Saturday, October 9, 2010

De Camino a la Vereda; Buena Vista Social Club

Wow! Only one album and two songs with whistling! What a example!

Wow!² Look what I found in Buena Vista's website:

The singer Ibrahim Ferrer was born at a social club dance in Santiago in 1927. He was the only one of his family to become a professional musician although he says “they all like to dance”. He wrote ‘De Camino a la Vereda’ in the early 1950s around the time he was touring the east of the island aboard a carnival float, as the specialist improvising singer with Pacho Alonso’s group. After years of singing with Benny Moré, the Chepín-Chovén Orchestra and Los Bocucos amongst others, his pure soft voice had grown less fashionable in recent times. Called in to the studio from his daily walk through the streets of Havana on the day of recording, this was his first session for a number of years.

Ibrahim lives in old Havana in a run down apartment building. He is a shy and unassuming man with a strong faith. His tiny living room is dominated by an alter to Saint Lazarus (Babalé-Ayé in the Santería religion) and this song has religious overtones not to stray from the path.


Perfect!

!Óígame compay! No deje el camino por coger la vereda.

Usted por enamorado
Tan viejo y con poco brillo
Usted por enamorado
Tan viejo y con poco brillo
El pollo que tiene al lado
Le ha hecho perder el trillo

!Óígame compay! No deje el camino por coger la vereda.

Ay, pero yo como soy tan sencillo
Pongo en claro esta trovada
Yo como soy tan sencillo
Pongo en claro esta trovada
Compay, yo no dejo el trillo
Para meterme en ca~nada

!Óígame compay! No deje el camino por coger la vereda.

Ay, pero estabamo´ comentando
Por qué ha abandonado a Andrea
Estabamo´ comentando
Por qué ha abandonado a Andrea
Compadre uste´ ´ta cambiando
De camino por vereda.

!Óígame compay! No deje el camino por coger la vereda.

Pero mire compadrito, uste´ ha ´dejao´ a la
pobre Geraldina para meterse Dorotea.
No hables de tu marido mujer.
Mujer de malos sentimientos,
Todo se te ha vuelto un cuento
Porque no ha llegado la hora fatal.

!Óígame compay! No deje el camino por coger la vereda.

Ay ay ay ay, canta y no llore´ Eliade´
Porque cantando se alegran, cielito mío
Los corazones.

No hables de tu marido mujer.
Mujer de malos sentimientos,
Todo se te ha vuelto un cuento
Porque no ha llegado la hora fatal.

Ay, húyanle, húyanle, húyanle al mayoral.

Pero ese senor está en el paso
Y no me deja pasar.

A la man... a la man... a la mancunchévere,
Camina como chévere ha matao su
madre, mamá




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