Alright - Trash yéyé is brilliant. Maybe I like it better than Négatif. But goddamnit, what's wrong with French people? Or at least, what's wrong with innovative French boy singer/songwriters? Rose Kennedy and Négatif were both concept albums, after a fashion, in the Serge Gainsbourg Melody Nelson fashion but, you know, about Rose Kennedy and some misanthropic outlaw called Billy Bob, and not about deflowering a 14 year old girl called Melody Nelson who dies in a plane crash a few days later.
Call it cathartic paranoia because of a combination of my historical circumstances and the classy reefer we got in Amsterdam (which the F-word methodically smoked through during his two days off - we're already out and I'll be back to smoking crappy hash while he goes on a school trip for the next five days - I've had a busy week so I think I got a grand total of 20 tokes off 3 grammes - fuck, am I pissed!) but I think Trash yéyé is also a concept album in more of a L'Homme à tête de chou way.
By which I mean more of a murderous way. I think it's a concept album about a relationship ending after a drawn out process involving a certain degree of mutual infidelity, the rejected man eventually cracking, killing the woman, and then daydreaming about her until he manages to loose his identity in upstate New York. Sounds farfetched, I know, but the thing that makes me doubt it the most is that it doesn't sound farfetched enough - she doesn't come back as a rabbit that eats his cabbage head - you know how it is.
Anyways, I'm going to see him in concert at the end of the next month, which is great - can't wait. I wonder how many people he'll be playing with, the arrangements for REAL instruments and voices on his albums are so good - though I still prefer the Arcade Fire in terms of instrumentation- which coincidentally I'm going to go see three days after I see Benjamin Biolay, at the beginning of November. The timing is perfect, because listening to Benjamin Biolay puts me back in teenage Curehead mode and listening to the Arcade Fire turns me back into a real person again.
4 commenti:
yknow, it's precisely b/c he's been touted as the new SG that I've avoided him like the plague. I tend to regard any comparison to my man as utter sacrilege. Looks like I'll have to give him a shot.
who wouldn't be pissed. but would you have done any differently, had they been yr 2 days off, instead of his? ;-)
It's a fatuous comparison - even though I make it. It's just because they both released concept albums, they both write great songs for mediocre female singers, they both make oblique references to blow jobs, and they're both French. Musically they're not so similar, nor lyrically. For example, from his lyrics I would guess that Serge Gainsbourg was a pervert and a satyromaniac so depraved he'd only stop having sex with ANYTHING when he was too drunk to get hard, whereas from his lyrics I wouldn't guess the first thing about Benjamin Biolay's sexual life, besides the earthshaking possibility that maybe he likes getting blowjobs.
And yes, I would have done *considerably* different, because women don't do that kind of thing. When we do something stupid or thoughtless, which I'm aware we do every day, we always have some possible scenario that makes our behaviour seem reasonable from SOME perspective, even if it's a stupid one. But there are only two possibilities in this scenario, neither of which makes him smoking all our reefer reasonable from any perspective, even a stupid one:
1. Either the thought "Gosh, Mistress La Spliffe likes smoking reefer, and we only have a finite amount of reefer, and she's working like a fiend all week and will want to get high this weekend without having to spend a chunk of her two days off compared to my four days off going back to Holland or trying to chase up some shitty hash from dealers here, so I think I WON'T SMOKE ALL THE FUCKING REEFER" didn't occur to him
or
2. the thought did occur to him, and he decided that no, indeed, he *would* smoke all the fucking reefer.
Sorry to hear you are reeferless. It's difficult to believe that it could possibly be so difficult to get your hands on the good stuff when you're so close to Amsterdam!
It's probably for the best. It turned out there was juuuuuust enough for the weekend, anyways.
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