irish music is well known throughout the

world

from sydney to benizzares from london to

new york you can hear an irish song

dance to a reel and take a drop of irish

whiskey

it is a sad thing though to see an

irishman far from home who is too fond

of his glass

[Music]

[Applause]

[Music]

[Applause]

[Music]

[Applause]

[Music]

my name is michael coleman and they say

i am the finest fiddler that ever lived

they say i put a twist to a tune i add

something to it that no one else can

i have never been sure of where the

twist comes from

i play that way because it is the only

way i know

i play because i have to

i do not know where it comes from or

what it is going towards

my home is a small room in the south

bronx in new york

where the tall buildings shut out the

sky

i don't understand the place at all

two of my nieces passed through the city

last week on their way to look for work

we tried to talk about home but i could

not nor about here either

i picked up the fiddle and played a

couple of tunes

and then there was no distance between

me and them or the bronx or killerville

and ireland where i was born

that's what i have been able to do all

my life

i could talk to you forever and still

say less than you'd hear from the first

few seconds of a tune called lord

macdonald

it was a cam bright summer evening i got

the fiddle back once again

i'd had to pawn it because i needed the

money

times were hard as they have been for

years

i remember the days when we musicians

were paid a working man's weekly wage

for half a morning in the recording

studio

an irish cop had hired me to play the

fiddle at his daughter's birthday party

he had done well for himself since

coming to the usa

not only did he have money he was also

said to be honest

i spent the week before the party

drinking to his honesty

a lot of money had been mentioned

it was a short walk to his house in good

weather as i went up the wide grey steps

to the front door there was an uneasy

feeling in my stomach the same anxious

feeling i always have before i start to

play

some nights i sit up and play and then i

notice the sun has come up and is

shining in the street outside

then i find my face is wet with tears

lord mcdonald is the tune i play

i knocked at the cop's door

and a beautiful young woman in a blue

dress opened it

she looked at me with a face full of

puzzlement

there were holes in the elbows of my

jacket

nothing was said for a while

i'm michael coleman the fiddler i'm here

to play at the birthday party

the girl still said nothing only looked

me up and down for a few more moments

then she turned and ran back inside

i still remember the face of that cop

it was the face of a man who'd take

terrible offense if you weren't enjoying

yourself enough at his father's funeral

party

a big man nearly two meters tall still

the color of a man who spent many a long

summer working on the farm

in a good suit and expensive shoes

he had more of the american accent than

he should have had

i could never manage that trick although

i'm not sure i missed much

the cop

rushed across the hall and tried to

catch me by the throat

i stepped to one side and he dropped his

hands

his right hand was opening and closing

he couldn't keep it still

there was no sound in the neat and tidy

evening street

he was so angry that his tongue hit his

teeth as he spoke

well mickey and coleman the great

fiddler you dare to show your face here

i didn't know what was annoying the man

at all

my daughter's birthday was this day last

week i had 150 people waiting for you

damn it

where were you

it's bad when you start making that sort

of mistake

i really needed the money he'd have paid

me

well coleman where were ye

i made a mistake

i thought it was today i was supposed to

be here

he banged his hand on the wall by the

door the man was nearly dancing with

temper there were a pair of young women

standing in the hall behind him now

they were laughing at the shouting and

that was making him even angrier

i'll tell you why you weren't here mikin

it's because you are fallen drunk around

the south bronx somewhere i got plenty

of warnings about you but i didn't take

them fool that i am yourself and your

friends are a poor advertisement for us

irish drinking and fighting and bringing

our name down in front of the americans

you think you're something but you're

nothing

i never aimed to be an advertisement for

anyone only myself

you may all be famous but did any of you

ever do anything to give us a good name

did you digi

on about the second digi he hit me in

the chest with his right hand and sent

me rolling down the steps

i was on my feet before i reached the

bottom one

i was always able to land on my feet

i didn't say anything to the cop

i never even said goodbye

it was a grand evening

there wasn't enough wind to move grass

i just walked off with the fiddle under

my arm

safe

it cost people a lot more than their

fare for the ship when they came over

here

some of them lost all sense of who they

were

the cop wasn't the worst of them

a lot of them wouldn't let you near

enough their house to be able to throw

you off their steps

they'd be ashamed in case someone caught

them listening to old irish tunes like

the sligo maid or the carrieman's

daughter

the same people even tried to destroy

their accent cutting bits off it like a

man trying to give a block of wood a new

shape

at one time there was always a place for

us a place for those who made others

dance

maybe people don't want to be reminded

about what they came from

because they're frightened they haven't

moved as far away from it as they think

they have

the fiddle was pawned again and i was in

a bar a quiet bar drinking whiskey

i learned to drink at those dances where

you'd accidentally break a string on

your fiddle if they weren't refilling

your glass quickly enough

i used to take my whiskey with friends

and laughter then

now

i like to drink alone

the drink only makes me feel okay these

days still

in bad times okay is good

the twist

that's what they say i have

what i put into a tune that the others

can't

you can't try to put the twist into your

playing it has to be part of it

some days i think i know what the twist

is

but i can never catch it

because it is inside me

it is what i am

the drinking

the way i could never stay in one place

the blackness i see in front of me some

days the dreams i have in the night

all there in my fiddle

whatever it was that was wrong with me

leaked out through my fingers and they

heard it as the twist

and sometimes i think i have nothing to

do with it at all

when the first records were sold 78 they

were called i saw men and women dancing

and laughing and crying at the same time

at my plane

i'm a farmer's son from killerville

how could it be me that did that

maybe the fiddle wasn't the instrument

at all

i heard there are men at home who

wouldn't eat for a couple of days so

they could buy those records

men who knew me did that

we had come to america to record this

irish music to be sent back to ireland

for people there to buy and yet we'll

never see ireland again

things are wrong in this world

so they are

i was never too eager for work

that was well known around the place at

home

all i wanted to do was walk the

countryside and play music

some men will kill for land others will

die for a woman

i lived for the music of the dance fast

and slow sad and sweet

everything else

on the face of this earth was forgotten

when i picked up a fiddle

the coldness of the city meant nothing

to me when i was playing well

if i could hear the twist it meant the

life i was living was all right for me

i'd only just got back to killaville

from london when i came to the usa

big cars and bright lights a law against

drinking theaters full of girls singing

and dancing and dollars

you couldn't feel right in it unless you

were born in it and even then you might

not

you'll always look back

at the place you came from and think it

was better

at home we started with an innocent life

walking home from village dances across

pale wet fields

looking at birds on the moonlit lake

playing a tune across the water in the

early morning with no other sound in the

clear cold air

but it was a false life

false because it wasn't right to let

people live a life like that if they

weren't going to be allowed to stay in

it

if they were already marked to go

someplace else

they didn't prepare us for new york or

london boston or manchester

there was bitterness and jealousy and

hunger at home that's true i can't say

it isn't

but is it fair to be punished with a

slow death from a bleeding wound

i look at people's faces when they hear

the names of tunes from home

the boys of ballas adair

and the plains of boyle

and i know they are dying inside

the night the cop threw me down the

steps i called at seamus anderson's

house

i was full of whiskey but i knew he had

a fiddle in the house

i wanted to sit up and play music all

night

i needed to feel that moment in the back

of my head when i would know i'd got

there

and then it would disappear before i

could catch it and i would have to try

and create it again

sheamus owned a bar

like the cop he lived in a good house in

a good area

i managed to open the garden gate

although i couldn't see straight

but i could hear a tune in my head that

would cure me if i was only allowed to

play it i never played a tune badly in

my life

the drink would change everything around

in my head but i would still play the

same as ever

the twist would always be there

i knocked on seamus anderson's door

there was light inside but there was no

answer there were plenty of voices

a light came on in the hall so i tried

to concentrate and look sober

sheamus was a church-going man who was

strongly opposed to drink

although that didn't stop him selling it

i held my breath and tried to force my

eyes to look in the one place at the one

time

all it did was make my head go round

i fell against the door

a woman's voice shouted

who's that at this hour of the night

michael coleman

tell sheamus michael coleman is here to

play a tune

to play

lord mcdonald

michael coleman has landed from

killerville

wait there she said

and walked away back into the house

i knew that if i didn't get into the

light something awful was going to

happen

there was a lot of noise inside it

seemed a long while before she came back

seamus anderson isn't home tonight he's

out of town

he had been out of town the last five

times i'd been to the house still he was

a busy man

a businessman

i still felt bad so i leaned against the

door and hoped the black waves in front

of my eyes would disappear

i could hear a man's voice inside the

house

is coleman gone

that man is nothing but trouble when he

has drink in him

the voice could have been seamus

anderson's

but i was not certain

i banged on the door and shouted for

them to let me in

there was another voice

a harder one with an unpleasant laugh

get out of here

go on get out of here

and then to someone else you only have

to lift him and he'll fall

in a narrow back street

me

lying on a pile of rubbish

and a good number of rats

you'll always know rats because they sit

up and look you straight in the eye to

let you know that's how carefully

they're watching you

i thought these were real rats

not the rats i see when i've had a

couple of drinks

lord macdonald was playing in my head

there was a cop walking towards me

i realized my nose had been bleeding for

a while and the front of my jacket was

covered in blood

the cop was cautiously tapping his stick

against the inside of his left hand as

he walked slowly towards me

i stood up and stepped out from the wall

into the light

officer i was only taking a rest

they take drunks down to the police

station and beat them unconscious with

sticks

sometimes they kill them for the fun of

it

christ it's michael coleman michael

coleman the great fiddle player we've

got a whole pile of your 78s at home

what are you doing here

if i knew that i wouldn't have to drink

he smiled

and put a hand under my elbow to stop me

falling

good luck mr coleman it's good to meet

you you're a great fiddler when you're

playing

and he walked off a good irishman

the rats were still there

so they were real rats

not my rats

the night was lovely and warm

and there was nothing to be afraid of

the drink is like music

how can you explain it to someone who

has not fallen in love with it

how it floods your head and pushes the

blood three times faster through your

body

the wonderful moment of the first one

the morning after when it starts to

clear away the fear and anxiety it put

there the night before

drink makes the world a place of

certainty in every way

i remember the day i played lord

macdonald

i sat in a small recording studio in the

south bronx at midday

played another tune for a couple of

minutes and then it started

i played the whole of lord macdonald

just once and i could feel something

running through me

every second was like an hour and the

music was coming from a place so far

back in myself that it was tearing me

apart

i followed the music chased the music

with colours going through my mind and

killerville and my dead brother and the

man who taught me to play and the end of

all this and the twist in myself and

green and brown

it was bringing me somewhere and i

finally got there

i walked away out from the studio when i

finished

and two men from the record company came

out into the street after me

one of them pulled a huge roll of

dollars from a deep trouser pocket

here you are michael a couple of hundred

dollars for a special performance no one

ever heard anything like that before

the sun was shining the way it does in

new york in the summer

the rest of the musicians were sitting

in the usual bar talking about work and

spending money

they didn't know then they'd never have

that sort of money again

i tried to explain what had happened

my hand was shaking and the beer was

spilling onto the floor

sunshine was coming through the dark

glass of the front window

blue colored light with dust flying

round in it

i had got there

i looked at my fingers

and said there would be so many more

tunes that i would play like this

but it never came again

not that way

there was just that one day before it

all finished for me

lord macdonald was the tune

my name is michael coleman

and they say i'm the finest fiddler that

ever lived

[Music]

uh

[Music]

[Applause]

[Music]

[Applause]

[Music]

[Applause]

oh

[Music]

[Applause]

[Music]

you

{{}}

爱尔兰音乐在

世界范围

内广为人知，从悉尼到贝尼扎雷斯，从伦敦

到纽约，你可以听到爱尔兰歌曲

随着卷轴跳舞并喝一滴爱尔兰

威士忌

，尽管看到一个

离家很远的爱尔兰人也是如此，但这是一件可悲的事情

喜欢他的玻璃

[音乐]

[掌声]

[音乐]

[掌声]

[音乐]

[掌声]

[音乐]

我的名字是迈克尔科尔曼，他们说

我是有史以来最好的提琴手，

他们说我对曲调进行了扭曲 我在其中添加了

一些其他人无法

确定的东西 我永远无法确定

扭曲来自哪里

我那样玩，因为这是

我知道

我玩的唯一方式，因为我必须这样

做 去

我家是纽约南布朗克斯区的一个小房间，

那里的高楼遮住了

天空

我们试图谈论家，但我

不能也不能谈论这里，

我也拿起了 t 他拉小提琴，弹了

几首曲子

，然后我和他们之间没有距离，

或者我出生的布朗克斯或杀手维尔

和爱尔兰这就是我一生

所能做的事情

我可以永远和你说话，但仍然

少说 比你从

一首名为麦克唐纳勋爵的曲子的前几秒钟听到的声音

是一个明亮的夏日傍晚

我又把小提琴拿回来了

我不得不典当它，因为我需要

钱

时间很艰难，因为他们一直

我记得那些年我们音乐家

在录音室得到一个工人半个上午的每周工资

的日子，

一个爱尔兰警察雇我

在他女儿的生日聚会上拉小提琴，

自从来到美国后，他对自己做得很好

只有他有钱，据说他也

很诚实

我在聚会前一周花了

他的诚实喝

了很多钱

天气好的时候步行到他家很短，因为我走上宽阔的灰色

台阶 前方 进门

我的胃里有一种不安的感觉 就像

我在开始玩之前总是有的焦虑

一些晚上我坐起来玩然后我

注意到太阳已经升起并且

在外面的街道上闪闪发光

然后我发现我的脸是 泪流满面

麦当劳勋爵是我弹奏的曲子

我敲了警察的

门 一个穿着蓝色连衣裙的漂亮年轻女子打

开了门

她一脸疑惑地看着我

我的夹克肘部有洞

没什么可说的 有一阵子

我是小提琴手迈克尔科尔曼我是

来参加生日派对

的女孩仍然什么也没说只是

上下打量了我一会儿

然后她转身跑回里面

我仍然记得那个警察的脸

如果你

在他父亲的葬礼上玩得不够开心，那张脸

会

大发雷霆 一套好西装和昂贵的 鞋子

他的美国口音比

他应该有的更多

我永远无法使用那个把戏虽然

我不确定我错过了

多少警察

冲过大厅并试图

抓住我的喉咙

我走到一边，他摔倒了 他的

双手

他的右手在开合

他无法保持静止

整洁的傍晚街道上没有任何声音

他气得舌头都咬到

牙齿 说话

很好 米奇和科尔曼

你敢说的伟大的小提琴手 在这里展示你的脸

我不知道是什么让那个男人讨厌

我女儿的生日是上周的这一天

我有150个人在等你

该死你

在哪里

当你开始犯那种错误时很糟糕

我真的需要 钱他会

很好地付给我科尔曼你在哪里

我犯了一个错误

我以为今天我

应该在这里

他用手敲打

门边的墙上那个人几乎要

发脾气了有一对年轻人 妇女

站在 t 他在他身后的大厅里现在

他们在大喊大叫，

这让他更加生气

我会告诉你为什么你不在这里

，因为你在南布朗克斯的

某个地方喝醉了我收到了很多

关于你的警告，但我 没把

他们当傻子，我是你自己和你的

朋友是我们

爱尔兰人喝酒打架的糟糕广告

，在美国人面前贬低我们的名字

你认为你很重要，但你

什么都不是

只为我自己做广告

你们可能都很有名，但是你们中的

任何一个人是否做过任何事情来给我们一个好

名声你有没有

提到第二个数字他

用右手击中我的胸部并让

我滚下台阶

我 在我到达底部之前我已经站起来了

我总是能够站起来

我没有对警察说任何话

我什至没有说再见

这是一个盛大的夜晚

没有足够的风来移动草

我只是走路 把小提琴夹在

我胳膊下

安全

，

当人们来到这里时，他们花费的费用比他们的船费高得多 他们中的

一些人完全不知道自己是谁

警察不是他们中最糟糕的 他们中

的很多人不会让你离

他们家足够近 为了能够让

你离开他们的脚步，

他们会感到羞耻，以防有人发现

他们在听

像斯莱戈女仆或carrieman的

女儿这样的古老的爱尔兰曲调，同样的人甚至试图破坏

他们的口音，就像一个

男人试图 一次给一块木头一个新的

形状

总有一个地方给

我们一个地方给那些让别人

跳舞的

人也许人们不想被

提醒他们来自哪里

因为他们害怕他们没有

移动 离它很远，就像他们认为的那样

，小提琴又被当了，我在

一个酒吧，一个安静的酒吧，喝着威士忌，

我学会了在那些舞会上喝酒

iu 你的杯子够快 sed 带着我的威士忌和朋友

一起欢笑然后

现在

我喜欢一个

人喝酒这种饮料只会让我感觉还好这些

天仍然

处于糟糕的时期还好很好

他们说的扭曲就是他们所说的我有

我放入的曲调其他人

可以

你不能试着在你的演奏中加入扭曲，

它必须成为它的一部分，

有些日子我想我知道扭曲是什么，

但我永远无法抓住它，

因为它在我体内，

这就是我正在

喝

的东西 方式我永远无法停留在一个地方

有些日子我在我面前看到的黑暗

我夜里的梦想

全都在我的小提琴中无论我有

什么问题都

从我的手指中泄露出来他们

听到它作为扭曲

有时我想当第一张唱片售出时，

我与这完全无关。

78 他们

被称为我看到男人和女人在我的飞机上

同时跳舞，大笑和哭泣

我是来自杀手维尔的农民的儿子，

怎么可能 是我做的，

也许小提琴不是 inst

我听说家里有些

人几天不吃东西，所以

他们可以买

那些认识我的人，

我们来美国录制

爱尔兰音乐，然后送回爱尔兰

供人们使用 那里可以买，但我们

再也见不到爱尔兰了

这个世界上的事情是错误的，

所以他们是

男人会为土地而死 其他人会

为女人而死

我为舞蹈的音乐而生

快慢 悲伤又甜蜜

当我拿起小提琴时，地球上的一切都被遗忘

了 城市的寒冷对我来说毫无意义

当我演奏得很好时，

如果我能听到转折，这意味着

我的生活对我来说

还不错我刚从伦敦回到基拉维尔

，当我来到美国时，

大型汽车和明亮的灯光禁止

饮酒剧院的法律 满载歌舞的少女

和美元

，除非你出生在里面，否则你不会感觉对的

，即使那样你也可能

不会 村子在

苍白潮湿的田野里翩翩起舞

，在月光下的湖面上看鸟儿，在

清冷的空气中，在水面上弹奏着曲子，

但那是虚假的生活，

虚假的，因为让人们过着不正确

的生活 那样的生活 如果

他们不被允许留在

里面

如果他们已经被标记去

其他地方

他们没有为我们准备去纽约或

伦敦 波士顿或曼彻斯特

家里有苦毒、嫉妒和饥饿 这是真的 我不能说

这不是，

但因

流血的伤口而缓慢死亡是否公平？

知道他们正在

死去 那天晚上，警察把我扔下

台阶，我在 seamus anderson 家打电话给我。

我喝满了威士忌，但我知道他

家里有一把小提琴

我的头，当我知道我到达

那里

然后它会在

我抓住它之前消失，我将不得不

再次尝试创建它

sheamus拥有一个

像警察一样的酒吧，他住在我管理的好地区的一所好房子里

打开花园大门

虽然我看不清楚，

但我能听到脑子里有一首曲子，

如果我被允许弹奏它就会治愈我

我一生中从来没有演奏过糟糕的曲子

这杯酒会改变我周围的一切

头，但我仍然会

像以前一样演奏

曲折总是在那里

我敲了西莫·安德森的门

里面有灯但没有

回答有很多声音

大厅里亮着灯所以我

试着集中注意力看 清醒的

希莫斯是一个去教堂的人 我

强烈反对喝酒，

尽管这并没有阻止他卖酒

我屏住呼吸，试图强迫我的

眼睛一次只看一个地方，

结果只是让我头晕目眩

我摔倒在

一个女人的门上 声音喊着

谁是谁 在夜里的这个时间

迈克尔·

科尔曼告诉希姆斯 迈克尔·科尔曼是来

演奏一首曲子的 麦克唐纳

勋爵

迈克尔·科尔曼已经从杀手维尔降落在

那儿等她说

然后走回了房子

我知道如果我不这样做 不要暴露在

阳光下 会发生可怕的事情

里面有很多噪音

似乎过了很久她才回来

西莫·安德森 今晚不在家 他

不在城里

他最近五次不在城里

我' 我去过那房子他还是

个大忙人

一个商人

我仍然感觉很糟糕所以我靠在

门上希望我眼前的黑色波浪

会消失

我能听到房子里一个男人的声音

是科尔曼走了

那个男人是 没有什么 但是当

他喝了酒的时候，他

的声音可能是西莫·

安德森的，

但我不确定

我敲门并大喊让

他们让我进来

还有另一个声音，

一个更难听的声音，带着令人不快的笑声

离开这里

继续 离开这里

然后去找别人你只

需要把他抱起来他就会掉

在一条狭窄的后街

我

躺在一堆垃圾

和很多老鼠

你总是认识老鼠因为它们坐

起来看着 你直视着你的眼睛，

让你知道他们是多么仔细地

看着你

我意识到我的鼻子已经流血

了一阵子，我的夹克前面

沾满了

血 警察小心翼翼地用棍子敲打

着他的左手内侧，

他慢慢地向我走来

我站起来从墙上走了出来

进入光

官我 只是休息一下

他们把醉酒的人带到

警察局 用棍子打昏

他们 有时他们为了好玩而杀了他们

基督是迈克尔·科尔曼 迈克尔·

科尔曼 伟大的小提琴手 我们

家里有一大堆你的 78

如果我知道我不用喝酒，你在这儿做什么？

他微笑

着把手放在我的肘部阻止我

摔倒，

祝你好运，科尔曼先生，很高兴见到

你，你在演奏时是个很棒的小提琴手

他离开了一个好爱尔兰人

，老鼠还在那里，

所以它们是真正的老鼠，

而不是我的

老鼠 夜晚可爱而温暖

，没有什么好害怕

的 饮料就像音乐

，你怎么能向

没有陷入困境的人解释 喜欢它，

它如何淹没你的头脑，并以

三倍的速度将血液推过你的

身体

。第一个的美妙时刻，

在它开始清除恐惧和焦虑之后的早晨，它

在喝酒的前一晚

让世界变得美好

我记得我演奏麦克唐纳勋爵的那天中午

我坐在南布朗克斯的一个小录音室里

演奏了几分钟的另一首曲子

然后它开始了

我只演奏了麦克唐纳勋爵的全部

每一秒都能感觉到有什么东西在我身上流淌，就像一个小时，

音乐来自一个遥远的地方

，它把我撕裂了

那个教我演奏的人，以及这一切的结束，

以及我自己的扭曲和

绿色和棕色，

它把我带到了某个地方，我

终于到了那里

，当我

完成

和两个唱片公司的人一起走出录音室

我走在街上，

其中一个人从裤兜里掏出一大笔钱，

你是迈克尔，几百

美元用于一场特别的表演，没人

听过任何声音 就像纽约夏天

太阳照耀之前那样，

其他的音乐家

坐在平常的酒吧里谈论工作和

花钱

他们不知道然后他们再也不会有

那种钱了

我试图解释发生了什么事

我的手在颤抖，啤酒

洒在地板上

阳光透过前窗的深色玻璃照进来

蓝色的光，灰尘

在里面飞扬

我到了那里

我看着我的

手指说 会有更多的

曲子我会像这样演奏，

但它再也没有出现过，

不是那样的

，就在这一切结束前一天，

麦克唐纳勋爵是这首曲子，

我的名字是迈克尔·科尔曼

，他们说我是 史上最棒的小提琴手