E se eu te dissesse que a música-símbolo dos Guns N’Roses é um plágio? Dá uma sacada nessa lá no meu blog do UOL http://matias.blogosfera.uol.com.br/2015/05/12/sweet-child-omine-dos-gunsnroses-e-um-plagio/

Às vésperas do lançamento do terceiro disco de Criolo, a Billboard brasileira levanta uma lebre que já corria nos recantos da internet: de que algumas músicas do segundo disco do rapper, o aclamado Nó na Orelha, seriam plágio de outras canções. Segue abaixo uma relação com três músicas que teriam “influenciado” as composições de Criolo, compare:

O Hector chama atenção para o fato de “Soldier in the City”, do recém-lançado Lift Your Spirit, do Aloe Blacc…

…se parecer um tanto com “O Caminho do Bem”, do velho Tim.

Era só citar a referência…

Você conhece esse quadro?

Olha direito… Não tá confundindo com esse de baixo não?

O primeiro é o 1807, Friedland, do francês Jean-Louis Ernest Meissonier, com Napoleão Bonaparte comemorando o fim da Batalha de Friedlândia. O de baixo é o clássico brasileiro Independência ou Morte, de Pedro Américo, pintado 13 anos depois do quadro francês. Vi lá no Cabine Mental.

Bem bom esse clipe feito pelo pessoal do Question Copyright, pra mostrar que, quando o assunto é arte, originalidade é algo quase utópico.

Você lembra dessa música?

Ou lembra porque parece essa?

Na real, essa comparação é tão antiga que até o Nowaysis (banda cover de Oasis que existia nos anos 90) já fez uma versão do jingle à Oasis num Top of the Pops do século passado.

Não invalida a qualidade de “Shakermaker”, mas eu não conhecia essa comparação.

Mark Twain descobriu que sua amiga Hellen Keller havia sido vítima de acusações de plágio através de sua autobiografia. Inconformado por não poder defendê-la à época, escreveu a carta abaixo para oferecer-lhe apoio, em que, à sua genial maneira, faz um ardoroso elogio ao plágio:

Riverdale-on-the-Hudson
St. Patrick’s Day, ’03

Dear Helen,—

I must steal half a moment from my work to say how glad I am to have your book, and how highly I value it, both for its own sake and as a remembrance of an affectionate friendship which has subsisted between us for nine years without a break, and without a single act of violence that I can call to mind. I suppose there is nothing like it in heaven; and not likely to be, until we get there and show off. I often think of it with longing, and how they’ll say, “There they come—sit down in front!” I am practicing with a tin halo. You do the same. I was at Henry Roger’s last night, and of course we talked of you. He is not at all well;—you will not like to hear that; but like you and me, he is just as lovely as ever.

I am charmed with your book—enchanted. You are a wonderful creature, the most wonderful in the world—you and your other half together—Miss Sullivan, I mean, for it took the pair of you to make a complete and perfect whole. How she stands out in her letters! her brilliancy, penetration, originality, wisdom, character, and the fine literary competencies of her pen—they are all there.

Oh, dear me, how unspeakably funny and owlishly idiotic and grotesque was that “plagiarism” farce! As if there was much of anything in any human utterance, oral or written, except plagiarism! The kernel, the soul—let us go further and say the substance, the bulk, the actual and valuable material of all human utterances—is plagiarism. For substantially all ideas are second-hand, consciously and unconsciously drawn from a million outside sources, and daily use by the garnerer with a pride and satisfaction born of the superstition that he originated them; whereas there is not a rag of originality about them anywhere except the little discoloration they get from his mental and moral calibre and his temperament, and which is revealed in characteristics of phrasing. When a great orator makes a great speech you are listening to ten centuries and ten thousand men—but we call it his speech, and really some exceedingly small portion of it is his. But not enough to signify. It is merely a Waterloo. It is Wellington’s battle, in some degree, and we call it his; but there are others that contributed. It takes a thousand men to invent a telegraph, or a steam engine, or a phonograph, or a telephone or any other important thing—and the last man gets the credit and we forget the others. He added his little mite—that is all he did. These object lessons should teach us that ninety-nine parts of all things that proceed from the intellect are plagiarisms, pure and simple; and the lesson ought to make us modest. But nothing can do that.

Then why don’t we unwittingly reproduce the phrasing of a story, as well as the story itself? It can hardly happen—to the extent of fifty words except in the case of a child; its memory-tablet is not lumbered with impressions, and the actual language can have graving-room there, and preserve the language a year or two, but a grown person’s memory-tablet is a palimpsest, with hardly a bare space upon which to engrave a phrase. It must be a very rare thing that a whole page gets so sharply printed on a man’s mind, by a single reading, that it will stay long enough to turn up some time or other to be mistaken by him for his own. No doubt we are constantly littering our literature with disconnected sentences borrowed from books at some unremembered time and now imagined to be our own, but that is about the most we can do. In 1866 I read Dr. Holmes’s poems, in the Sandwich Islands. A year and a half later I stole his dedication, without knowing it, and used it to dedicate my “Innocents Abroad” with. Then years afterward I was talking with Dr. Holmes about it. He was not an ignorant ass—no, not he; he was not a collection of decayed human turnips, like your “Plagiarism Court;” and so when I said, “I know now where I stole it, but whom did you steal it from,” he said, “I don’t remember; I only know I stole it from somebody, because I have never originated anything altogether myself, nor met anyone who had.”

To think of those solemn donkeys breaking a little child’s heart with their ignorant rubbish about plagiarism! I couldn’t sleep for blaspheming about it last night. Why, their whole lives, their whole histories, all their learning, all their thoughts, all their opinions were one solid rock of plagiarism, and they didn’t know it and never suspected it. A gang of dull and hoary pirates piously setting themselves the task of disciplining and purifying a kitten that they think they’ve caught filching a chop! Oh, dam—

But you finish it, dear, I am running short of vocabulary today.

Every lovingly your friend

Mark

Mais uma jóia pinçada pelo imprescindível Letters of Note, tirada do livro Mark Twain’s Letters, Vol. 2 of 2.

Havia certa semelhança entre a colaboração de João Brasil e Lovefoxxx e uma certa faixa produzida pelo Diplo…

Mas e com essa música nova da Madonna, hein?

Tá certo que todos os refrões remetem ao corinho de cheerleader que remete ao Clube do Mickey (o mesmo por onde passaram Justin e Britney) e já tinha sido usado até com a mesma temática (banana) antes de “L.O.V.E. Banana”…

…mas a dúvida fica no ar.

Que tal essa “homenagem” ao filme do Watchmen feita pela Globo?

Se for citação é brega, se for plágio é malfeito.

Não, né, galera…