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DAVID: Who cares about lip-synching?

JOHNNY: It’s very different if you sing, if you sound. If anybody would record this, this sound, it would be like a negative... Lip-synching’s a negative. If anybody could record it.

DAVID: Who cares what you sing in a playback? It’s dead, you sing over a dead song. The band doesn’t play, this is only a record player singing. Why do you want to sing over a playback?

JOHNNY: This is the condemnation, musician condemnation. A musician is condemned to play, he is sentenced to snatch sounds and silences from his instrument. I accept. I accept my sentence.

DAVID: Lip-synching orders you rhythm, playbacks orders your lip movements, lip-synching says when you ought to move your mouth, your song. Lip-synching orders everything if you are such an asshole to sing over it.

JOHNNY: It’s a sentence.

DAVID: You’re crazy, Johnny.

JOHNNY: It’s a trial.

DAVID: You haven’t got any balls, Johnny.

JOHNNY: No future, no past. No time. No lip-synching. Only present. Here and now. A micro, a guitar, a drum. To play. To sing. Here and now.

DAVID: You haven’t got any balls, Johnny. New Orleans. You aren’t so valiant as to come. The black whore New Orleans. She’s full of old negroes out of fashion. The odd New Orleans. Odder than Memphis, Tennessee. Do you prefer this? A little African village. You have no balls, Johnny. Never. You never had any balls. All you junkies never had any balls.

La banda de jazz continúa tocando como si estuviera arrullando con una nana a JOHNNY, que cae sobre el suelo de cuelgue.

JOHNNY: I’m not going to sing Dave. I won’t play. Dave.

DAVID: Come on Johnny, they’re waiting for us. Fucking odd negroes

JOHNNY: Play back. Dave. Don’t fuck with me.

.DAVID: Come on Johnny, Satan is waiting for us.

JOHNNY: It’s a condemnation.

DAVID desaparece seguido por la banda de jazz.

DAVID: You have no balls, Johnny.


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