[debonair & vagabundear]: godspeed you black emperor & léo ferré

August 11, 2004

godspeed you black emperor & léo ferré

"Divine anarchy, adorable anarchy, you're not a system, a political party, a reference but a state of mind"(léo ferré)

beyond the obvious anarchist references, canadian band godspeed you black emperor and french singer léo ferré (1916-1993) share the same humanist and visionary playground.
the way ferré spat out loneliness, sincerity, violence, tenderness, vulnerability, contradiction, bitterness, lucidity, ferocity and above all love and created small symphonies with them is very close to that of godspeed.
the language used, (can't you hear words in godspeed's instrumental music? can't you hear the music in ferré's words?) is universal, timeless, frequently overwhelming and never defeatist.

their work is, as french writer quentin dupont says apropos of ferré's oeuvre "an hymn to happiness & hope, a fight for man's dignity. he pushes us into living standing up".
it is no exaggeration to say that very few artists have expressed their emotions and ideas as powerfully as léo ferré or godspeed you black emperor have through their recordings.

disturbing, challenging & thought provoking, their records have fed my quite recent will to LIVE in a way that is more positive & constructive than anything and anyone (except myself) has ever fed me with.
how ironic that this feeding frenzy had to be hosted by a guy who's written some of the darkest pages of 20th c. french poetry and a band that is not exactly renowned for their joie de vivre.

i first heard about godspeed in april 1999. if i remember well, it was in the music weekly melody maker, a few lines which probably made me go "whooah, i'd probably love that!"
anyway, here i was in barcelona visiting my friend laetitia & on the day they were due to play in london, i flew back so that i could go to the gig.

i went straight from heathrow to the union chapel, a beautiful church in north london, where godspeed were playing that evening and where i'd go to my first sigur ros concert a year or so later & my first a silver mt. zion gig too.

luckily, it wasn't sold out. -that was just before they made the cover of the new musical express & subsequently became, in a true english stupid fashion, 'the indie saviour of the month'.

that evening, something great happened to me. something which i had never experienced before.

in 1817, young stendhal, -a french novelist whose most well known work, le rouge et le noir is a powerful character study of an ambitious young man & also an acute picture of restoration france-, visited florence and soon found himself overwhelmed by the city's intensely rich legacy of art and history. when he visited santa croce (the cathedral where the likes of machiavelli, michelangelo, and galileo are buried) and saw giotto's ceiling frescoes for the first time, he was overcome with emotion.

he wrote: "i was in a sort of ecstasy, from the idea of being in florence, close to the great men whose tombs i had seen. absorbed in the contemplation of sublime beauty... i reached the point where one encounters celestial sensations... everything spoke so vividly to my soul."
a century & a half later, an italian psychiatrist noticed that some of the tourists who visited florence were overcome with anything from temporary panic attacks to bouts of outright madness that lasted several days. she remembered that stendhal had had similar symptoms, so she named the condition 'stendhal's syndrome'.

now, thanks to godspeed vivid music, guess what happened to me that evening? the most luminous experience of my short life!

i lost the plot, broke down & cried freakin' rivers for the whole gig. i was shaking all over and i couldn't control myself.
i was totally out of it, at the mercy of some unidentified, dark & beautiful attraction that i couldn't escape from. the only thing to do would have been to leave the church. but i didn't want to 'cause it was such an 'absolute experience'.

i never failed to break down at most subsequent godspeed gigs i went to. it's stronger than me. i can't help it. it's always like 'oh shite, here you go again, overemotional weirdo!'

all of this makes me think of the first time i listened to credo, a 13 minutes piece of music by estonian composer arvo pärt.
it was late at night, i had turned the lights off and turned up the volume to 10. by the end of it, i wanted to die. i wanted to die cos i had just seen it all. i really had.
i remember that i crashed into one of my flatmates' room:
- i've just listened to the most indredible music! it's the most rock n roll music your head can take without exploding!
- what the fuck was that? it was so loud!
no wonder officials banned credo back in 1968. it is such a powerful piece, they were probably worried that everyone would rebel against the soviet regime or something by the end of the song!

part credo was born from pärt's fascination with the central idea of christianity - "love your enemies".
pärt says (-and it seems to me that it is pretty much what godspeed you black emperor have been doing too in many of their little symphonies): "through unfolding the music in an urelenting manner, as if it was under the spell of some chain reaction, i wanted to show how the postulate 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth', however benign it may seem, gradually shows its true face and its destructive dimension; a crescendo of violence which, as an avalanche, ends up by bumping into its own walls."
no future, indeed.

so, credo starts beautifully with the choir singing credo in jesum christum - (i believe in jesus christ) and a few minutes later you are in hell, the music gets increasingly violent, chaotic & distorted, the choir now shouting oculum pro oculo, dentem pro dente - (an eye for en eye and a tooth for a tooth).

so, no future? well, that would be far too convenient.
then, as in the chrysalis process, a luminous crescendo manages to overthrow the quite ugly stuff, (autem ego vobis dico, non esse resistendum injuriae - (but i say unto you, that ye resist not evil) with the choir finally screaming twice in a row and to dramatic effect credo - (i believe). -we may even have the impression that the power of faith here is so strong that the postulate 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth' metamorphoses into some very humane figure and joins forces with the believers.
hope, indeed.

to me, this piece of music is a call for unity. a call to build something all together. anything that would give a good kick to the arse of people bent on destruction.
in credo i hear: "don't be a fuckwit. hatred and negative feelings will take you to an abyss of darkness; to your own loss. learn to look around, there is much beauty to fall in love with, to smile with & to help you to believe."
shame most of it only sounds like religious or hippie ideology to the cynics. it's quite stupid, really. especially when you think that ultimately, the question here is "do i want to be an asshole all my life?".

silver stub paris.jpg i don't know much about contemporary music but pärt has written some of the most beautiful, powerful, dangerous & subversive music i've ever listened to. get credo here.

although stendhal's syndrome is always caused by being exposed to an overdose of beautiful art, the manifestations can be different depending on the subject: fainting, hallucinating, breaking down, becoming extremely dizzy, being overwelmed by a sense of guilt &, erm... depression, suicidal behaviour, personality disorder etc...
obviously, sensitive as he is, homer simpson had to experience it too.
there's also a thriller called la sindrome di stendhal directed by the master of italian horror, dario argento (suspiria, phenomena).
although la sindrome... is one of his weakest movie, (-well, it's still quite creepy!) it shows extremely well the devastating effects stendhal syndrome sufferers have to put up with.

godspeed portland.jpg the great thing about working for an airline is that you get free flights all over the place whenever you feel like you need to get away from it all. the perfect job too when you live in europe and when you read somewhere that godspeed are touring the west coast of america.
i made 2 stop overs, the first one in nyc and the second one in san francisco to spend a few days with friends & headed off to portland, the oregon one, to meet tomato & cheese on toast girl. then, we took a train to seattle (very nice journey it is) for what would be my first american godspeed experience.

isn't it always more exciting to see your favourite bands in a foreign land?
the venue was the crocodile café. and a very nice place it is. the gig itself was great. and the people we met on the night were very nice too.

the next day, we took a train back to portland where godspeed would play the aladdin theatre.
i don't like being seated at gigs. whatever gig. i went a few times to the opera and even there, i don't like being seated. it feels like being seated prevents me from getting into the music. even if the seats are uncomfortable, it's still too confortable.
i stood at the back and had a hard time getting into it. the gig itself was good. it was just me. very tired of all the travelling + i had had one drink too many. some very bad red wine. besides, portland seemed like a creepy city with creepy people. just in my head, i'm sure. or was it?

live in bagnolet at l'échangeur chaviré 22jan02 - the typical gybe post gig twinkling eyes & smile. -well, i guess they were a bit drunk too.

live in paris at le cabaret sauvage in 2003: 2 minutes within the gig and i was already shaking like a leaf. some of my senses switched into 'absolute mode', whatever that means. it made me see and feel things that were very powerful.

it was like all of my memories, my relation to this world, all of the present and future of mankind and all of my feelings towards humanity surfaced before my eyes and inside my guts. all at once. and it was so much to take that i couldn't help but end on my knees and lose myself in visions & thoughts that were extremely dark, beautiful, violent and serene. like the music itself.

i went to this gig with thierry, a friend of mine who's been to 100's of concerts. he told me that night that he hadn't experienced such a thing since his early teens. he had this light in his eyes which i had never seen before. and it made me happy.

godspeed & a silver mt zion's music makes me feel like i belong to something bigger than the tiny & suffocating cube i live in. -tiny cube which i have built with whatever tools i could put my desperate hands on in order to survive. tiny cube which i fill with whatever/whoever helps me to go through it all.

their music conforts me in my rejection of a society that breeds on huge chunks of fear, spite, hate & cynicism.
it also keeps me from the harmful money driven & expanding individualism of our society & the desperation i sometimes feel at being part of it.
it sounds corny but it makes me see & feel the light, feed me with hope and give me the strenght to go further without leaving any of my human, hedonistic & humble nature behind.
this is an everyday fight against adversity and it drains a lot of my energy but i won't let them take me away.

to offer resistance is never futile.

barbara brel a singer, songwriter, author, composer, arranger, orchestra director and above all a poet, léo ferré is, along with jacques brel (1929-1978) and serge gainsbourg (1928-1991), one of the most revered french chanson figures.

brel, gainsbourg, ferré but also edith piaf and barbara were very popular and hugely talented and respected artists. and i like to think that if every new generation that comes along pays attention, it is because these great characters were honest, very humane, overemotional, generous, crazy, rebellious & solitary all the way through; everything a great poet is.

"poets, they apply colours to the grey path
when they walk, they believe they walk on the sea" (les poètes, 1960)

they always spoke their mind out, didn't give a flying toss about the ever looming backlash, wore their big red perforated heart in need on their sleeve and showed the audience that whatever the subject and since both hardly go hand in hand, intensity is so much more important than longevity.

how conforting it is that we can count on great artists and performers to tell us what we are supposed to do with our adult life: to make our childhood dreams come true. and how sad it is that these dreams do not seem to materialize very often since most of us do not go on falling a lot, crying a lot, make utterly silly and funny things, and remain crazy enough.

brel, ferré and gainsbourg were free men. as free as you can be anyway and since we live in a politically correct society where you are more or less asked to avoid making waves, it is no wonder that with the exception of björk and jeff buckley (buckley who was on his way to popularity before he died, at least in france), there ain't any very special and popular singers of their stature anymore.

if the economic system we live for where return on investment has to be more or less immediate is to blame for the state of our popular music culture, the attitude of most people who are at the head of the music corporations or even at the head of certain independent labels and who don't invest a penny on any character who's got anything remotely beautiful, exciting, interesting or original to say does not help.

although i understand the capitalist logic behind their choices, isn't it worrying that the masses who buy their records in supermarkets only where choice is nearly non-existent, (and that represents the vast majority of all records sold) are denied tasty food for thought and dreams?
well, it does not seem to worry many people. which makes the share holders very happy indeed.
and don't you worry about the current tears of the music industry fat cats. they're still making enough money to market their crap to you and i.
- 2 crappy records for the price of one! everything must go! we need the money badly! it's all music pirates' fault!
they would nearly succeed in making us reach for the box of tissues, wouldn't they?

anyway, the saddest thing is that most people will tell you that they'd not have it any other way. and i understand them. i mean, if i had to put up with all the shit most people are confronted to day in day out, which i'm not since i very rarely watch tv for a start, ("tv is a guide for artless eyes" la vie est louche, 1962) i'd probably prefer to entertain myself with insipid music than confronts myself with art.

so, most of us are conditioned to consume entertainment shit. and for that, we can say thanks to the extremely clever way our economic system controls, censors and denies our hopes. they suceeded in making us believe that we are so much better off in our sad little boxes, playing alone with the fun & expensive toys they especially made for us.
although capitalism as a political system is from a moral aspect a good one since it is based on and protects individual rights, the least we can say is that it sucks big time on a purely economic level. something must break. and it will because it always does.

it seems to me that one of the reasons ferré is not as well known as brel or gainsbourg outside french speaking countries is that most of his work is not as 'catchy' and easy to cover.
that said, as is the case with amsterdam, ne me quitte pas or bonnie & clyde, avec le temps, one of ferré's most well known songs and a landmark in the french chanson if there ever was one, has been covered a great number of times.

ferré's route to freedom began on parisian cabaret stages in the late 40ies and took him through nearly 5 decades and a number of styles.
his popularity peak happened in the late 60ies-early 70ies as the french generation of May 68 adopted him as an anarchist figure.
it is also around that time that french music label barclay (who hilariously enough now belongs to universal) released some of his most uncompromising and beautiful work.
-i wonder if the lovely people at universal france would finance a double album called amour anarchie vol. 1 & vol. 2 these days. oh they probably would, if they were sure it'd sell like pancakes.

in 1973, ferré released il n'y a plus rien, a dark, bittersweet & beautiful record that culminates into a devastating, violent and hopeful 16 minutes monologue that invariably makes me think of godspeed you black emperor.
i wanted to share bits of this monologue with my non-french speaking friends. i looked on the internet to find an english translation and as i couldn't find any, i decided to translate it myself with the help from my good friend glen. (my translations don't sound english enough he says. translate this into french and what he really means is mon ami, your translations are shit.)

here is a song by léo ferré called les amants tristes. it is taken from one of my favourite album of his, l'espoir (1974). (l'espoir which translates into hope.
this song epitomizes quite well ferré's early 70ies orchestral style.

and here, another one called la vie d'artiste in an early 70ies version. (the original dates back to the early 50ies). it is about his first wife leaving him because he wouldn't make any money with his art for years.

you can take the record player
i will keep the piano

and for those who like their french chanson a bit more conventional, many of ferré's early songs released through la chant du monde, odeon and barclay (roughly the late 40ies - early 60ies period) should do the trick.

i found many parts of il n'y a plus rien too complicated to translate. but what follows should give you an idea.

...
Immobile... L'immobilité, ça dérange le siècle.
C'est un peu le sourire de la vitesse,
et ça sourit pas lerche, la vitesse, en ces temps.
Les amants de la mer s'en vont en Bretagne ou à Tahiti...
C'est vraiment con, les amants.

Il n'y a plus rien

....
Camarade tranquille, camarade prospère,
Quand tu rentreras chez toi
Pourquoi chez toi ?
Quand tu rentreras dans ta boîte, rue d'Alésia ou du Faubourg
Si tu trouves quelqu'un dans ton lit,
Si tu y trouves quelqu'un qui dort
Alors va-t-en, dans le matin clairet
Seul
Te marie pas
Si c'est ta femme qui est là, réveille-la de sa mort imagée

Fous-lui une baffe, comme à une qui aurait une syncope
ou une crise de nerfs...
Tu pourras lui dire :"T'as pas honte de t'assumer comme ça
dans ta liquide sénescence.
Dis, t'as pas honte ?
Alors qu'il y a quatre-vingt-dix mille espèces de fleurs ?
Espèce de conne !
Et barre-toi !
Divorce-la
Te marie pas !
Tu peux tout faire :
T'empaqueter dans le désordre, pour l'honneur,
pour la conservation du titre...

Le désordre, c'est l'ordre moins le pouvoir !

Il n'y a plus rien

...
Sous les pavés il n'y a plus la plage
Il y a l'enfer et la Sécurité.
Notre vraie vie n'est pas ailleurs, elle est ici

Nous sommes au monde, on nous l'a assez dit
N'en déplaise à la littérature

Les mots, nous leur mettons des masques,
un bâillon sur la tronche
A l'encyclopédie, les mots !
Et nous partons avec nos cris !
Et voilà!

Il n'y a plus rien... plus, plus rien

Je suis un chien ?
Perhaps !
Je suis un rat
Rien
Avec le coeur battant jusqu'à la dernière battue

Nous arrivons avec nos accessoires pour faire le ménage
dans la tête des gens :
Apprends donc à te coucher tout nu !
Fous en l'air tes pantoufles !
Renverse tes chaises !
Mange debout !
...
Assois-toi sur des tonnes d'inconvenances
et montre-toi à la fenêtre
en gueulant des gueulantes de principe

Si jamais tu t'aperçois que ta révolte s'encroûte
et devient une habituelle révolte, alors,
Sors
Marche
Crève
Baise
Aime enfin les arbres, les bêtes
et détourne-toi du conforme et de l'inconforme
Lâche ces notions, si ce sont des notions
Rien ne vaut la peine de rien

Il n'y a plus rien... plus, plus rien

...
Mes plus beaux souvenirs sont d'une autre planète
Où les bouchers vendaient de l'homme à la criée

Moi, je suis de la race ferroviaire qui regarde passer les vaches
Si on ne mangeait pas les vaches, les moutons et les restes
Nous ne connaîtrions ni les vaches, ni les moutons, ni les restes...
Au bout du compte, on nous élève pour nous becqueter
Alors, becquetons !
Côte à l'os pour deux personnes, tu connais ?

Heureusement il y a le lit : un parking !
Tu viens, mon amour ?
Et puis, c'est comme à la roulette : on mise, on mise...
Si la roulette n'avait qu'un trou, on nous ferait miser quand même
D'ailleurs, c'est ce qu'on fait !
Je comprends les joueurs : ils ont trente-cinq chances
de ne pas se faire mettre...
Et ils mettent, ils mettent...
Le drame, dans le couple, c'est qu'on est deux
Et qu'il n'y a qu'un trou dans la roulette...

Quand je vois un couple dans la rue, je change de trottoir

Te marie pas
Ne vote pas
Sinon t'es coincé

Elle était belle comme la révolte
Nous l'avions dans les yeux,
dans les bras dans nos futals
Elle s'appelait l'Imagination

Elle dormait comme une morte, elle était comme morte
Elle sommeillait
On l'enterra de mémoire

Dans le cocktail Molotov, il faut mettre du Martini, mon petit !

Transbahutez vos idée comme de la drogue...
Tu risques rien à la frontière
Rien dans les mains
Rien dans les poches
Tout dans la tronche !

- Vous n'avez rien à déclarer ?
- Non.
- Comment vous nommez-vous ?
- Karl Marx.
- Allez, passez !

...
La mue ça se fait à l'envers dans ce monde inventif
Tu reprendras ta voix de fille et chanteras Demain

Retourne tes yeux au-dedans de toi
Quand tu auras passé le mur du mur
Quand tu auras outrepassé ta vision
Alors tu verras "rien"

Il n'y a plus rien

Les révolutions ? Parlons-en !
...
Depuis deux cent ans, vous prenez des billets pour les révolutions.
Vous seriez même tentés d'y apporter votre petit panier,
Pour n'en pas perdre une miette, n'est-ce-pas ?
Et les "vauriens" qui vous amusent,
ces "vauriens" qui vous dérangent aussi,
on les enveloppe dans un fait divers
pendant que vous enveloppez les "vôtres" dans un drapeau.

Vous vous croyez toujours, vous autres, dans un haras !
La race ça vous tient debout dans ce monde que vous avez assis.
Vous avez le style du pouvoir
Vous en arrivez même à vous parler à vous-mêmes
Comme si vous parliez à vos subordonnés
De peur de quitter votre stature, vos boursouflures,
de peur qu'on vous montre du doigt,
dans les corridors de l'ennui, et qu'on se dise :
"Tiens, il baisse, il va finir par se plier, par ramper"
Soyez tranquilles !

...
Moi, je suis un bâtard.
Nous sommes tous des bâtards.
Ce qui nous sépare, aujourd'hui,
c'est que votre bâtardise à vous
est sanctionnée par le code civil
Sur lequel, avec votre permission,
je me plais à cracher,
avant de prendre congé
Soyez tranquilles, Vous ne risquez Rien

Il n'y a plus rien

Et ce rien, on vous le laisse !
Foutez-vous en jusque-là si vous pouvez,
Nous, on peut pas.
Un jour, dans dix mille ans,
Quand vous ne serez plus là
Nous aurons TOUT
Rien de vous
Tout de nous
Nous aurons eu le temps d'inventer la Vie, la Beauté, la Jeunesse,
Les Larmes qui brilleront comme des émeraudes
dans les yeux des filles,
...
Nous ne mourrons plus de rien
Nous vivrons de tout

Et les microbes de la connerie que nous n'aurez pas manqué de nous léguer, montant
De vos fumures
De vos documents publics
De vos règlements d'administration pénitentiaire
De vos décrets
De vos prières, même
Tous ces microbes...
Soyez tranquilles,
Nous avons déjà des machines pour les révoquer

NOUS AURONS TOUT

Dand dix mille ans.

...
Motionless... Immobility disturbs our century.
It's a bit the smile of speed,
And speed, it does not smile much these days.
Sea lovers go to Brittany or Tahiti.
Lovers. What a fucking stupid thing!

There is nothing left

...
Quiet comrade, prosperous comrade,
When you go back home
Why Home?
When you go back to your box, rue d'Alesia or rue du Faubourg
If you find someone in your bed,
If you find someone sleeping there
Then, walk away in the sparkling morning
Alone
Don't get married
If it is your wife who's there, wake her up from her vivid death

Give her a slap in the face, as you would if she was having a fit or a nervous breakdown
You could tell her:
'Hey, aren't you ashamed to let yourself drift into your liquid senility?
How dare you when there are ninety thousand species of flowers?'
Stupid cow!
And then, fuck right off!
Divorce her
Don't get married!
You can do whatever you want.
Let yourself be crushed, for the honour,
so that you can keep your title...

Disorder is order without power!

There is nothing left

...
Beneath the harsh reality there is no tomorrow
Only hell and Security
Our true life is here, not somewhere else

It may displease Literature
but it's not as if we hadn't been told many times before:
We are alive!

We take words and mask and gag them
Encyclopaedias can keep them!
As we take our screams to the coffin!
This is it!

There's nothing left, nothing at all

Am I a dog?
Perhaps!
I am a rat
Nothing
With a heart that will beat until the very last beat

We arrive with our appliances to do the housework
in people's head
Learn to sleep naked!
Throw away your slippers!
Turn the chairs upside down!
Eat standing up!
...
Sit on a ton of improprieties
Show your face at the window and scream your guts out
just for the sake of it

If you ever feel that your rebellion becomes stuck in a rut,
nothing more than a habit,
Go out
Walk
Breathe
Fuck
Learn to love the trees, the animals, and turn your back on conformity and difference
Leave these ideas behind, in case they are only ideas
Nothing is worth the trouble.
Absolutely nothing.

There is nothing left. Nothing at all.

...
My most beautiful memories are from another planet
Where butchers sold Man at auction

I am from the railway species that watch the cows passing by
If we didn't eat the cows, the sheep or remains
We wouldn't know the cows, the sheep or remains
All things considered, we are brought up to be eaten raw
Let's have a feast, then!
A steak made of bones for two, heard of that stuff?

Fortunately, there is the bed: a car park!
Are you coming, my love?
And then, it is like the Russian roulette: we bet, we bet...
Had the roulette only one number, we would still be asked to bet
Besides, we already do it anyway!
I understand the players: they have thirty five chances of not being fucked over.
Therefore, they fuck and they fuck and they fuck again and again...
The drama, in the couple, is that we are two
And that there is only one winning number in the roulette...

When I see a couple in the street, I cross the road!

Don't get married
Don't vote
Otherwise you are stuck

She was as beautiful as the Revolt
She was in our eyes,
our arms, our pants
She was called Imagination

She was sleeping like a dead girl; she looked like she was dead
She was sleeping lightly
We buried her from memory

Hey kid, you must fill the Molotov cocktail with Martini!

Shift your ideas like smuggled drugs. There are no risks at the border
You're empty handed
Nothing in your pockets
Everything in your head!

- Nothing to declare?
- No.
- What is your name?
- Karl Marx.
- Okay, then!

...
A voice must break in reverse in this inventive world
You will pick up your girly voice again and sing Tomorrow

Turn your eyes within yourself
When you have gone beyond the wall of the wall
When you have gone beyond your vision
Then you will see "nothing"

There is nothing left

The French Revolution and all the others?
Let's talk about them!
...
For the last two hundred years,
you've bought tickets for revolutions.
You would even be tempted to bring your little basket
In order to fill it to the brim, wouldn't you?
And the 'scum' who entertain you,
the 'rascal' who disturbs you,
you wrap them up in the news items category when you,
on the other hand, wrap 'yours' in a flag

You think that you belong to a stud farm, don't you?
The notion of race makes you feel that you are still alive
in a world that you brought to its knees
You have the style of power
You even end up by talking to yourself
As if you were speaking to your subordinates
Because you are scared of your stature, your inflated image
Because you are scared that people may point their finger at you,
in the corridors of boredom, and that the others might say:
'Hey, he's not top notch, he's going to give in, creep on all fours'
Be quiet!
...

I am a bastard child
We are all bastard children
What separates us, nowadays,
is that your bastardy is ratified by the civil code
I enjoy spitting on,
when I have your permission and just before dying.
Be quiet, you don't risk anything

There is nothing left

And this nothingness, we leave it to you!
Stuff your insides with it all, if you can
For we cannot.
One day, in ten thousand years
When you are not around anymore
We will have EVERYTHING
Nothing from you
Everything from Us
We will have had the time to invent Life, Beauty, Youth
Tears that twinkle like emeralds in girls' eyes
...
We will no longer die from anything
We will live off everything

And the germs of your stupidity
that you will have had the pleasure to leave us, soaring from
Your dung
From your government documents
From your penitentiary system rules
From your decrees
From your prayers, even
All these juridical-lazy germs
Be quiet,
We already have machines to revoke them all

WE WILL HAVE EVERYTHING

In ten thousand years.

"des fois, on aurait envie de se foutre en l'air. mais je crois que c'est la seule chose qu'il ne faut pas faire. un jour, dans une maison, je voyais une arraignée par terre. je la voyais tous les jours au même endroit. et un jour, j'ai mis une soucoupe de lait (c'était une connerie parceque je ne sais pas si les arraignées boivent le lait) et j'étais très content. et elles ne savent pas, elle ne se tue pas, l'arraignée. le cheval, il na sait pas qu'il va mourir. le chien, non plus. nous, nous savons! et bien, il faut faire semblant de ne pas savoir qu'on va mourir."
(léo ferré chez pivot, juillet 80).

"sometimes, it feels like killing oneself would be for the best. but i believe it is the one thing we mustn't do. there was this spider in my house. i'd see it every day. and every day, it was in the same corner. once, i poured some milk on a saucer and put it on the floor. (which was a very silly thing to do 'cause i don't know if spiders like milk). anyway, it made me very happy! spiders, they don't know much. they don't kill themselves. horses, they don't know they will die someday. dogs don't know either. you and i, we know it! now, you and i must pretend that we don't know."
(léo ferré on french tv in 1980)

Posted by at August 11, 2004 12:19 AM