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Barbara – L’Aigle noir (The Black Eagle)

Oh tell me Bird, take me away
Let’s go back to our old land
Like before in my childish dreams
To pick up, shivering, some stars, some stars

Like before in my childish dreams
Like before on a white cloud
Like before to lit up the sun
And be a rain-maker and make marvels

The black eagle rustling its wings
Flew off to reach back the sky
Four feathers with the colour of the night
One teardrop or maybe a ruby

I was cold, there was nothing left of me
The bird left me alone with my sorrow

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I really like this Florent Marchet’s song, but I’m not sure about the dance, but it’s mostly because I tend to find most artistic* modern dance to be elitist and pretentious bullshit – “This is my interpretation of Christmas”. 

Anyway, back to the song :

please tell me again,

about the lights of Christmas

the wind, the cold outside,

the eternal snow

and the smell of oranges

under the golden tree

where angels are dancing

and other loved ornaments

we’ll have to put this fire out

in the fireplace

in the sky we can see

deers and fairies

I like very much this story

shining in the evening

nevertheless, today,

when midnight comes

I’m not lying – I’d rather

get no dessert

even though

everything shines

in the gray of the families

I won’t miss the lights of December

I prefer the legend

to the reality…

please tell me again 

about the lights of Christmas

for my sleeping child:

the eternal snows…

*but I really appreciate a lot of popular dances, even if, being as coordinate as an Audi GPS unit, I’m not able to enjoy them myself. 

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laurentbelkacem:

When in doubt, always Reggiani.

Very relevant these days. I thought of it because I discovered today Juliette’s cover of this song.

A quick and dirty translation (you’ll get the meaning by losing poetry and scansion) :

Les Loups sont entrés dans Paris / Wolves had entered Paris

Men didn’t like to live anymore
And didn’t care about anything
Nor their mothers, neither theirs bros or their gals
For them it was only theatre
Sky was wild again
And concrete were eating landscape… then


Wolves ! oooooh ooooh !
Wolves were far away from Paris
In Croatia, in Germany
Wolves were far away from Paris
I loved your laughter, pretty Elvire,
Wolves were far away from Paris


But they run fifty miles
In a night, tail-to-tail
Sniffing a feast
Of dead soldiers on a battlefield
Once the fear haunts the streets
The wolves are coming at night … then


Wolves ! oooooh ooooh !
Wolves looked at Paris
From Croatia and Germany
Wolves looked at Paris
You can smile, pretty Elvire
Wolves are looking at Paris.


And then the winter was harsh
One hundred flues in newspapers
Closed shutters and slamming teeth
Even in beautiful boroughs
And no one dared at night
Facing the snow on boulevards… so


Wolves ! oooooh ooooh !
Wolves have entered Paris
One through Issy, the other through Ivry
Two wolves have entered Paris
Ah, you can laugh, charming Elvire
Two wolves entered Paris.


The first one had lost an eye
It was an old male from Krivoi
He brought its ten females
In the little park of Grenelle
And feed its two hundred cubs
With the children from Passy… then


One hundred wolves ! oooooh ooooh !
One hundred wolves entered Paris
Either through Issy or through Ivry
One hundred wolves entered Paris
Please stop laughing, pretty Elvire,
One hundred wolves entered Paris


The second wolf had lost a leg
It was a Carpatian grey wolf
It was called “Fat-Tuesday”
After all his cubs went fat
He give them six administrations
And all the zookeepers… then


Wolves ! oooooh ooooh !
Wolves invaded Paris
Either through Issy or through Ivry
Wolves invaded Paris
Now stop laughing, pretty Elvire,
Wolves invaded Paris


Attracted by smell of blood
They came hundreds a time
To party and feast in
France, this damned country
Until men’d found back
Love and brotherhood… then


Wolves ! oooooh ooooh !
Wolves get out Paris
Either through Issy or through Ivry
Wolves get out Paris
You can smile now, pretty Elvire,
Wolves get out Paris
I love your laughter, pretty Elvire,
Wolves get out Paris…

Vidéo

Florent Marchet covering Alain Bashung’s Aucun express

No express will lead me towards happiness
No old car will dock there
No Concorde will have your wingspan
No ship goes there
But you

No streetcar will put me that high
No steamboat will melt me
From escalators to winged chariots
I have tried it all
I have tried it all

I walked along your body
Carressed your meanderings
I got carried away
Transported
Beyond the abysses, over the orchards

Abandoning the main roads
I took  the side lane
I got carried away
Transported

No baby’s pram will leave me speechless
No valhalla is worth the detour
No spaceship lingers there
No ship goes there
But you

I walked along your body
Carressed your meanderings
I got carried away
Transported
Beyond the abysses, over the orchards

Abandoning the main roads
I took  the side lane
I got carried away
Transported

No express will lead me towards happiness
No old car will dock there
No Concorde will have your wingspan
No ship goes there
None

I walked along your body
Carressed your meanderings
I got carried away
Transported
Beyond the abysses, over the orchards

Abandoning the main roads
I took  the side lane
I got carried away
Transported

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Au service de la France n’est pas aussi bon que le vend la hype, mais il y a tout de même quelques scènes qui se rapprochent un peu du génie d’OSS 117.

– MOÏSE : And otherwise, how are your presidential elections going ?
– CIA 1 : Very well. Richard Nixon will win.
– MOULINIER : That Kennedy guy is too young, he looks like a kid. People need men… mature men of experience… purposeful…
– JACQUARD : Like the General (De Gaulle) !
– MOULINER : Exactly !
– CIA 2 : Or the Marechal (Pétain)…
– CLAYBORN : He’s perhaps not mature or purposeful, but he’s charming, your Kennedy.
– CIA 1 : Anyway… we have the means to decredit him.
– JACQUARD : Discredit him.
– MOÏSE : Oh good. How ?
– CIA 1 : He likes women.
– MOULINIER : Yes ?
– CIA 2 : He likes women. A lot.
– MOULINIER : Yyyess… You were talking about discrediting Kennedy. He got flaws ?
– CIA 1 : Well, women !
– JACQUARD : Right, and ?
– CIA 2 : He sleeps with many women…
(after a long pause) It’s not good for a politician !
– JACQUARD : Why ?

Vidéo

A new old song for @alte-hase

Oh Marlène
Hearts are bleeding
And get caught on
Top of your thigh

Oh Marlène
In your blood
Is flowing soldiers’
Love

And when they die
Or fall asleep
It’s the warmth of
Your voice
That soothes them
And drags them
Outside the battle-
Field

Oh Marlène
It’s hatred that
Brought us here
But Marlène,
In your blood
Flowed soldiers’
Love

And when they die,
Or fall asleep,
It’s in your arms
They are sinking
And are burning
Like a cigarette
Between
Your fingers

Hier und immer
Da kennt man sie
Kreuz unter Kreuzen
Marlene immer liebt

Vidéo

One of my favourite Malicorne song, Balançoire en feu, from the homonymous album (where you’ll find other classics like Vive la Lune or Soldat de la République).

Quick and dirty translation :

Grocery and horses and barracks
Seedtime, storms and harvest
Pastries and lazy loves
Hobbies, youth and shivers

Cement plants, beaches and palaces
Lost rivers, deep sands
Thoroughbred, stables or carcasses
Trotting or rowing races

Wind blowing, tousled hair
Bane is a sunken lane
Wind blowing, tousled hair
Happiness is a swing in fire

Coming and going loves
In the dirty streets and when it rains
Soldiers singing in space
The song of chicken-hearted victors