關於 could i love you any more guitar ，我們在網路上蒐集到這些相關的討論、資訊與評價

#Updates #Robynnblogs

The world really has evolved several stages since 2020, and also since the beginning of my career- and that’s the beauty of it all. Nothings permanent, everything changes and newer, more exciting things keep coming into the mix.

Tomorrow my baby will turn 6 months. What a massive milestone, for her and for myself. As I am learning everyday to be a better mother, I am also learning to become a stronger me. I have been wanting to update fans and friends on how I am doing - and yet every time I try, I just feel like “oh gosh. Where do I even start?” And before that thought process is over, I would be busy either feeding my baby, changing a diaper, soothing her, or putting her to sleep.

The first few months of my baby’s life felt like it flew by so quickly yet at the same time pre-baby feels like a lifetime ago - everything in my world has shifted. My whole focus was her - I was breastfeeding, (which, by the way, is HEAPS harder than giving birth), making sure she’s eating well, sleeping well, and pooping well. And, understandably, paranoid about any kind of germs in the house. There was no difference between day and night, it’s just wake time and sleep time. It made no difference for me what day of the week it was, what weather it was, what’s happening with my industry, or with the world other than the daily Covid news, because I just needed to stay home make sure that my little newborn is far far far away from covid. I barely saw friends, and hadn’t eaten in a restaurant for north of half a year. As I took care of her, I barely had time to wash my own face, go to the bathroom, or sleep for a long stretch of time. I also didn’t have enough breastmilk, so I would sit there and try to pump the life out of me, just so I could provide half of a meal for my baby. I tried everything - but I do know that low supply isn’t uncommon. So- as glamorous as mom life can appear to be on social media, don’t be fooled. It’s humbling, but it’s also life-altering and the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.

Emotionally, I’ve been so over the moon and happy. I enjoy spending time with my newborn baby, she makes me giggle and smile - even though I wish my mother was here to share old baby stories of me, and experience all of this together. But having a daughter really makes you feel more connected to your mother on a completely different level - I just know she’s happy and proud of me from up above. I’ve taught her how to semi-feed herself, how to fall asleep by herself, teaching her still how to roll, sit, and semi-stand (crazy!!), and I’ve played her tunes on my guitar like she’s the only fan in my fan club.

I also consider myself blessed that I never had issues with postpartum depression, despite suffering from mommy’s wrist. I had an amazing relationship with my 陪月/月嫂 who helped me immensely more than words can say. I have not been able to see my side of the family for over a year, but I’m blessed to have amazing in-laws and fellow mommy friends to share experiences with.

Nothing has been easy, but I am the most grateful for my husband - he was always by my side when I needed him. We change diapers together, we bathe our daughter, we sing to her together, and read bedtime stories to her together. I can safely say, that I’m MUCH happier than when I was towards the end of my music label contract. There have been some dark years there.

Hitting 6 months is a big deal for me. I can safely pat myself on my back and reminisce on THE single most biggest achievement of my life, my daughter. Obviously, 6 months is not long in the grand scheme of things, ie. her entire life ahead, but it is a big milestone for me mentally, and finally I feel it’s time to really focus on my own personally healing. I completely lost myself in taking care of her, and yet I felt the most alive and the most needed - and I found a new me in the process. It’s a beautiful kind of chaos and I embraced all of it. But yes, now it’s time for me again. finally.

Hitting this 6 month mark, I have decided to now wean from breastfeeding, take care of my body better, drink some wine, and write more songs for real. (If my daughter allows, lol). I am choosing to give myself some more me-time, read a book, get my nails done, and eventually get a haircut too. And.. start to think about dieting and training. Moms don’t get enough credit for deciding consciously to not slim down yet because they gotta breastfeed. But- with that said, all moms have their own struggles that no one knows of, so never judge!

A part of the stress that comes with social media sometimes, is actually comments on moms’ sizes, even praises of “wow you slimmed down fast!” As though that’s the most important thing of all. The toxic culture pains me and I just know it’s not the point. For me, it really was a conscious decision, just to be a mother first, above all else, at least for these first six months of her little life. And looking at her, strong, happy and healthy, I am truly so so proud of her for her growth and development.

And finally.. I’m finally ready to think about myself again as a musician. I know I’m lucky to be able to have a choice of being with her for 6 months; I count my blessings everyday. But as songwriting wheels become rustier, and as the industry evolves, I’m quite frankly not sure yet what a singer-songwriter mom looks like. I struggle to name artists in the Chinese speaking world that I could reference from - but I promise I’ll continue to bring music to those ears that still choose to listen.

I still hope that one day - little Naomi can see mama on stage. Looking down at her as she sleeps, I always imagine what she would be like as she grows up - and I hope that one day she will be able to pursue what she loves to do and focus on the truly meaningful things in life.

Thank you for reading through this thinking-out-loud random catch-up session blog thing. I’m just so glad I survived 6 months of motherhood. This stuff ain’t easy! Sending love and thank you all for the support, as always. More updates later!

xRobynn

#updates #robynnblogs

Blog 4

I have a second confession to make. I actually quite admire Taylor Swift. I know, I know. I know she gets a lot of hate, and a lot of people don’t necessarily see her music as “real music”, whatever that means. I know liking her music is sometimes seen as “uncool”- how dare any serious musician say they like her stuff, it’s only for silly teenage girls. But if I’m honest, fewer and fewer people treat the whole Cantopop market as “real music” as well, so perhaps we kinda do share that in common. 🤷🏻‍♀️ So who am I to diss it? I actually really admire her, and definitely count her as one of my previously unspoken inspirations. I do resonate with the way she writes... because it’s kind of the way I write.

I recently watched her NPR Tiny Desk Concert, and if you don’t know about Tiny Desk, perhaps you could check it out and be inspired - it’s a YouTube channel where artists and musicians perform in a tiny cramped space behind a work desk - and it’s brilliant. I love the rawness of it, the realness of it, and the closeness of it. It takes what happens on a big stage into your average office work space. It was a surprise to see Taylor Swift there, because it usually features up-and-coming artists or jazz musicians, performances of which I enjoy thoroughly also. But this was a surprising one, and so I clicked. I admit I even got a tad bit emotional after watching it, not because of anything else but the fact that I can resonated with so so much the stuff she said about songwriting and her creative process, and I enjoyed how she picked the songs and played completely alone, stripped down and raw, in the songs’ demo versions. In between songs, she shared thoughts and her creative process so openly and vulnerably, and how she wrote her songs as self-therapy, usually with just one instrument, in her pajamas, in the middle of the night. In that format, she somehow still managed to find a dominant spot in the mainstream and manufactured pop world - and that was so reassuring for me because that’s how I have written a TON of my songs.

Very, very early on in my career, before R&K, one producer once said to me, “you’re not the best singer, you’re not really a great guitar player, piano you’re a little better but still not that great... but with everything put together, mayyyybe you would be able to become a little bit of something.”

And for me, to see someone like Taylor Swift do so well in this world, someone who doesn’t belt like Beyoncé, doesn’t shred on the guitar like John Mayer, doesn’t play keys like Alicia Keys, doesn’t riff like Ariana Grande... for someone like Taylor Swift to be the mega success that she is... is undeniably impressive, and downright inspiring to me. She doesn’t use fancy techy gear, she doesn’t use fancy chords, she doesn’t do fancy grooves or sing fancy riffs. She just writes songs like she writes her diary - but she’s also smart and catchy and commercial about it. She is an amazing storyteller of her own life, and without necessarily being the best at singing or any instrument, she was the best at telling her unique stories. With everything put together, and a strong belief in herself - she has used this creativity of hers to garner millions and millions of fans all around the world.

Sometimes, the mastery of a craft looks different for different people. Sometimes it’s not about technical perfection. Sometimes, those who are imperfect, broken, hurt, but headstrong, open, authentic, courageous, and unapologetic are more interesting. It’s like found their own way to harness their scars or life experiences, and turn them into doors leading to their eventual evolution through creativity. They tell stories instead of showing off. It’s reassuring and also comforting that this still sells, with this much competition in the market, and resonates with me so much.

I then watched the TED talk by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love after the tiny desk because Taylor said she watched it with tears when inspiration didn’t come. And I just teared myself also. Touched tears. Tears of inspiration. Tears of joy in finding people that seem to think like me, who share the weight of my worries, but are successful and made an impact in the world. I found myself nodding viciously in agreement idiotically in my own living room, when they share the anxieties, insecurities and fears that typically consume the mind of creatives. I am definitely an overthinker so I’m a victim of all that was mentioned. Ok, you’ll have to watch it to understand. But it felt like I was meant to listen to this. It’s based on the daunting feeling of failure when inspiration doesn’t come, or feeling like your best work is “untoppable” and therefore your best days are behind you. But inspiration isn’t from within you. Inspiration is this mysterious force in the universe, and you just have to catch it when it comes, and even when it doesn’t, just keep showing up for your part of the job anyway until it does. And when time comes, let inspiration, this outer force in the universe take over. You don’t have to be sad for writing a bad song, or too proud for writing a good one. Don’t beat yourself up, and just keep doing what you do. Leave that fear behind you. Absolutely life changing.

And with this, I’m gonna go turn on my water tap of inspiration and try to work on some songwriting now. Thanks for checking in 🙂

Till next time.
Choose love, and bring light.

xRobynn

#robynnblogs
Do share what you think on what my next confession should be. 🙂

Nobody’s Fool　　( January 2011 )

Yoshitomo Nara

Do people look to my childhood for sources of my imagery? Back then, the snow-covered fields of the north were about as far away as you could get from the rapid economic growth happening elsewhere. Both my parents worked and my brothers were much older, so the only one home to greet me when I got back from elementary school was a stray cat we’d taken in. Even so, this was the center of my world. In my lonely room, I would twist the radio dial to the American military base station and out blasted rock and roll music. One of history’s first man-made satellites revolved around me up in the night sky. There I was, in touch with the stars and radio waves.

It doesn’t take much imagination to envision how a lonely childhood in such surroundings might give rise to the sensibility in my work. In fact, I also used to believe in this connection. I would close my eyes and conjure childhood scenes, letting my imagination amplify them like the music coming from my speakers.

But now, past the age of fifty and more cool-headed, I’ve begun to wonder how big a role childhood plays in making us who we are as adults. Looking through reproductions of the countless works I’ve made between my late twenties and now, I get the feeling that childhood experiences were merely a catalyst. My art derives less from the self-centered instincts of childhood than from the day-to-day sensory experiences of an adult who has left this realm behind. And, ultimately, taking the big steps pales in importance to the daily need to keep on walking.

While I was in high school, before I had anything to do with art, I worked part-time in a rock café. There I became friends with a graduate student of mathematics who one day started telling me, in layman’s terms, about his major in topology. His explanation made the subject seem less like a branch of mathematics than some fascinating organic philosophy. My understanding is that topology offers you a way to discover the underlying sameness of countless, seemingly disparate, forms. Conversely, it explains why many people, when confronted with apparently identical things, will accept a fake as the genuine article. I later went on to study art, live in Germany, and travel around the world, and the broader perspective I’ve gained has shown me that topology has long been a subtext of my thinking. The more we add complexity, the more we obscure what is truly valuable. Perhaps the reason I began, in the mid-90s, trying to make paintings as simple as possible stems from that introduction to topology gained in my youth.

As a kid listening to U.S. armed-forces radio, I had no idea what the lyrics meant, but I loved the melody and rhythm of the music. In junior high school, my friends and I were already discussing rock and roll like credible music critics, and by the time I started high school, I was hanging out in rock coffee shops and going to live shows. We may have been a small group of social outcasts, but the older kids, who smoked cigarettes and drank, talked to us all night long about movies they’d seen or books they’d read. If the nighttime student quarter had been the school, I’m sure I would have been a straight-A student.

In the 80s, I left my hometown to attend art school, where I was anything but an honors student. There, a model student was one who brought a researcher’s focus to the work at hand. Your bookshelves were stacked with catalogues and reference materials. When you weren’t working away in your studio, you were meeting with like-minded classmates to discuss art past and present, including your own. You were hoping to set new trends in motion. Wholly lacking any grand ambition, I fell well short of this model, with most of my paintings done to satisfy class assignments. I was, however, filling every one of my notebooks, sketchbooks, and scraps of wrapping paper with crazy, graffiti-like drawings.

Looking back on my younger days—Where did where all that sparkling energy go? I used the money from part-time jobs to buy record albums instead of art supplies and catalogues. I went to movies and concerts, hung out with my girlfriend, did funky drawings on paper, and made midnight raids on friends whose boarding-room lights still happened to be on. I spent the passions of my student days outside the school studio. This is not to say I wasn’t envious of the kids who earned the teachers’ praise or who debuted their talents in early exhibitions. Maybe envy is the wrong word. I guess I had the feeling that we were living in separate worlds. Like puffs of cigarette smoke or the rock songs from my speaker, my adolescent energies all vanished in the sky.

Being outside the city and surrounded by rice fields, my art school had no art scene to speak of—I imagined the art world existing in some unknown dimension, like that of TV or the movies. At the time, art could only be discussed in a Western context, and, therefore, seemed unreal. But just as every country kid dreams of life in the big city, this shaky art-school student had visions of the dazzling, far-off realm of contemporary art. Along with this yearning was an equally strong belief that I didn’t deserve admittance to such a world. A typical provincial underachiever!

I did, however, love to draw every day and the scrawled sketches, never shown to anybody, started piling up. Like journal entries reflecting the events of each day, they sometimes intersected memories from the past. My little everyday world became a trigger for the imagination, and I learned to develop and capture the imagery that arose. I was, however, still a long way off from being able to translate those countless images from paper to canvas.

Visions come to us through daydreams and fantasies. Our emotional reaction towards these images makes them real. Listening to my record collection gave me a similar experience. Before the Internet, the precious little information that did exist was to be found in the two or three music magazines available. Most of my records were imported—no liner notes or lyric sheets in Japanese. No matter how much I liked the music, living in a non-English speaking world sadly meant limited access to the meaning of the lyrics. The music came from a land of societal, religious, and subcultural sensibilities apart from my own, where people moved their bodies to it in a different rhythm. But that didn’t stop me from loving it. I never got tired of poring over every inch of the record jackets on my 12-inch vinyl LPs. I took the sounds and verses into my body. Amidst today’s superabundance of information, choosing music is about how best to single out the right album. For me, it was about making the most use of scant information to sharpen my sensibilities, imagination, and conviction. It might be one verse, melody, guitar riff, rhythmic drum beat or bass line, or record jacket that would inspire me and conjure up fresh imagery. Then, with pencil in hand, I would draw these images on paper, one after the other. Beyond good or bad, the pictures had a will of their own, inhabiting the torn pages with freedom and friendliness.

By the time I graduated from university, my painting began to approach the independence of my drawing. As a means for me to represent a world that was mine and mine alone, the paintings may not have been as nimble as the drawings, but I did them without any preliminary sketching. Prizing feelings that arose as I worked, I just kept painting and over-painting until I gained a certain freedom and the sense, though vague at the time, that I had established a singular way of putting images onto canvas. Yet, I hadn’t reached the point where I could declare that I would paint for the rest of my life.

After receiving my undergraduate degree, I entered the graduate school of my university and got a part-time job teaching at an art yobiko—a prep school for students seeking entrance to an art college. As an instructor, training students how to look at and compose things artistically, meant that I also had to learn how to verbalize my thoughts and feelings. This significant growth experience not only allowed me to take stock of my life at the time, but also provided a refreshing opportunity to connect with teenage hearts and minds.

And idealism! Talking to groups of art students, I naturally found myself describing the ideals of an artist. A painful experience for me—I still had no sense of myself as an artist. The more the students showed their affection for me, the more I felt like a failed artist masquerading as a sensei (teacher). After completing my graduate studies, I kept working as a yobiko instructor. And in telling students about the path to becoming an artist, I began to realize that I was still a student myself, with many things yet to learn. I felt that I needed to become a true art student. I decided to study in Germany. The day I left the city where I had long lived, many of my students appeared on the platform to see me off.

Life as a student in Germany was a happy time. I originally intended to go to London, but for economic reasons chose a tuition-free, and, fortunately, academism-free German school. Personal approaches coexisted with conceptual ones, and students tried out a wide range of modes of expression. Technically speaking, we were all students, but each of us brought a creator’s spirit to the fore. The strong wills and opinions of the local students, though, were well in place before they became artists thanks to the German system of early education. As a reticent foreign student from a far-off land, I must have seemed like a mute child. I decided that I would try to make myself understood not through words, but through having people look at my pictures. When winter came and leaden clouds filled the skies, I found myself slipping back to the winters of my childhood. Forgoing attempts to speak in an unknown language, I redoubled my efforts to express myself through visions of my private world. Thinking rather than talking, then illustrating this thought process in drawings and, finally, realizing it in a painting. Instead of defeating you in an argument, I wanted to invite you inside me. Here I was, in a most unexpected place, rediscovering a value that I thought I had lost—I felt that I had finally gained the ability to learn and think, that I had become a student in the truest sense of the word.

But I still wasn’t your typical honors student. My paintings clearly didn’t look like contemporary art, and nobody would say my images fit in the context of European painting. They did, however, catch the gaze of dealers who, with their antennae out for young artists, saw my paintings as new objects that belonged less to the singular world of art and more to the realm of everyday life. Several were impressed by the freshness of my art, and before I knew it, I was invited to hold exhibitions in established galleries—a big step into a wider world.

The six years that I spent in Germany after completing my studies and before returning to Japan were golden days, both for me and my work. Every day and every night, I worked tirelessly to fix onto canvas all the visions that welled up in my head. My living space/studio was in a dreary, concrete former factory building on the outskirts of Cologne. It was the center of my world. Late at night, my surroundings were enveloped in darkness, but my studio was brightly lit. The songs of folk poets flowed out of my speakers. In that place, standing in front of the canvas sometimes felt like traveling on a solitary voyage in outer space—a lonely little spacecraft floating in the darkness of the void. My spaceship could go anywhere in this fantasy while I was painting, even to the edge of the universe.

Suddenly one day, I was flung outside—my spaceship was to be scrapped. My little vehicle turned back into an old concrete building, one that was slated for destruction because it was falling apart. Having lost the spaceship that had accompanied me on my lonely travels, and lacking the energy to look for a new studio, I immediately decided that I might as well go back to my homeland. It was painful and sad to leave the country where I had lived for twelve years and the handful of people I could call friends. But I had lost my ship. The only place I thought to land was my mother country, where long ago those teenagers had waved me goodbye and, in retrospect, whose letters to me while I was in Germany were a valuable source of fuel.

After my long space flight, I returned to Japan with the strange sense of having made a full orbit around the planet. The new studio was a little warehouse on the outskirts of Tokyo, in an area dotted with rice fields and small factories. When the wind blew, swirls of dust slipped in through the cracks, and water leaked down the walls in heavy rains. In my dilapidated warehouse, only one sheet of corrugated metal separated me from the summer heat and winter cold. Despite the funky environment, I was somehow able to keep in midnight contact with the cosmos—the beings I had drawn and painted in Germany began to mature. The emotional quality of the earlier work gave way to a new sense of composure. I worked at refining the former impulsiveness of the drawings and the monochromatic, almost reverent, backgrounds of the paintings. In my pursuit of fresh imagery, I switched from idle experimentation to a more workmanlike approach towards capturing what I saw beyond the canvas.

Children and animals—what simple motifs! Appearing on neat canvases or in ephemeral drawings, these figures are easy on the viewers’ eyes. Occasionally, they shake off my intentions and leap to the feet of their audience, never to return. Because my motifs are accessible, they are often only understood on a superficial level. Sometimes art that results from a long process of development receives only shallow general acceptance, and those who should be interpreting it fail to do so, either through a lack of knowledge or insufficient powers of expression. Take, for example, the music of a specific era. People who lived during this era will naturally appreciate the music that was then popular. Few of these listeners, however, will know, let alone value, the music produced by minor labels, by introspective musicians working under the radar, because it’s music that’s made in answer to an individual’s desire, not the desires of the times. In this way, people who say that “Nara loves rock,” or “Nara loves punk” should see my album collection. Of four thousand records there are probably fewer than fifty punk albums. I do have a lot of 60s and 70s rock and roll, but most of my music is from little labels that never saw commercial success—traditional roots music by black musicians and white musicians, and contemplative folk. The spirit of any era gives birth to trends and fashions as well as their opposite: countless introspective individual worlds. A simultaneous embrace of both has cultivated my sensibility and way of thinking. My artwork is merely the tip of the iceberg that is my self. But if you analyzed the DNA from this tip, you would probably discover a new way of looking at my art. My viewers become a true audience when they take what I’ve made and make it their own. That’s the moment the works gain their freedom, even from their maker.

After contemplative folk singers taught me about deep empathy, the punk rockers schooled me in explosive expression.

I was born on this star, and I’m still breathing. Since childhood, I’ve been a jumble of things learned and experienced and memories that can’t be forgotten. Their involuntary locomotion is my inspiration. I don’t express in words the contents of my work. I’ll only tell you my history. The countless stories living inside my work would become mere fabrications the moment I put them into words. Instead, I use my pencil to turn them into pictures. Standing before the dark abyss, here’s hoping my spaceship launches safely tonight….

English cover of "Eine Kleine" by Japanese singer-songwriter Kenshi Yonezu. The title means "A little..." in German. I think the title was taken from Mozart's "Eine kleine Nachtmusic" ("A Little Serenade").

The lyrics were a bit cryptic in places, so hopefully I got the right idea :D The theme seems to be a girl* with low self confidence who finds someone to love, but is constantly worried that it won't last.

*Although the original artist is a male, he sings from a female's
perspective.

～♪～♪～♪～♪～♪～

今日は米津玄師（よねづけんし）の「アイネクライネ」を英語で歌ってみました。

所々分かりづらい歌詞があったのですが、全般の意味を把握して訳せたと思います！あくまでも私の解釈です('◇')ゞ
Enjoy♪

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曲情報 / SONG INFO
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米津玄師 / アイネクライネ
Kenshi Yonezu / Eine Kleine (A Little)
Released 2014
Music/Lyrics: Kenshi Yonezu
English Lyrics: Rebecca Butler Watanabe

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リンク / LINKS
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■HP⇒ http://BlueEyedUtaUtai.jimdo.com
■Facebook⇒ http://facebook.com/blueeyedutautai
■Twitter⇒ @BlueEyedUtaUtai

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歌詞／LYRICS
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The day that you and I first met
Brought happiness I won’t forget
But all along I’ve had a sorrow inside
I’ve learned to take for granted
These feelings of contentment are so strong I’m filled with pain
They lay seeds of an imminent goodbye surely coming any day

And if my living means I take away
Someone else’s only special place
Then I would rather be the gravel upon the ground
And walked on any day
‘Cause then there would be no misunderstandings and no doubt
No, you wouldn’t know we well enough to pick me out of the crowd

How I wish you had a clue of everything I feel for you
How my heart is flying
But I have a secret I can’t tell anyone alive
So I always end up lying
If you only knew the truth that’s deep inside of me
You’d know I’m more cowardly than you could ever see
So why, oh why, oh why…

Even through the pain lingering and rips in the seams
When you are here beside me
I can smile and laugh them away, and say it’s okay
Oh, what a gift you gave me
It’s like everything in my view is fading but you
‘Til you are all that I see
You gave me that miracle and left me wanting more
You called out my name and nothing’s like it was before

Well if it meant you wouldn’t pay the cost
Wouldn't lose your place and wander lost
Then I would gladly sacrifice someone else
Instead of you without a thought
And time and time again, we’re bound to smile as we pretend
We’re blind to the future, living a lie so small but certain

It doesn’t matter how I pray, or how I vow
Every night I’m haunted by the same dream
Where a little twist will come, swallow you and leave me numb
Taking you so far away from me
If you only knew the truth that’s deep inside of me
You’d know that I’m more spineless than you could ever see
So why, oh why, oh why…

Darling, please, tell me we can stay forever this way
Two hands entwined with our love
As we cross uncrossable nights, into the daylight
Where you will go, I’ll follow
And I wonder how I can shine into your closed eyes
All colors of the rainbow
I don’t know if I will be enough for you to stay
But, darling, I hope you don’t mind if I call your name

From the moment I was born, I never felt that I belonged
Screaming, "Let me disappear!" - ‘cause everything felt so wrong
Ever since then I’d been searching for somewhere all along
I could someday be free, and I found you finally

消えない悲しみも綻びも あなたといれば
kienai kanashimi mo hokorobi mo anata to ireba
それでよかったねと笑えるのがどんなに嬉れしいか
sore de yokatta ne to waraeru no ga donna ni ureshii ka
目の前の全てがぼやけては溶けてゆくような
me no mae no subete ga boyakete wa tokete yuku you na
奇跡であふれて足りないや
kiseki de afurete tarinai ya
あたしの名前を呼んでくれた
atashi no namae wo yonde kureta
あなたの名前を呼んでいいかな
anata no namae wo yonde ii kana

Stream/Download new single “Pak Rai Jai Rak” here :
https://lnk.to/JW_PRJRYD
“The Diary” short film on JannineWeigelVEVO out now! :
https://youtu.be/4MIVUU2Db6Q

Hello everyone, I'm so happy that I got to post a video on youtube again! After not covering any songs for 2 months I had the chance to learn more guitar (I have had a guitar class before (Please click "Show more" กรุณาคลิกอ่านต่อด้านล่างนะคะ) but I didn't practice after a while so I had to take more lessons because I started to forget). In this video I'm playing the guitar with my teacher, I'm still not very good at it but I'll practice and try to get better! Thanks to my guitar teacher Terng for teaching me this song and helping me make this song sound better by joining me. I hope everyone can forgive me for my bad guitar skills hahah :)

Hallo zusammen, ich bin so glücklich, dass ich wieder ein Video auf YouTube veröffentlichen durfte! Nachdem ich 2 Monate lang keine Songs gecovert hatte, hatte ich die Möglichkeit, mehr Gitarre zu lernen (ich hatte schon einmal einen Gitarrenkurs (Bitte klicken Sie auf "Show more" กรุณาคลิกอ่านต่อด้านล่างนะคะ), aber ich habe nach einer Weile nicht mehr geübt, also musste ich mehr Unterricht nehmen, weil ich anfing zu vergessen). In diesem Video spiele ich mit meinem Lehrer Gitarre, ich bin immer noch nicht sehr gut darin, aber ich werde üben und versuchen, besser zu werden! Vielen Dank an meinen Gitarrenlehrer Terng, der mir diesen Song beigebracht hat und mir geholfen hat, diesen Song besser klingen zu lassen, indem er sich mir angeschlossen hat. Ich hoffe, jeder kann mir meine schlechten Gitarrenkenntnisse verzeihen hahahah :)

สวัสดีค่ะทุกคน ดีใจจังค่ะที่ได้กลับมาเจอกันที่บนยูทูปอีก หลังจากไม่ได้ทำ cover มาเกือบ 2 เดือน พลอยชมพูไปเรียนกีต้าร์เพิ่มเติม (เคยเรียนนานแล้วแต่ไม่ได้เล่นเลยลืมหมดต้องไปเรียนใหม่ค่ะ) เพิ่งเล่นได้ 1 เพลงนะคะ วีดีโอเพลงนี้พลอยชมพูเล่นเอง ยังไม่เก่งนะคะ แต่พลอยชมพูจะพัฒนาตนเองให้เก่งขึ้นกว่านี้ ขอบคุณครูเทิงที่สอนกีต้าร์แล้วมาช่วยเล่นกีต้าร์ทำให้เพลงนี้น่าฟังขึ้นค่ะ พลอยชมพูหวังว่าทุกคนจะให้อภัยที่ยังเล่นกีต้าร์ไม่เก่งนะคะ ขอบคุณค่ะ

Thank you so much for the English translation:
http://guru.google.co.th/guru/thread?tid=75c37155c2a7ec37

HOW FAR IT IS MEANS CLOSE (How far is near) --- GETSUNOVA

I try hard every way to make you love me
Every day I do and give you all what you need
Like walking on the bridge, which your heart is its end
I still think and hope that I could bring you my truly love


But why I am walking so long, I've not ever reached
But why the more I walk, the more the distance is still far away
I've just wondered how I should do


How far then until I am close to you, just tell me
How much I can do so you then love me
There are other ways that make you interest me, please
Just tell me that finally I am still worthy for you


I never give up, but I am just too tired
My certain love still holds thigh with you, never decline
It's as good as if you tell me such that
Your truly feelings and some reasons hindered in your heart


Original: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7i2ILcDlYU8

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ไกลแค่ไหน คือ ใกล้ - Getsunova cover by Jannina W (พลอยชมพู)