| - Essays: On The Road (And A Little Off) |
 Sign Panama's Guestbook |
 | "...better than spam..." - a satisfied reader UN HOMMAGE A CHARLES TRENET PenMarc'h, Bretagne, August 12, 2007 - - I have been in love with "La Mer", possibly the most recognizable French tune with the possible exception of "La Marseillaise", for most of my life. It was written by Charles Trenet, un chanteur extraordinairre. And though Bobby Darin lifted the melody, his "Beyond the Sea", while wonderful in its production and orchesta arrangement, bears little resemblance to the lyrics of Monsieur Trenet. To a non-French-speaking American, a category into which I definitely fall, the words are very French-sounding. Not knowing the words in French, it had occurred to me to write my own version in that language, using the words and phrases I already know, or those I remember from Mrs Lemaster's French class in eighth grade, during those times when I was also taking French lessons from Candy Jordan. With any luck, Candy's an old granny by now, and Mrs Lemaster has gone to that big French class in the sky. But the rules of writing this faux-French song would be that the song itself did not have to make sense, only that the words must sound very French and be those that an American would recognize, without necessarily knowing what they mean. This would prove to be more difficult than it sounds. I have some Francophone American and English friends in Paris, and this song will almost assuredly seem stupid, or perhaps merely sophomoric, to them. This is not my problem. They can deal with their tragic supercilious smugness on their own blogs. Other Americans, though probably not those tuned into this particular station, will find the song not stupid but only more meaningless than was my original intent. It will not capture their attention because it has foreign-sounding words. I speak here of those whose only contact with French has been via the Poynter Sisters ("Voulez vous couchez avec moi, cet soir?"). I'm getting into my own little smuggy zone here, I know... Wednesday August 8th 2007 - - So on our long drive across France to our second gig in The Jura, wa-a-a-ay over in the eastern part of the country I began working on it, to the tolerant amusement of Jean Luc; Felicie and Stephan, the current incarnation of the post-industrial, pre-modern French folk band 'Mary-Lou'.  I live a blessed life, I know. Earlier this year my friends Jean Luc and Felicie invited me to come and be their guest artist on un p'tit tour of France. Day before yesterday we played a small holiday camp in Bretagne to a wonderful audience and the next day we set out with Stephan the keyboard player on a jaunt across France to the Jura, near Switzerland, for two dates there. On the way we stopped and spent the night with friends of Jean Luc's named Nicola and Celine and their two children. We were not the only visitors; a German couple anbd their child, Uma (like Thurman) were also there. It is a house that used to be an abbey, maybe, as there is an old disused church in front. We had a delicious meal and conversation, went to bed, got up, did the coffee, bread and butter thing and set off again. Thursday August 9th - - Jean Luc and Felicie love what they do for a living and it shows. They are a joy to be around and work with. They are troupers. Thursday night we played in Dole for about 700 people. It was an okay show, but the sound guy had started warming up his rig with really loud techno, so from early on we knew what torture we were in for. So we did our show by rote, with no contact with each other on stage through the completely useless monitors. God only knows what it sounded like out front. At the end of the evening I called out to him across the parking lot "Bon soir...et merci!" "He didn't hear you," said Jean luc. This was not surprising. He hadn't heard me all night long, either. Friday August 10th - - Today we played at a holiday hotel in Metabief where we are also staying. It's about 7 kilometers, 4 or 5 miles, from Switzerland. The owner of the hotel, Gerard, is also the mayor of the town, largely devoted to skiing in the winter and biking and climbing in the summer. After the gig he told me about how the area was occupied by the Spanish to the satisfaction of the locals for about one hundred years. Then Louis XIV hired a Swedish mercenary army to take it back for France, which they did, efficiently and bloodily. In the process they kicked a lot of local butt so folks around here didn't like the Sun King all that much. So much did they dislike Louis that they had themselves buried face down, "so they could show their asses to the Sun," said Gerard. Gerard treated us to dinner before we played (they do that here in France, feed the musicians before they play and put them up afterward. In the States you're lucky to get paid). At the end of dinner, the mayor served various wines and cheeses of the region. Among the cheeses was one, an almost liquid, cancoillotte cheese. Which I raved, honestly, about. This is some strong stuff. This morning, as we were leaving, the mayor sent to the hotel two boxes of various wines ands cheeses, including the concoillotte. To indicate just how overwhelming this stuff is, let me merely say that my French companions, who you'd think would be used to this kind of stuff, have been complaining of the smell all the way back across France, opening doors and windows to air out the van at every stop. And these people whose old dog, Bilbo, also on the road with us, is capable of farts that will make your eyes sting. So between Eau de Bilbo and my cheese it has been a pretty rough crossing. We arrived back at the home of JL and Felicie after dropping Stephan off at his house, had a little dinner and went to bed. Saturday August 11 -- Today I did not do much, except that Jean Luc and Felicie, perhaps in self-defense, began to teach me the real words to "La Mer", and I tried to take care of some business back in Rockvale via the Internet. Sunday August 12 -- Today we had a gig at the American Car and Bike Festival not too awfully far from home base. Our friends and my benefactors Jacques and Michele were there, and the other act was a French band named "Milwaukee", also friends of my current employers. This is my last scheduled date with Mary-Lou, and it's a shame, because I'm finally learning to play with them, and though the first gigs haven't sounded bad, today we actually kicked ass, in a laid-back Mary-Lou kind of way. There is nothing beter than being in a band with friends, but though I will continue to be their guest at their house for another couple of weeks, as of today I cease to be their employee, because tomorrow the formidable, unsinkable country rocker, my partner Rob "The Doc" Dokter, his fiancee Dragana and Xander the keyboard Wunderkind arrive in Paris, where I will meet them and be off on another, different, I'm sure, kind of adventure. Here are my words to "La Mer", with apologies to Monsieur Trenet, Mrs Lemaster, 50 or 60 million Frenchmen, and especially Candy. Never was a girl so aptly named...: LA MER Music by Charles Trenet French lyrics for les Americaines by Panama Red La mer Arrondissement, et chien, cherchez la femme Mangeons gateau dans le bateau Mais je ne connais Ou est ma tante Garçon Donnez mon chat, ma cher, et mon chapeau La concierge dits "quel beau cadeau!" Je m'appelle Pierre, et c'est mon table Cet vin est chardonnay ne pas vin ordinairre pardonnez-moi, la vache qui rit defense de fumer avec ton oncle Ecole Gendarmerie, toute suite Merci beaucoup Comment allez-vous? Eh, bien, et tu? Et ta maquillage Est sur la table -30- EDITOR'S NOTE -- We are announcing a contest to send in your own first-year-French version of "La Mer". You only have to provide one verse to be entered, but you may provide more. There are prizes! FIRST PRIZE: Spend a day with Panama. SECOND PRIZE: Spend TWO days with Panama.
|