Monday, September 12, 2005

3 Songs

3 songs that are affecting the hell out of me these past few days are:

* Love On The Beat, Gainsbourg.
* Sorry Angel, Gainsbourg.
* Senorita, James.

Love On The Beat is the most violently sexual song I know. I used to hate it, the woman's (Bambou?) screams, never-ending. And the video clip, Bambou dancing in front of him topless. Now I realise how ahead of his time he was, how the clip is so perfect for the song, how the song is so sexy and beautiful.

D'abord je veux avec ma langue
Natale deviner tes penses...
Il est temps de passer aux choses
Serieuses ma poupee jolie
Tu as envie d'une overdose
De baise, voila, je m'introduis...
Je te dirai
Les mots les plus abominables...
Brulants sont tous tes orifices
Les trois que les dieux t'ont donnes
Je decide de m'introduire dans le moins lisse
D'achever de m'abandonner

Sorry Angel has always been one of my favourite songs. It's heart-breaking, the most intimate, painful farewell, and these past few days I particularly noticed these lines:

Moi j'aurais tout essaye
Mon amour
C'etait vraiment pas la peine
Je sais
Que c'etait foutu d'avance
Mon amour
Je n'ai ni remord ni regret

It's the issue of trying, of it being worth it, of the point of it all. And when I think about it, yes, it was hopeless from the start, and so one can't have remorse or regret.

Senorita. I fell in love with this song listening to the James album in Katerina and Dionysis' living room in Athens. It was me all over, the most romantic love song. I vowed then and there to have it at my wedding. I bought the album somewhere in France while we were driving through the country and listened to it over and over again (interspered with Death In Vegas' Scorpio Rising). That was one of the defining memories of Europe: A, I, driving through France, the windows down, summer heat, crickets chirping, listening to these amazing songs, driving through achingly beautiful country, smoking, wearing a bikini, looking over and seeing a happy face, being in love. I wanted to hear the music yesterday afternoon, not for the memory, I just craved the music, so put it on. As the first beats got louder I just broke down. It was horrible. The memories were so strong of that beautiful time. Why was it no more. Why do things fuck up. And I prefer the now of having this 'no more' than to wish for it again and have it disappear again.


Blogger Jimmy said...

Gainsbourg a fait de très très beau textes, j'espères qu'ils sont connus et accessible partout.
Ton blog m'a fait pensé à Mallarmé pour la poésie et à Boris Vian (l'écume des jours) pour la littérature.

6:37 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home