All language subtitles for The Simpsons - 33x17 - The Sound of Bleeding Gums.WEB.HULU.en

You know, you play pretty well

for someone
with no real problems.

That's 'cause I had
the best teacher.

If you love sports

and house flipping shows,
telenovelas mexicanas

and Holocaust documentaries,

get Everything+.

We'll stream anything,

even shows
that Peacock rejected.

We've got vintage cartoons

with the racism
and violence edited out,

so they're four seconds long.

Gurr, why, look,
it's Mr. Crow Jangles.

Hey, that's a Bleeding Gums Murphy song.

But they changed the lyrics.

He never would've sung
this garbage.

This is sacrilegious.
Listen to the original.

I can't believe
they're using a jazz legend

to sell lottery tickets.

Why do you hate the lottery?

It's my retirement plan.

The lottery is a tax on people

who can't calculate
the insanely low odds of winning

because they went to schools
that are underfunded

because of... guess what...
Scams like the lottery.

And they trick poor dopes

into buying tickets
they can't afford.

Bleeding Gums
would've been furious.

He hated gambling.

Really? How do you know?

Because I'm Bleeding Gums's
biggest expert.

I edit his web page.

All right, all right,
working on that title.

And I made a bust
of his embouchure.

So that's what an embouchure is.

I learned something today.

And now to forget it.

Gone.

Oh, lighten up, Lisa.

As Jesus said,
"You've got to play to win."

He didn't say that.

After he turned water into wine,
he said a lot of stuff

that he didn't remember
in the morning.

Hey, Sticks, Soaky,
Count Four Count,

Hi Hat Pat, The Three Bottoms,

Salty Joe and the Irregular Heartbeats...

...No Nickname Henderson,
Daly Night, Nighty Day,

and the Backup Boys.

I am sure
you're all as upset as me.

Hell yeah!

- About what?
- About Bleeding Gums's music

being misappropriated
by the lottery.

It happens all the time.

America's only original art form
is stealing Black music.

Well, there's only one way
to stop them:

Boycott the lottery.

Shh. They're announcing
the lotto numbers.

Six, 27,

32, 14...

Oh, man. Come on.

Let me tell you something,
people. One more number,

and I'm a winner.

If it happens, that's the last
you'll see of me.

I despise this town,

especially
the death-stalking ghouls

who watch local news.

And the last number is...

62. I lost.

In other news, Kent Brockman's
"Hooray for Springfield!"

Airs tomorrow at 8:00.

Oh, I love this town.

Just once,
I want to be one of those guys

who wins the lottery
and blows it on a single binge

that haunts him to his grave.

Aw, what's wrong?

A jazz god's work
has been misappropriated.

But I'm gonna fix it.

Come here, kid.
This is important.

Lisa, if you ever listen
to one thing I say, it's this:

Don't try to save anyone
or anything.

Please, please,
do not waste your time

chasing lost causes.

The environment? It's over.

Democracy? Hanging by a thread.

Broadcast television?
Only losers still watch that.

So promise me
you won't waste time

on this jazz dealy.

You have my word.

I won't waste any more time
on lost causes.

Because time spent
on lost causes is never wasted.

What did you just mutter?

Something that undercut
what I said.

That's my girl.

The Springfield Lottery
has been accused

of misappropriating
a revered musician's work.

Tonight, because...

...this crap station
is still stuck with me,

I'm hosting a debate between the
state lottery and Lisa Simpson,

who has anointed herself

the world's foremost
Bleeding Gums Murphy expert.

I'm still working on that name.

But I can tell you

he would not want
his incredible music

used for this carnival of greed
known as the lottery.

- Little girl, you claim to know everything about Mr. Murphy.
- I do.

- Do you even know his first name?
- Oscar.

- Do you know his favorite key?
- B-flat.

Mm, that's right.
Favorite brand of reed?

Légère.

Favorite type of jazz?

- Straight-ahead.
- Huh.

Do you know the name
of his first recording?

Well, his first album
was Broken Elevator Blues.

- Yes...
- But his first recording

was at Minton's Playhouse

playing
alongside Thelonious Monk

when Bleeding Gums was 16.

Hmm, right again.

She'll know this.
She'll know this.

Aha. How old is his son?

He has a son?

I did not know that.

No further questions,
Your Honor.

But this isn't a courtroom.

Overruled.

We'll be right back.

I feel like a fool.

How could I love someone so much

and not know something
so important about him?

Don't worry, Lisa.

- To me, you're perfect.
- I am?

Yes. But I'm just an image
created by your mind,

so I say what you want.

Oh, that's pleasant.

Come on, Lis.
Let's play Target Lisa.

Sorry, I'm too sad.

I can barely play
the soulless sounds of Kenny G.

No one likes Kenny G.

That's why they killed
Kenny A through F.

I didn't even know
my hero had a son.

Watching you cry
makes me feel the need to act.

Ah, much better.

I'm gonna find your son.

And I'm gonna find out
what he thinks

about the way
your songs are being used.

Well, here's a clue. I named him
after my favorite piano player.

Monk. M-Monk Murphy.

That's right.

Now that you've got the name,

just check the phone book.

What's a phone book?

I have been dead a long time.

Hi. I'm Lisa Simpson.

And you're Monk Murphy.

Oh, my God.
You look just like your father.

Let me guess.

You're one of the musicians
my dad mentored.

Do you want to come in
and see pictures of him?

Well, I don't want to impose
on your time.

- Okay.
- Oh, yes! Please, please, please.

Let me just tell you,
I loved your dad.

For a blues musician,
he could really cheer people up.

Just thinking about him
makes me smile.

And I found out
he recorded a song just for you.

"Monk's New Tune."

Please, I'm sorry.

That's not something
I can enjoy.

I understand. You miss your dad.

I do. But I can't enjoy music

because I can't hear it.
Never could.

I was born profoundly deaf.

Oh. But this whole time
we were talking,

- you seemed to hear everything.
- I read lips.

Then read this:

I'm your dad's biggest fan.

Did you love him
as much as I do?

Yes. He was a great dad.

He even refereed
my soccer games.

You know,

his whole world
was music and me.

So he took it kind of hard

when he found out
that I couldn't hear.

This boy's hearing loss
is so profound,

you could fire a gun
right next to his head,

and he wouldn't hear it.

That's not how you tested him,
is it?

Of course not.

There have been
great advancements, though.

With a cochlear implant

combined with auditory
and language therapy,

he could potentially
hear quite well.

But I have to warn you, like
any important medical miracle,

it's only for rich people

and doctors
who get a huge discount.

Son,
I'm gonna work night and day

to get you
that cochlear implant.

Uh, do you have any other skills
besides playing jazz?

I also teach jazz.

Uh, how are you paying
for this appointment?

With this.

Looks like about $16.

Yeah. I had a good month.

Wow. That must be
when your father wrote.

"Sixteen Bucks
Just Ain't Enough."

Do you still want to get
the cochlear implant?

I do. Very much.

But I take after my dad.

He played jazz for a living.
I run a nonprofit.

I make a lot more than he did
but not enough.

Wait. Did you know
they're using your dad's song

for the Springfield Lottery?

Oh, my God. What?
But he hated gambling.

I know. Did he tell you that?

Uh, no.
I learned it on the website,

Bleeding Gummy Bears.

Yes! Finally nailed the title.

But the lottery
must be giving you money.

Enough for the implant. Right?

Nope. I'm afraid
I haven't gotten any money.

I'm sorry, what?
I was destined to find you.

My new mission in life
is to make you happy.

You're my new cause.

Hold up.
I'm not anybody's cause.

I enjoy who I am.
I love my community.

And, you know, sometimes I like
turning off annoying sounds

by just closing my eyes.

Oh, yes. I hate annoying noises.

Now just listen.
Here's what we're gonna do.

We're gonna bring
those publishers to their knees.

You and I are g...

...gonna lawyer up, and I...

Then, eventually,
the Supreme Court will hear...

...going to restore
your dad's legacy.

Now? I have to eat.
I have a blood sugar thing.

It's so much easier if you
don't work against me here.

It's cool. They know me here.

Mind if I open this window?

This place has windows?

I'm home.

Ooh, they put up
a memorial wall.

That's McCoy Tyner.
He played with Coltrane.

Gerald Wilson,
the west coast Duke Ellington.

And look, Sarah Vaughan.

Oh, no. Etta Pryor passed?

No, baby, I didn't.

I am not gonna lean
against this wall anymore.

Now scat.
No, no, no. Baby, please.

Not that kind of scatting.

We just wanted some information
about my dad.

Monk Murphy?

Your dad used to bring you here
when you was just a baby.

You know,
I wrote so many songs about you.

Like, uh, um, um, "Please Change
the Baby's Diaper."

"That Baby Spit Up
on My Good Dress."

And "Who Brings a Baby
to a Jazz Club?"

Now, that was a smash hit.

Oh, it's so good
to see you again.

No one
knew your dad better than me.

I knew him better than his mama,

his preacher and his supplier

at the Sunglass Hut.

Great. Who owns the rights
to his music?

I don't know.
But I do know this.

Let me tell you
about Bleeding Gums.

Oh, look,
don't you listen to him,

'cause nobody
knew Bleeding Gums like me.

Oh, what's that?

"Treasured Artist Records."
His publisher.

That's where we go.

Now we'll find out
who's selling your dad's music.

"Check Is in the Mail Publishing."

"Fair Shake Records,
a Subsidiary

of Exploitainment Partners."

"Rhythm and Soul Records,
Harvey Whitebread, Owner."

Ugh. Oh! Here we are.

Look, before I can even talk
to you, sign this. Please.

Why'd you do that?

All I got was "please."

That mustache
makes his lips hard to read.

Ah, thanks. I work hard
on not having readable lips.

Or handwriting. Or fingerprints.

Yeah.

How could you sell
Bleeding Gums's song

to the lottery? It belongs
to him and his family.

No, you're right.
Uh, Bleeding Gums wrote it.

Then he came to us
to distribute it.

He should've read
the contract boilerplate,

which we never showed him
nor told him actually existed.

And, boy,
is there a lot of boilerplate.

But, uh, he got his share.

"Worldwide royalties, 92 cents"?

This is half
of what they promised.

This is the 21st century, bub,

where artists own their work.

Although they often have
to release it for free

on the Internet.
But we are gonna sue you.

We don't own the rights anymore.

We sold them
to a powerful consortium

including Nike,
Lay's potato chips,

Turkish oligarchs and Evil Corp.

His hologram's been on tour
in Europe.

Well, you tell your consortium

that there's
46 pounds of trouble

standing right here.

It could take years and years
to beat them,

but you're into that, right?

- Not really.
- What?

I'm happy. Let me rephrase that.

I was happy

until a little girl came
and told me I wasn't.

Please, stop helping me.

No, no, no, no, no.
Give me one more chance.

Read my lips.

Nope.

I guess you were right, Dad.

I'm ready to quit.

I'm proud of you, sweetie.

I've never even tried.

I'm very proud of you, boy.

I'm going to my room.

Nothing beats
a lonely, dark room

after a giant mistake.

Love you.

Mm. I think something's wrong
with Lisa.

Something was wrong with Lisa.

Good news, Marge.
I got it all handled.

Oh, boy.

Maybe I should talk to her.

She just told me she agreed
with everything I said.

If you interfere,
it'll ruin all my hard work

and send this home
into a tailspin

that it may never recover from.

Are you sure she's okay?

She's in her happy place,
sad music.

All right, then.

Good night, sweetie.

Uh, sweetie?
Could you close your eyes?

They're really bright.

This is so sad.

What's on the B side?

I'm taking a walk.

I just wish you were here.

You always knew what to say.

Little Lisa,

I'm always magically here
for you,

like Will Smith
in The Legend of Bagger Vance

or, better yet, Morgan Freeman
in Driving Miss Daisy.

- May I drive you.
- To the Kwik... E-Mart, Miss Lisa?

Yes, Hoke.

And teach me about equality
and civil rights

in a way that doesn't
make me feel too guilty.

In return, in 30 years,

I will ask you your last name.

Hey, whoa. What are you doing?

I was forming
an unlikely friendship.

Hey, me, too.
Against how many odds?

All.

But I see you
as so much more than that.

It's your legacy
I'm fighting for.

And evil corporations can't win
against someone like me

who has a big heart,
gumption and...

Oh, crap.

I'm just a kid,
this is real life,

and there's only so much
I can do.

All right.
I surrender to reality.

Little Lisa,

you're finally starting
to understand

what the blues is all about.

Is this where Monk Murphy works?

Yes. He's directing a production
of Richard III.

I believe it's the first time
an eight-year-old deaf girl

has played that role.

Wow. I am so there.

Now is the winter
of our discontent

made glorious summer
by this son of York.

Son of York!

Son
of York!

A mentor. Just like your dad.

Uh, I came to apologize.

Hey, you really don't need
to apologize to me.

Oh, really?
But I worked so hard on it.

Four drafts. Single-spaced.

It's really good.

How about you
just give me the gist?

Sure. You'll love the gist.
It's such a great gist.

Okay, here we go.

"Your dad saved me once
when I was really sad.

"So when I found out
you existed,

"even before I met you,

"I thought saving you somehow
was what I was meant to do.

"Now I know
the right thing to do

"would have been
to just listen to you

when you said you didn't need
or want saving."

Awesome. And guess what?
I'm getting the implant.

That's wonderful.

How did you get the money?

I finished ninth in the lottery.

"Get in it to win it,
it just takes a minute."

Ugh. Forget I asked.

Okay, I'm about to activate
the device.

This is gonna be so great.

I've picked
something very special

for the first sounds
you'll ever hear.

Screw you, Bart!

"Screw you, Bart"? I heard that.

Wow. Beautiful.

Woo-hoo! A forgotten prank
made me the center of attention.

Oh, no, no, that's not it.

This is what I wanted you
to hear.

Oh, my God.

I can hear his voice
for the first time.

Thank you, Lisa.

This is totally going
on the website.

Oh, you made an old jazz man
happy, little Lisa.

Also, uh... what's a website?

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