Konsert för Obama: Inte bara The boss himself”

Goodnight Saigon

Min senaste blogg blev lite skev eftersom det var the ”Boss himself”, Bruce Springsteen som inte bara fick större bild än Billy Joel, utan dessutom ensam fick lägga ut en låt.  För att så skipa rättvisa släpper jag därför fram en av Joels finare låtar, ”Goodnight Saigon”. Här illustrerad med med kraftfulla videoklipp. Inte minst lägger jag ut den för min son, som både läser vår blogg och ofta gräver i 60- och 70-talets musikskatter. Billy Joel är idag en ikon i framförallt New York, där han hade sin storhetstid på sjuttiotalet. Själv var jag mest förtjust i ”Uptown girl”. När nu Springsteen och Joel spelar för att få ”in en svart man i Vita huset” den 16 oktober ger de definitivt en annan bild av Vietnamkriget, än McCain, vars enda historia är att han misslyckades med sin terrorbombning av Hanoi och blev nerskjuten…

We met as soul mates on Parris Island
We left as inmates from an asylum
And we were sharp, as sharp as knives
And we were so gung ho to lay down our lives

We came in spastic like tameless horses
We left in plastic as numbered corpses
And we learned fast to travel light
Our arms were heavy but our bellies were tight

We had no home front, we had no soft soap
They sent us Playboy, they gave us Bob Hope
We dug in deep and shot on sight
And prayed to Jesus Christ with all our might

We had no cameras to shoot the landscape
We passed the hash pipe and played our Doors tapes
And it was dark, so dark at night
And we held on to each other
Like brother to brother
We promised our mothers we’d write

And we would all go down together
We said we’d all go down together
Yes we would all go down together

Remember Charlie, remember Baker
They left their childhood on every acre
And who was wrong? And who was right?
It didn’t matter in the thick of the fight

We held the day in the palm of our hand
They ruled the night, and the night
Seemed to last as long as six weeks…

…On Parris Island
We held the coastline, they held the highlands
And they were sharp, as sharp as knives
They heard the hum of our motors
They counted the rotors
And waited for us to arrive

And we would all go down together
We said we’d all go down together
Yes we would all go down together

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