JEREMY OLANDER – “Galheera (Original Mix)”


The best producer of 2017 provides another reason for this.



SASHA – “Trigonometry”


In and out, becoming somehow. Living is no exact science.



MORRISSEY – “Spent the Day in Bed”


I love my bed, too.

As the workers stay enslaved, we stay in bed, pillows like pillars.

As the news contrives to frighten you, to feel that your mind is not your own.

Be good to yourself for once!

No emasculation, no castration.

Mozz nails it down.



ROGER WATERS – “Smell the Roses”


Once upon a time, I thought times were autonomous entities.

By then, I saw a Pink Floyd cover band from Brazil.

Since 1967 the Floyds never played in the land of Sepultura and Milton Nascimento.

So it was a matter of getting in time with the second best choice available.

It seemed the real thing, although it was not that good to listen to on to that particular night.

(Madonna once advised, “don’t go for second best baby!” – maybe, music was not to blame…)

Recently, I went to London.

Roger Waters made me do it.

For months, I saw his image, the new album and that review: “PINK FLOYD – THEIR MORTAL REMAINS“.

I was puzzled.

Why old Floyd recordings deserved more attention than new Waters album “Is This The Life We Really Want?

After tribulations and Chatham House, I was surrounded by coffins and artforms in Albert and Victoria Museum.

The celebration was colorful, lively, transmedia, in quadriphonic sound, across the mores.

Pink Floyd was dead.

By then, I had already discovered: times are social constructions.

As we make the odd choices left to our devices, we build unprecedented times, of anxiety, discovery, dread, awe.

Even happiness. Sometimes, with somebody that deserved to remain in the same page.

I saw Floyd jump between styles with chutzpah. They never looked back.

Syd Barrett led them astray among the stars and was the first casuality.

David Gilmour arrived. The foursome reached the Dark Side of the Moon, Waters at the wheel.

As the Wall come in, it was surrounded by a gulf. Richard Wright was dismissed. Waters fell prey to an egotrip.

And then some.

Pink Floyd carried on to uncharted waters, with Wright back onboard, Nick Mason and Gilmour.

Forget about Waters.

By the endless river, Wright was already dead and Waters had already played with them again, in memorable 2005.

(At the time I did not know, but some time in future, 2005 memories would become a vital part of my present)

That very day, I was behind the time curve all time. Somehow I managed to get to the exposition in due time.

(3 minutes in advance, hanging on my quiet desperation in a very English way)

Floyd alternated between different senses. It was hard to get a glimpse of all of theirs in a nutshell.

Out of time, back in Brazil, second choices no longer choices a long time ago.

I listened to Waters, as I saw him cross the Rubicon of deadly celebrations unhinged.

Sounds and images compatible with Pink Floyd, the acoustics of Animals colliding Wish You Were Here electronics.

But they were not there. It was just him (and Nigel Godrich).

Not an archive, a provocation. With news, messages, or renewed stubborness . In 2017.

Fond memories had to be lived, believed. Now they make the difference.

We dared to do something about them.

I remember those words now, more impacting, immediate, one of my own, than anything from the Floyds.

Roger had the last, the lasting word. If my thank you lasted for 20 years, I still think he deserves more.


There’s nothing but screams in the field of dreams

Wake up

Wake up and smell the roses

Close your eyes and pray this wind don’t change





See the Roger text.

Enough is enought.



Carlos Frederico Pereira da Silva Gama: Richard Wright was the best!


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