Ik was laatst erg enthousiast over de uitvoering van Seven Days van Sting uit 2008, waarbij hij samenspeelt met de Amerikaanse trompetist Chris Botti en het Boston Pops Orchestra. Wat geweldig om topmuzikanten zo met plezier bezig te zien aan de complexe muziek van Sting, hier vooral door de 5/4 maat. Kijk hier maar eens hoe hard de drummer aan het werk is.
Maar verder zoekend kwam ik ook het origineel tegen uit 1993, dat staat op Sting’s 4e album Ten Summoner’s Tales. En deze uitvoering is nog veel strakker, vandaar dat ik die uit heb gekozen. De geweldige muzikanten die meespelen zijn Vinnie Colaiuta (drums), David Sancious (toetsen) en Dominic Miller (gitaar).
Seven Days
“Seven days”, is all she wrote.
A kind of ultimatum note, she gave to me.
She gave to me.
And when I thought the field had cleared,
it seems another suit appeared, to challenge me, woe is me.
Though I hate to make a choice,
my options are decreasing mostly rapidly,
well, we’ll see.
I don’t think she’d bluff this time,
I really have to make her mine.
It’s plain to see, it’s him or me.
Monday, I could wait till Tuesday,
if I make up my mind.
Wedn’sday would be fine.
Thursday’s on my mind.
Friday’d give me time .
Saturday could wait,
but Sunday’d be too late.
The fact he’s over six feet ten,
might instil fear in other men,
but not in me. The mighty flea!
Ask if I am mouse or man,
the mirror squeaked, away I ran.
He’ll murder me, in time for his tea.
Does it bother me at all?
My rival is Neanderthal.
It makes me think,
perhaps I need a drink.
I.Q. is not an issue here,
we won’t be playing Scrabble
for her hand, I fear.
I need that beer.
Monday, I could wait till Tuesday,
if I make up my mind.
Wedn’sday would be fine.
Thursday’s on my mind.
Friday’d give me time .
Saturday could wait,
but Sunday’d be too late.
Seven days will quickly go.
The fact remains, I love her so.
Seven days, so many ways,
but I can’t run away.
I can’t run away.
Monday, I could wait till Tuesday,
if I make up my mind.
Wedn’sday would be fine.
Thursday’s on my mind.
Friday’d give me time.
Saturday could wait.
But Sunday’d be too late.
Do I have to tell a story,
of a thousand rainy days,
since we first met?
It’s a big enough umbrella,
but it’s always me that ends up
getting wet. Yeah, Yeah.
