The love story between Antonella Roccuzzo and Lionel Messi started many years ago. They met when they were just 5 years old, as their families are friends. Antonella is Lionel’s best friend Lucas Scaglia’s cousin, so they basically grew up together.
Lionel moved from Argentina to Barcelona when he was very young. He suffered from a growth problem that could not be cured at home, so all the family moved to Europe in order for him to have a chance.
Meanwhile, Antonella remained in Rosario where Messi usually flew back to for the holidays. It was on Christmas vacation in 2009, that they met again and fell in love with each other.
Bill Fay - The Sun is Bored - 1970. I’m astounded so much drama can be packed into a sub-three minute song. It sounds like a full orchestra as backing band, punctuated by timpani and crash-cymbal exploding crescendos. And then it’s over.
Budgie - In the Grip of a Tyrefitter’s Hand - 1973. The GROOVE of this song! Budgie were ostensibly a metal band but the rhythmic sensibility on display here—nothing complicated, just an instinctual hook—eludes most heavy bands. And Burke Shelley’s yelped goofball lyrics (the song’s title is a clue) somehow make the thing complete.
Camille Yarbrough - All Hid - 1975. Atop a motorik bassline of perpetual sixteenth notes, Yarbrough takes America to the woodshed. Her scathing word strings are perfectly augmented by Cornell Dupree’s probing guitar thrusts in one channel, that duel a disembodied clavinet in the other. As convincing as societal indictment in song ever got.
Can - Vitamin C - 1972. For me Can’s greatness is achieved through the interplay of Damo Suzuki’s voice and the incomparable Czukay/Liebezeit rhythm section—perfectly demonstrated here. One of the tightest/loosest grooves ever put to tape.
Captain Beefheart and the Magic Band - Bellerin’ Plain - 1970. The drums are doing their own thing but they keep the bass in line. A howling loonatic shaman raises spirits with alliteration scrawled on a cocktail napkin. Polyrhythm by way of staggered stuttering guitars, on over to winged marimba breaks. Sloppy jalopy steered by Captain art maker.
Chico Magnetic Band - Phantasm - 1972. Metallic crunch abruptly yields to pastoral lull and just as abruptly back to crunch. Chico sings like some displaced hippie gone off his rocker. This is one of the great heavy-psych numbers I’ve heard.
Contortions - Contort Yourself - 1979. What really makes this spastic JB send-up go—besides the obvious, like James Chance’s affected holler and sax blurts—is how a snaking slide guitar is set against locked-in rhythm guitar.
Eddie Hazel - So Goes the Story - 1977. I love the funk that doesn’t play by the funk rules. Here we have a blistering guitar solo from start to finish (Eddie Van who?)—weaving its way through a lurching beat, piercing vocal chorus, and Bootsy’s rubber bass.
Edgar Broughton Band - The Birth - 1971. Jethro Tull but with conviction and imagination? The Birth is a sinister acousti-blues romp, probably recorded in the woods where covens gather. Edgar’s best Cap'n Beefheart howl, too, for good measure.
Elf - Hoochie Coochie Lady - 1972. By ‘72, boogie rock had been done to death. This boogie rocker is a triumph, though. It absolutely rips—beefy guitar riffs with saloon piano tinkling, and RJ Dio’s majestic wail over top.
Faust - It’s a Rainy Day, Sunshine Girl - 1972. So wonderfully deliberate and minimal it could easily pass for early Velvet Underground. Tribal drum banging and monotone singing hypnotize, and then towards the end when the sax enters, you find yourself grinning and you play it again.
Fela Kuti - Alu Jon Jonki Jon - 1973. Prolific and consistent as he was, you could go with almost any of the 70s Fela groove jams. But for me this one seems to pulsate with a tad more energy and bite. Pushing it over the top: maestro Kuti’s ridiculous organ solo comprising the final four or so minutes.
Flamin’ Groovies - High Flying Baby - 1971. Exceptional loose-and-loud rock that reportedly made even the Stones (fresh off recording Sticky Fingers) blush. With its dual guitar bombast and countrified swagger it’s easy to hear why.
Flower Travellin’ Band - Satori I - 1971. There’s a spirituality here—like a connection to the natural world and its place in the universe—not found in typical heavy music. Satori is fearless. It goes out there further than, say, Black Sabbath or Led Zeppelin were willing/able to go. It’s scarier, more compelling, and altogether superior.
Franco Battiato - Areknames - 1973. This is an exquisite, downright spooky, synth-driven number from one of the true Italian masters. I’d liken it to a holy mass from Mars, with Martian ghosts (ghost Martians?) as priests.
Gang of Four - Natural’s Not In It - 1979. One of the best products of the aggressive-taut-angular aesthetic that took hold towards the end of the decade. It’s at once precise and askew, and I think it’s that opposition within the song—almost like the drum beat is battling the guitar line—which makes it feel so arresting.
Germs - We Must Bleed - 1979. So much of what was called punk, especially from England, seemed formulated for mass consumption. Enter the Germs from L.A. I love this song because it is dirty and menacing, a gloriously unhinged mess. Darby Crash sings as if the city is burning around him. And the extended (by Germs standards) outro, with the instruments barely staying on the tracks, is somehow a thing of beauty.
Hampton Grease Band - Hey Old Lady - 1971. Reckless abandon. Col. Bruce Hampton supplies the nutso sing-shouting (I PICK UP GARBAGE AND WHAT’S IT TO YOU), while Harold Kelling and Glenn Phillips go toe to toe in some kind of tortured-guitar cage match. A dizzying blast of southern-fried garage chaos.
Hawkwind - Silver Machine - 1972. The way the instruments come forth out of the whooshing synth opening—like some vessel emerging from a mist—is fabulous. And then we’re off, hurtling through space. It’s a dense, claustrophobic rocker, intensified with Lemmy’s growl-yowl.
John Cale - My Maria - 1975. A hosanna of a song, bursting with brass, electronics—the whole works. Cale’s knack both as arranger and manipulator of sound is on dazzling display, as are Chris Spedding’s lightning-bolt guitar stabs.
Karen Dalton - Are You Leaving for the Country - 1971. Karen sings this so beautifully. Hers was by no means a from-the-rooftops “classic” sort of voice, but it had more emotional heft than perhaps any I’ve heard. I feel real pain and longing every time I hear this.
Kevin Coyne - Mummy (live) - 1976 - What a scorcher. I really like Coyne’s studio recordings, but he never quite achieved in the studio what he did on his live record In Living Black and White, from which this song is taken. His voice here crackles beast-like, his lyrics are spitfire. His ace backing band is in tune with every minute vocal inflection, every improvised segue. All of this might very well be the result of superb recording/mixing/mastering of the performance—but the performance itself really is one of the most convincingly ferocious you’ll hear.
Kim Jung mi - Haenim - 1973. A gorgeous, haunting number beginning as delicately sparse and culminating in an exultant rapture. Throughout, Shin Jung-hyeon’s triplet-laden guitar sorcery serves as the integral lifeline. The song’s climax occurs through a resounding multi-tracked vocal chorus.
Lula Cortes & Ze Ramalho - Trilha de Sume - 1975. This is an ominous freak-samba cauldron. As I listen I feel enveloped by a layered percussion chorus and looping bass groove in the heart of some sweltering rain forest. Cortes and Ramalho’s voices, repeatedly trading spots between the left and right stereo channels, function as apparition-like tour guides.
Magma - The Last Seven Minutes - 1978. Magma devotees might raise their eyebrows at this choice, and I’m OK with that. For me this is the finest single slice of Magma (if we were talking about album sides, I’d go with one of the sides from MDK or Kohntarkosz). It bursts its seams with energy and chops and maniacal genius.
Mama Bea Tekielski - Le Secret - 1976. If you’ve seen the John Cassavettes movie A Woman Under the Influence, you’re aware of the tour-de-force performance by Gena Rowlands. I kind of feel like this is Tekielski’s own A Woman Under the Influence. She doesn’t so much sing as wail, hiss, plead, and moan. For those vocal pyrotechnics to work, a sensitive band is required—and the roomy, elastic funk they back her up with here does the job nicely.
Mick Faren - Outrageous/Contagious - 1977. A haggard holdover from the London psychedelic scene shows the young-and-snotty bunch how it’s done. This is crusty, guttural (and essential) punk from an actual punk.
Neu! - After Eight - 1975. The duo take their groundbreaking but simple groove aesthetic and give it snarl, with phenomenal results. Where previously it had been atmospheric and even pleasant, it now has an abrasive menace. Ground re-broken.
Os Mutantes - Haleluia - 1970. The power of human voice(s) as instrument. The choral harmonizing here is splendid—beginning quietly and building steadily to a din. It’s some kind of psychedelic opera-samba.
Pere Ubu - Final Solution - 1976. I sometimes wonder if this towering anthem was a sort of happy accident. Pere Ubu in the '70s made odd music that, though I love it all dearly, can come off as alienating. But holy shit, THIS SONG. It’s almost as if they decided, for one song, they would do heartfelt, for-the-people emotion. Of course, all that said, it’s still only as epic as a group of scornful weirdos from Cleveland can manage to be. In any case, it’s likely the song of the decade for me.
Roky Erickson - Starry Eyes - 1975. It might be hyperbolic to use “transcendent” for a jangly, 60s-styled pop song. But Roky’s vocal delivery makes it so. His lyrics are mostly inane but he sings them out with this ragged yearning that sears them into your consciousness.
Roxy Music - In Every Dream Home a Heartache - 1973. Somber dark noodling, as if from a lounge inhabited by David Lynch, cuts out… Elvis-Lugosi singer in an almost-whisper: “but you blew my mind"… BASH! the instruments return, now like thunder. One of the indelible moments of rock and roll.
Roy Harper - Hallucinating Light - 1975. A bittersweet murmur of a song. Harper sings as evocatively as he ever has, but it’s guitarist Chris Spedding (once again) that takes it over, with his dancing, wavering notes around a sparse, echo-drenched solo for the ages.
San Ul Lim - Laying Silks and Satins on My Heart - 1978. It’s this song’s beginning I’d like to talk about. The entire piece is great, but the phenomenal intro segment is what makes it. A military-precise drum beat on top of a provocative but simple bass line starts it off—seemingly utilitarian, but just so locked-in, tight, and spacious that it exudes this confident power. And then, when a fuzzed and dissonant guitar joins in, intermingling, the military precision becomes wigged-out, glorious clamor.
Sensational Alex Harvey Band - Faith Healer - 1973. Epic, glam-drenched hard rock without any inhibition whatsoever. The suspenseful opening segment perfectly gives way to the meat of the song. What Bon-era AC/DC might have sounded like had they borrowed from Roxy Music’s repertoire.
Shuggie Otis - Aht Uh Mi Head - 1974. Cloudy funk strangeness that probably alienated genre consumers upon release. The use of the beat-box as percussion was never more effective (even in Sly’s hands). It’s a striking song that transports me.
Slapp Happy - The Drum - 1974. Yes, Dagmar Krause’s sublime voice carries this song, and the lilting melody really hooks you. But there is more—it’s got this beguiling avant-hippie feel, like if the Incredible String Band had collaborated with Red Krayola, and it works so very well.
Soft Boys - Leppo and the Jooves - 1979. A buoyant, galloping post-punk workout. I love Robyn Hitchcock’s word play and cadence here, the way his vocals rise and fall with the rhythm.
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Sparks - Amateur Hour - 1974. They were perhaps the first (and only?) American act to achieve the flamboyant, unabashed yesternow rock aesthetic that the Europeans (Roxy, Bolan, Bowie) had crafted. This song in particular blends pounding heaviness with theatrical whimsy so well that something singular is produced. Setting it apart even more is vocalist Russell Mael’s operatic falsetto.
Suicide - Girl - 1977. Surreal urban-decay lament on love and lust. Drum machine and keyboards so simplistic that it doesn’t seem right. But then it occurs to you it’s actually got a mesmerizing emotional depth.
Terry Allen - Lubbock Woman - 1978. Allen likely intended this as a satirical, if heartfelt, depiction of a pathetic South-Texas caricature. And it does work on that level, just like Randy Newman songs and Robert Altman movies do. But it’s also a visceral listening experience. Putting it over the top is a startling coda—a three-part vocal harmony that gathers speed and intensity all the way through the fade.
Throbbing Gristle - Five Knuckle Shuffle - 1978. One of the most frightening songs I’ve heard. It’s unholy mayhem achieved through a web of sonic devices. Deliberate synthetic rhythm, a la the German bands, is the foundation for calibrated steel-wool dissonance. Add Genesis P-Orridge’s contempt-for-everything moans and, all told, it’s hell on earth captured in song.
Tim Buckley - Down By the Borderline - 1970. A select few would dare attempt this kind of vocal performance, let alone pull it off. Luckily for us, Buckley had the courage and ability he did. It’s a bucking bronco of a song, the rhythm component sounding almost like the more wild electric material Miles Davis was doing at about the same time. It’s not a stretch, then, to say Buckley’s voice emotes on the level of Miles’ trumpet.
Townes Van Zandt - No Lonesome Tune - 1972. Townes sings this in a knowing, world-weary voice that hits me hard. And the way the pedal steel, mandolin, and piano come together to play out the closing minute is lovely.
Wire - Reuters - 1977. The opener on Wire’s debut LP is a searing manifesto. Bruce Gilbert’s guitar is alternately dissonant and crunching and Colin Newman’s voice a controlled rage. All of the song elements are layered with such care that the resultant cumulative whole is sonic nirvana—while still being punk as hell.
Yvonne Fair - Love Ain’t No Toy - 1975. An unbridled funk stomper that is one of the absolute high points of the genre. Perhaps it’s Norman Whitfield’s magical touch as a producer/arranger/writer, or the world class backing band that’s assembled (featuring guitar stalwarts Dennis Coffey and Wah-Wah Watson), or Yvonne’s blazing vocal delivery, or the unique incorporation of a beat box for percussive oomph. Probably all of these things—but man, this one leaves a mark.
Former repairman Ron Chambliss remembers George Harrison coming in [to McCabe’s Guitar Shop, Santa Monica] not long before his death. (‘A lot of stars come in. We have a hands-off policy.’) Harrison chatted Chambliss up, shared his deep passion for songwriter Hoagy Carmichael, hipped Ron to a reissue of Carmichael’s recordings and then left. (For Beatles completists: He also bought a metal-body National ukulele with a brown wrinkle finish.) A little stunned, Chambliss went back to work. A half-hour passed and someone told him he had a phone call. He picked up the phone: 'Hello Ron, this is George, I was in there a little while ago.’ Chambliss affirmed that he remembered who he was. Harrison had simply called to give Chambliss the catalog number of the Carmichael CD so he could order it. 'He took the time to call me back. It gave me a boost in humanity.’
Filling the prompts “the reader is a film music composer & she meets the lids after her interview on BBC Radio 1, & she meets Van and he says he loves her work & they go out on a date to a film festival & a year later, they’re touring the world together? Making sure that when they are touring, they go to the same countries?” and “a vacation with van to some island? and like spending the day by the pool(in the shade of course cause that baby would burn bless his irish skin) and the beach and coconut drinks and dancing to music and all those beautiful things??”
Bonus mini-request of something involving a lifeguard getting a little annoyed at Van running amuck.
It was instant. You’d glanced up as the elevator doors closed, catching his eyes for only a second. Your body moved forward towards him, but the thick steel was already between you and you were being dragged back down to Earth. Cue sad song; cue Everybody Hurts and Mad World and I Will Follow You Into The Dark and Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life) and Sampson.
“You okay?” your agent asked. “Look like you’re gonna puke or something?”
“I’m fine,” you said, taking a step back. I’m just living the start of a bad romance film, that’s all.
Out of the elevator and the doors of the BBC building, you were about to get into a cab. The interview had gone well; the last press you had to do for the film before a short break.
“Wait!” a voice called desperately over a sea of people on the sidewalk.
There he was, weaving through the crowd on his way to you. Cue happy song; cue I Feel Good and Call Me Maybe and I Believe In A Thing Called Love and Hey Ya! and Home.
i don’t think i ever really write?? how eliza gets when she’s deep in her music groove?? like after she listens to any random song and just has to replicate and analyze it and uses any means around her to do so?? like just closes her eyes and takes a pen to tap out the rhythm and sings the guitar parts and does all the harmonies?? or wakes up in a trance at 4am and physically has to get up and start playing something that was in her head?? and she just is so engulfed by music it’s Beautiful
I know Taylor has no idea who I am, but I just want her to know how big of a role she’s played in my life???!! Like, I remember dancing around my bedroom and my friends’ bedrooms singing Our Song and Tim McGraw. I remember learning how to play Love Story on the guitar. THE VERY FIRST SONG I EVER LEARNED TO PLAY. I sang Long Live at my high school graduation, I cried and cried listening to All Too Well after breaking up with my boyfriend of 4 years. I remember blasting Shake It Off in the van on the way to cross country practice in college with my whole team and dancing like an idiot. And this year, I’ve been through another heartbreak and the only song I could listen to for a while was Look What You Made Me Do. IT WAS SO EMPOWERING TO ME AND GOT ME THROUGH SOME SHIT.
@taylorswift if you somehow read this, THANK YOU. I love you. I wish I could hug you and tell you in person that you mean the world to me. I owe you so much.
Yo just in case you didn’t get my earlier submission, this is my guitar. I ain’t given a name cause I always forget to refer to it w the name when I tried but I got it almost a year ago from some dude in Chile with money I got picking grapes on my grandmas farm. I just recently bought another one but I don’t currently have it on me cause a some weird law here in Washington saying that a used product has to be in a store for at least thirty days so I’m gonna go get it on Monday. But yeah this guitar is super special to me :C)
Gothlynz: it’s a beautiful guitar and I love the story! I didn’t get your early submission unfortunately but I’m glad I got it now :) you can totally send me pictures of the new guitar when you get it too if you want :D
This is a medley of Taylor Swift’s songs. The songs played are:
Love Story Blank Space Style You Belong With Me Shake It Off Everything Has Changed Teardrops On My Guitar Speak Now Back To December I Knew You Were Trouble Sparks Fly
I was inspired by a mash up I saw of Blank Space/Style, so I thought why not make a mash up of more songs! It took me a while to decide which songs I could use and in what order but finally it’s done! :)