29 – Concha Buika | La Ivolution

Heavenly Voices 29 – Concha Buika

complete list of “Heavenly Voices” series here

– 29 –

Concha Buika

Spain
–

“I’m not scared to sing about my experiences, and my life and all that.
When I raise my voice and wail, all I’m doing is giving my opinion.
And since there are many things in this world I don’t like,
all the rage and hatred I may have comes out in my songs.

I started singing about chaos, it just so happens that
when I started I had in my head the musical world of my mother.
My mother’s music was impressively chaotic.
The house was decorated the same way; we lived exactly like that.

I found that the excess of order was also not necessary.
Mixing flamenco with jazz with African music with blues …
I wasn’t doing it on purpose; it’s what would come out of me.

I’ve always thought of styles as like little dictatorships — as something obligatory.
I believe we sing what we are. And what has been sung, has been felt.”

– Concha Buika –

La falsa moneda

Cruzaos los brazos pa’ no matarla cerraos los ojos pa’ no llorar,
temió ser débil y perdonarla y abrió las puertas de par en par.
With his arms crossed in order not kill her with his eyes closed for not to mourn,
He feared to be weak and forgive her and he opened the door wide.

Vete, mujer mala, vete de mi vera, rueda lo mismito que una maldición,
que un día me permita que el gache que quieras pague tus quereres, tus quereres pague
con una traición.
Go away, bad woman, go away from my side, wheel the same as a curse,
that one day it let me see the Andalusian you want
pay your loving, pay your loving with a betrayal.

Gitana, que tú serás como la falsa moneda, que de mano en mano va y ninguno se la queda,
Gypsy woman, you’ll be like the bogus money, that goes from one hand to another and none keep it

Besó los negros zarcillos finos que allí dejara cuando se fue.
Y aquellas trenzas de pelo endrino que en otro tiempo cortó pa’ él.
He kissed her black fine earring she left there when she went away
and that plaits made of black hair that she cut for him one day

Cuando se marchaba, no intentó ni verla, ni lanzó un quejio, ni le dijo adiós.
Entornó la puerta y, pa’ no llamarla, se clavó las uñas, se clavó las uñas, en el corazón.
When she was leaving, he didn’t try even to see her, neither made a groan, nor say her goodbye.
He half-clossed the door and to not call her, he sank his nails
he sank his nails, into his heart.

Gitana que tú serás como la falsa moneda que de mano en mano va y ninguno se la queda,
Gypsy woman, you’ll be like the bogus money, that goes from one hand to another and none keep it
–

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