished stage beast and no more the pathetic good for nothing forums bum you’re now. Thanks to your efferts, you have earned the imperishable admiration of generations well-meaning bourgois who won’t let you never down. You will make the grade because of you, entirely by yourself and will have no one to thanks in the world. Ghost pusher bitch pimp but on the top of world ever after, where you shall meet again me and the likes of me eventually. Think about it. Listening to the radio allurements of the sirens of advertising and to the appeals made by cinema and television production studios to naive young hopefuls, I became aware of the contempt today's cultural industry's contempt no more for its public of final consumers but also for its new recruits. They want to deny to the real creators of the texts they're looking for whatsoever authorial responsability over their work. They want an army of slaves well versed in operating MS Word, indeed, of copysts always ravailable to be alienated from their iown deas and their solutions to problems of form. They're dreaming of a culture lacking in style because lacking in men. It seems that this black tide has finally reached the music industry. I will not lose my time listening to nor forming an opinion about - files, files not tunes nor compositions nor opus, lacking in style. I'll tell you more; I will not spend a penny in cds or dvds made up that way,if I had to stumble across one of those. Until yesterday, Jamendo swung between handler of unwanted goods and harbor for masterless samurai. And now, this claim to outsource the arrangement of music by authors of low bargaining power - a hackneyed old story - and the imposition of a new terms and conditions chart, descended from the above, throught the legal technicality of the log in as evidence of its acceptance, as if we were still in the nineteen Century and a not yet organized work force ( well, here Jamendo's has a point ) ; fucked ironworks owner mentality. Want textual criticism? Show me music verbatim: I like music verbatim and to know how far the technical knowledge and the work capacity of its Authors go and I firmly believe that the chance to show us just that is the catch that attract so many artists on the Net. I forgot: on order to be able to grant that opportunity to anyone you need to implement a freedom culture, the very same culture of freedom that on Jamendo you do not breath and you want to kill. In a nutshell, what is the point in reviewing messy material, on which no one knows how many have got their hands? It males no sense o visit a site where to find the same homogenized music you don't need an Internet connection to hear. Aren't we too grown fro baby food? Where do we go, now? Still waiting for the freaked out player to upload the freaked out album, I begin to wonder...if I miss SeeqPod: for sure, Jamendo has been a bad surrogate of SeeqPod from the beginning. There is a time to be silent. Let the Hung roam the Country: their helmets and their svastikas, along with their BOOTS in no time will be on sale on the flea market. Typical. The more you know Jamendo, the more you watch youTube. This night I could have the time to listen to the whole Ring before I can get the bloody Noe5noé ! lhttp:www.oniricyoutube/81/2passerella L'écran fantastique et Les cahiers du cinema n'ont pas l'honte de vous presenter un scenario d'Andrea Gardini d'après Federico Felini et Bob Fosse A Midsummer Late Night Show Nap; le spectacle sera suivi par les courts-metrés "The Reviewer Reviewed" et "L'arroseur arrosé" (1896 ) des Frérès Lumiere Ext. evening. A luna park in a desert bathed in electric light. The band of dwarfs enters from the right and does some evolutions before being met by Maestro Nino Rota. Marcello enters from the left; he's hurried and worried the scene ahead will not work so well. Fans full throttle. Marcello faces a big white curtain which he orders be opened; reminds Aladdin up front Sesame. We see what the big curtain hid; an utility stairs which will will be our stairway fto heaven for the descent of the stars to the stage. The stair is soon crowded by A GB Romantic cherished Jamendo artists, to whom Marcello orders to move and how to descend the stairs, talking to each other as if they knew each other so well. Once on the ground, the crowd scatters, ready to be called to the stage up front for paying an unceremoniously leave of absence. The camera wanders about the crowd, and we recognize the artists one by one., while the voice over of A GB Romantic pays his respects to each of them. Roby Hsokhn the Alchemist or the alchemic Adam: one foot rests on a five-pointed star while the other touches the Pawn of the Lion; for his long watches, he's gonna manufacture gold. Oneak, the skipper who dares forbidden lanes in the wake of the monsoons, he dares where no other sea-wolf dares, sketching from afardi unreachable islands: one of his ancestors must have been at the same latitudes on board the "Beagle". Red Agnia, the rocker whose roots go down in a soil that saw the first blossoming of all the fairy tales we grew up with; the tin soldier and the beautiful dancer in one body. Marc Reeves, the flaneur bard; he has good hearing and soon Merry England shall teach him Her hidden tunes. Angelo Secondini, this planet flares in its aimless wandering; his Cometa crosses in beaty my night sky. Crapul'Blues, the head comedian, poigne de fer, gant de velour; this guy has been bred from the race of Moliéres but don't let him find it out Odreamer, the living proof of the reality of the metempyichosis; when his friends knew him as Franz, he wanted nothing more than write something more than lieder: and now? Sofia Verrucci, the marbled luminescence of the sky all over Versilia at dusk, a land where the wind hasn't carried away any voice from centuries; hers has the power to soothe the tired and the dejected. Angus, Thelonious Monk in an Aldo Palazzeschi format; C'mon, Babe: Why Don't We paint the Town? And All Thaaat Jaaaaaazzzz. La Rosa Purpura, the Poet lamentations for a Land not yet fully liberated. Ay-14ice, father and daughter, the dinamic duo, the athletes of glamour: all the ingredients for urforgettable soirées. Magdalen Graal, the apocryphal catechism of a pasionaria without cause across a non-canonichal score, the guardian angel witn an e-mail address. Pipo Pegoraro, the heir to the XX Century bossanova giants. Andrea Soruy "Jabaro", the voice and the beat of the winned. Frederick Kammerer: alone, he's munched more leagues than the Finkenritter or the Baron of Munchhausen or Gulliver together, yet he's not landed in Ibiza; pray he finds the time to do so. 'Tite Viking: twenty years ago she would have been a rare beast among male composers yet her work is proof that th feminist movement had a point or two. Canoplygame, Pere Ubu wandering on the permafrost, Dada is against all, even dada itself, Back to the Revolution Part Three. Serberis, the thrills of the Art suffered in a course of advanced counterpoint, the risk of ending up like so many talking heads in the halls of music conservatories. Itzi, the genius found in a bottle found in Saragoza: these sons and daughters of Boheme never ever knew of Law outside Love. The Quasar; 'Flavio, i' vorrei che ed Andrea ed io/Fossimo presi per incantamento/E messi in un vasel, ch'ad ogni vento/Per mare andasse al voler vostro e mio'; they were the very fist to welcomet me here and now command space-vessels once steered by John Barry and Meco Monardo. Maya Filipic, the chronicler but there were kings whose names their tales never told and in the end happiness is but a frame for the same old story. Psichotropicopedia is here with the whole gang; Tropico and the Old World are two halves of the same dream, Yin & Yang and so complete each other; America's the man in the middle, nothing more nothing less. Philippe Bray, the Natural; the appointed winner, year after year, of the Assurancetourix Prize: some say it's because of nepotism but I can ouch for his born talent and his iron will which toutatis entwined at his birth. Creix, the steady pulse of an heart that rocks; passion moulded by reason. Grace Valhalla, the Lorelei on the left side of the Vosges, a whiff of Renaissance in the global warming, a stroll in a French garden under the eye of the ozone-hole. That accordion player from Russia whose name now escapes mel.Well, he too is here tonight for me! In happy endings again and again the people likes to hang out and chat and eat together and to dance and why shouln' it? If it does so there's a good reason: in the end, the people always win. Always. Martin "Uberlulu" Lulu, the Primadonna and my last seal: St: Martin, the cloth-sharer. And many others, by the dozens: They all are headed for a long, gently bent narrow stand in the form of an exedra, on which they climb and, hand in hand, began to move counter-clock wise behind Maestro Nino Rota, as a choir of women on an ancient greek pitcher. Soon they're joined by Marcello, the human serpent briefly breaks to receipt him and reconstitutes itself and parade on the left until the last artist 's exit. Fade out. http:www.oniricyoutube/byebyefilehellolazynessithinkimgonnaquit Int. in near darkness. A studio-theater or a lounge. First plan from above of Ben Vereen seating cool calm and collected on a pedestal which will came in handy later. Ben Vereen springs to life and we have an up front shot of him. He gazes at the camera. Ben Vereen. -- Ladies and gentleman, let me lay on you a so-so entertainer, not much of a humanitarian, and this cat was never nobody's friend. In his final appearance on the great stage of Jamendo - uh, you can applaude if you want to - Mr. A GB Romantic! -- A staccato for elctric guitar Lights out. Lights in. We pan behind A GB Romantic ( who's strangely resembling Roy Scheider ) flanked by two hot chicks, one per side, one creaole, one nordic, cladded as lighted fully charged rod Espers. That's not unusual for we are going to listen to the leading theme from "Final Fantasy XXXIX" as we never had before "Gift the Wind With Your Memories of Me", music and lyrics by Andrea Gardini ( Himself at the piano ) sung by Reyko Munamoto. Seiji Ozawa conducts the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra. The operatic execution of the awe-inspiring song is otherworldly but no sooner the two Maestros engage the ff we fall from grace 'cause of a Blow-out. zz- Uh; Oh? Chrissake I dozed off atending to that rackety player that doesn't upload a dick. I had rather have dreamt of something. I saw the cars leaving San Siro, some hours ago. San Siro is on the other side of the street, literally: if I clim to the terrace, I can check what time is it watching the side-show of its western wide-screen. The sight of the cars out did remember me of the Take That "Progress" concert booked for last evening; the papers said Robbie Williams will be on the stage. With or without Williams, it would have been an enriching experience. I bet by now they're all asleep at the Melia Hotel, next block. Geting to the stadium yesterday, looking for a ticket in the last ten days would have been no impossible deed; what did I do, instead? I took care for strangers whom on Jamendo I do non know but for their usernames. That's dumb. Yes, dumb, as in ' you're dumb, A Gb'. It's about time to hang tthe super-garb on the nail and don't say a word or I'll hang you on that same nail. Yes, I' gonna put the final nail in your coffin,you turd. Cringing? Trembling? Good. And remember this will do more harm to you than to me.- oh, the uploading of the review page is complete; it has taken no less than twenty-four minutes, since 5:02 to 5:26. But the will to review anything and just listen to this track are lost. Chi si ama mi segua.

J'ai du mal à comprendre les paroles et le mix est loin d'être top... Bonne continuation tout de même.

TRES BEAU TEXTE?LA VOIX EST BIEN AGREABLE.LA GUITARE EXCELLENTE J ADORE ..ENFIN TRES BELLE MELODIE A ECOUTER .MERCI BONNE ROUTE.

Interpretation très personnelle de l'ancien testament. En d'autres temps on aurait parlé de bucher! Mais cela n'est pas mon genre, vieux mécréant que je suis. Bonne musique, excellent textes. Continus comme ça!

Great song!!