Title: Revista Guitar Player Brasil - Lições
Subtitle: Licks de Eric Johnson
Artist: Everton Waldman
Album: Revista Guitar Player Brasil, abril de 1.998, edição 27
Author: Everton Waldman
Copyright: Revista Guitar Player Brasil, abril de 1.998, edição 27
Tabled by: Transcrito para o Guitar Pro 3 em 31/07/2.002.
Instructions:
Notices: Dono de um vocabulário com alto teor de
personalidade, Eric Johnson conquistou um lugar ao sol
logo após o lançamento do disco Tones. Até 1986, o
guitarrista tocava apenas em Austin, Texas. Também
conquistou o prêmio de melhor novo talento dos leitores
da Guitar Player americana.
Pode ser que, devido ao seu vocabulário único, Eric
Johnson não se tornara um mito como Steve Vai, Joe
Satriani, entre outros, mas conquistou um público fiel,
seleto e que gosta de boa música.
Passo aqui algumas frases de Zap (ex.1), Soulful
Terrain (ex.2), Desert Rose (exs. 3, 4 e 5), Trademark
(ex. 6) e a famosa Cliffs of Dover (ex. 7). Abraços.

EVERTON WALDMAN - É guitarrista do U2 Cover.
Tocou com Kiko Zambianchi e Rádio Táxi, entre
outros.

Tempo: 120 BPM
Tracks: 1
Instruments:
Bars: 15

Lyric

The pupil is twelve, attractive, withdrawn
In a midnight blue school uniform
Lips just a little too full for her face
Distant eyes full of space
In her posture no trace of coquette
No defiance

She fingers the frets looking forlorn
Crossing her legs where her tights have been torn
Starts as her mother comes into the room
And the afternoon grows still
And her mother feels chill
Shivers and buttons her coat

I gently correct the curve of her back
And open her book in the now-empty flat
At the classical piece I've had her prepare
And her arms are bare as she plays
And I draw back behind her ear
A few strands of hair gone astray

She shows me her bracelet, the lesson is done
I turn it around between finger and thumb
We sit face to face and it seems to me that
Her face is the face of a cat
And touching the place where her breasts will be
I press my hand flat

She comes into my lap, I turn her around
Her hands clasp my neck and her feet skim the ground
Her skirt travels up under my palm
But the pupil sits looking so calm
As if listening to the distant sound
Of a burglar alarm

What happened next it's hard to recall
The guitar lesson left no traces at all
Now, from afar, it seems to resemble
A strange composition in oil
Of a man, a guitar, and an innocent little girl