J'accuse... me! No me parleyvoo or comprendeyvoo le frankinscence.
But no matter. Because I have always preferred french fries to freedom fries; french toast to texas toast; and french-kissing to ass-kissing (though, to be fair, that last one is sort of highly dependent on the context, if you know what I'm saying).
Fact is, you don't have to know French to get French. It's a lyrical language. Soft. Sensual. Forgiving. Tell someone to "eat shit and die" in English, and it might come across as crass. In German, it would be regarded as a declaration of war. In French, it might just as easily serve as preface to a seduction. Wine... song... l'amour... more wine... more song... more amour. Mange du murde et meurt? But of course. Just as soon as you make ravishing love to me on this French damask divan (or in the hatchback of my Le Car), under this painting by Renoir (atop this spare-tire by Michelin), to the gentle, soothing strains of Debussy's Clair de lune (to the gentle, soothing strains of Jerry Lewis' "Theme to 'The Day the Clown Cried'"). Viva la France! Viva le difference! Viva le cigarette, la baguette, le beret, le beret raspberry, le menage a trois, Monet, Manet, Marcel Marceau, Jacques Cousteau, Inspector Clouseau, and Pepe Le Pew!
And -- perhaps somewhat lower on this distinguished list -- CARLA BRUNI. Model. Singer. First Lady of France. Former paramour of MICK JAGGER, ERIC CLAPTON, and... um... Donald Trump. There is the small problem, of course, of Carla Bruni being Italian. But no matter. She sings in French, and that'll serve our purposes tres bien.
Now... is Carla Bruni a great singer -- a la EDITH PIAF? No... she is not. But remember: Dirty SERGE GAINSBOURG's girls weren't particularly skilled singers, either. But they could coo. Purr. Whisper. Come hither. Come thither. Keep coming and coming till the cows came home. And these things Carla Bruni can do, too -- over light, largely acoustic arrangements -- coo, purr, whisper & come.
[Okay, it's 3 AM, I'm tired, and it's time for you to get to downloading (or not) today's songs. As is sometimes the case when I'm writing these somewhat-longer-than-usual posts, I find that I have random scraps of crap left over at the end -- stray sentences that may have once made sense, but now no longer do because the post has decided (entirely of its own volition) to go in an unexpected direction. Normally, of course, I would simply delete said random scraps before sending the post out into the world. Today, though, just for the hell of it, I'm going to leave them be, for no other reason than... well... I actually took the time to look up the proper spelling of "gesundheit" (I originally had a "z" in there). And I really do despise German opera. So suck on that, RICHARD STRAUSS!]
>>> , if you get my tongue-in-cheek meaning.....
(So, let's just say that, when it comes to French prime ministers, Sarkozy isn't her first.)
(When it comes to opera, Italian should be the only language allowed. French would be fine but for the fact that French composers have no balls. German composers have great big, eugenically maxi-sized balls, but, alas, the German language is better suited to jackhammering granite than to singing. C'est la vie. C'est la guerre. Gesundheit!) <<<
And gute Nacht and bonne chance.
CARLA BRUNI on MySPACE.
From the LP COMME SI DE RIEN N'ETAIT, 2008 >>>
[MP3] "Deranger les pierries"
[MP3] "Ta tienne"
From the LP NO PROMISES, 2007 >>>
[MP3] "Lady Weeping at the Crossroads"
From the LP QUELQU'UN M'A DIT, 2002 >>>
[MP3] "Quelqu'un m'a dit"