métaphysique pop

Deux chansons qui font pleurer. Non : deux chansons qui font que tout s'arrête. Le monde, votre jugement. Vous êtes dans la rue, vous écoutez ça au casque et c'est comme si Dieu vous prenait sur ses genoux, allez, petit, souris pour la photo - paaarfait, et maintenant dégage, t'es pas tout seul. Chacune résume tout ; j'ignore laquelle est la plus puissante, la plus vraie, sans doute, on tient là le yin et le yang d'une certaine poétique pop existentielle, une voix, des violons, quelques minutes, et on ne vous dira jamais la vie en mieux.

A ma gauche, Is that all there is, écrite par le duo infernal Leiber and Stoller, auquel on doit notamment Stand by me, Stuck in the middle with you (popularisée par Reservoir Dogs), un certain nombre de hits d'Elvis Presley et, tiens ? une chanson reprise par Edith Piaf sous le titre L'homme à la moto... et dont la version la plus connue est celle interprétée, d'une voix merveilleusement lasse, par Peggy Lee. Is that all there is, c'est la vie en quatre actes - le feu, le cirque, l'amour, la mort -, l'histoire d'une femme perpétuellement déçue. Alors, c'est tout ?

I remember when I was a very little girl, our house caught on fire.
I'll never forget the look on my father's face as he gathered me up
In his arms and raced through the burning building out to the pavement.
I stood there shivering in my pajamas and watched the whole world go up in flames.
And when it was all over I said to myself,
"Is that all there is to a fire?"

Is that all there is?
Is that all there is?
If that's all there is my friends
Then let's keep dancing
Let's break out the booze and have a ball
If that's all there is

And when I was 12 years old, my daddy took me to a circus.
"The Greatest Show On Earth."
There were clowns and elephants and dancing bears.
And a beautiful lady in pink tights flew high above our heads.
And as I sat there watching, I had the feeling that something was missing.
I don't know what, but when it was over,
I said to myself,
"Is that all there is to a circus?"

Is that all there is?
Is that all there is?
If that's all there is my friends
Then let's keep dancing
Let's break out the booze and have a ball
If that's all there is

And then I fell in love, with the most wonderful boy in the world.
We would take long walks by the river
Or just sit for hours gazing into each other's eyes.
We were so very much in love.
Then one day, he went away and I thought I'd die.
But I didn't.
And when I didn't I said to myself,
"Is that all there is to love?"

Is that all there is?
Is that all there is?
If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep-

I know what you must be saying to yourselves.
"If that's the way she feels about it why doesn't she just end it all?"
Oh, no, not me.
I'm in no hurry for that final disappointment.
'Cause I know just as well as I'm standing here talking to you,
That when that final moment comes and I'm breathing my last breath
I'll be saying to myself-

Is that all there is?
Is that all there is?
If that's all there is my friends
Then let's keep dancing
Let's break out the booze and have a ball
If that's all there is

A ma droite : It was a very good year composée en 1961 par Ervin Drake (qui nous a quittés il y a quelques mois dans une indifférence générale, et avait pour sa part composé dans les années 40 le très beau Good Morning Heartache chanté par Billie Holiday) et rendue célèbre par Frank Sinatra en 1965 dans sa version en D mineur. La légende veut que le The Voice, un peu chafouin à l'aube de son cinquantième anniversaire, se soit arrêté de nuit au beau milieu du désert californien tandis que la chanson - la version du Kingston Trio, la première - passait à la radio, et ait eu la brillante idée d'ajouter plein de cordes. Ray Charles, Homer Simpson et les Flaming Lips comptent parmi les autres intérprètes de ce standard immortel, qui voit le narrateur se pencher avec mélancolie sur les douces années de sa jeunesse et leur inévitable cortège de romances.

When I was seventeen it was a very good year
It was a very good year for small town girls and soft summer nights
We'd hide from the lights on the village green
When I was seventeen

When I was twenty-one it was a very good year
It was a very good year for city girls who lived up the stair
With all that perfumed hair and it came undone
When I was twenty-one

Then I was thirty-five it was a very good year
It was a very good year for blue-blooded girls
Of independent means, we'd ride in limousines their chauffeurs would drive
When I was thirty-five

But now the days grow short, I'm in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life as vintage wine from fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs, and it poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year

It was a mess of good years

Alors, quelle est votre préférée ? (Oh, et je ne doute pas que d'autres titres de la même veine - beauté musicale + élégante simplicité + gouffre sans fond) vous viennent à l'esprit : le cas échéant, merci de faire partager.

Comments

[L'âme saoule]

Il y a comme un petit air de " Tiens, goûte moi ça, tu vas m'en dire des nouvelles !" Elles sont soyeuses, ces chansons. Je vois bien des images à la David Lynch là-dessus. En contre-point. Du satin et du sanguinolent.

De mon côté, je suis tombé dernièrement sur une reprise de Charles Trenet, "La Mer" par un italien que je ne connaissais pas. Elle est tendre, cette chanson. Parfaite pour les vacances. Un mojito à la main. Et une clope de derrière les fagots.

Je vous laisse écouter :

Luca Aquino e Lucio Dalla - La Mèr :

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uvtj8yi3B_8

[Laurent Gidon]

My Room, par Van der Graaf Generator (faites-vous du bien : trouvez une vidéo ou un enregistrement, pour pleurer sur le son fabuleux du saxo de David Jackson)

Searching for diamonds in a sulphur mine,
Leaning on props that are rotten,
Hoping for anything, looking for a sign
That I am not forgotten.
Lost in a labyrinth of future mystery,
Tracing my steps, all mistaken,
Trusting to everything, praying it can be
That I am not forsaken.

I wait by the door, wondering
When you will come and keep me warm.
I pray for the end of the night,
Hoping the light will still the storm
Which presently betrays me;
Helpless sea-monster stranded on the shore,
Marooned in an ecstasy of waiting,
I yearn, although knowing that I shall dive no
More
In the tide already racing.

My lungs burst to cry: "Finally
How could you leave me here to die?
I freeze in the chill of this place
With no friendly face to smile goodbye-
How could you let it happen?"

How could you let it happen?
Dreams, hopes and promises, fragments out of
Time,
All of these things have been spoken;
Still you don't understand how it feels when I'm
Waiting for them to be broken.

Allez, je suis pas chien : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nU0wg5nupXM

[M.]

Bill Callahan - Too Many Birds


Too many birds in one tree
Too many birds in one tree
And the sky is full of black and screaming leaves
The sky is full of black and screaming

And one more bird
Then one more bird
And one last bird
And another

One last black bird without a place to land
One last black bird without a place to be
Turns around in hopes to find the place it last knew rest
Oh black bird, over black rain burn
This is not where you last knew rest
You fly all night to sleep on stone
The heartless rest that in the morn, we'll be gone
You fly all night to sleep on stone, to return to the tree with too many birds
Too many birds
Too many birds

If...
If you...
If you could...
If you could only...
If you could only stop...
If you could only stop your...
If you could only stop your heart...
If you could only stop your heart beat...
If you could only stop your heart beat for...
If you could only stop your heart beat for one heart...
If you could only stop your heart beat for one heart beat.

[marie]

A stick, a stone,
It's the end of the road,
It's the rest of a stump,
It's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass,
It is life, it's the sun,
It is night, it is death,
It's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms,
A fox in the brush,
A knot in the wood,
The song of a thrush

The wood of the wind,
A cliff, a fall,
A scratch, a lump,
It is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free,
It's the end of the slope,
It's a beam, it's a void,
It's a hunch, it's a hope

And the river bank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the end of the strain,
The joy in your heart

The foot, the ground,
The flesh and the bone,
The beat of the road,
A slingshot's stone

A fish, a flash,
A silvery glow,
A fight, a bet,
The range of a bow

The bed of the well,
The end of the line,
The dismay in the face,
It's a loss, it's a find

A spear, a spike,
A point, a nail,
A drip, a drop,
The end of the tale

A truckload of bricks
in the soft morning light,
The shot of a gun
in the dead of the night

A mile, a must,
A thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme,
It's a cold, it's the mumps

The plan of the house,
The body in bed,
And the car that got stuck,
It's the mud, it's the mud

Afloat, adrift,
A flight, a wing,
A hawk, a quail,
The promise of spring

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life
It's the joy in your heart

A stick, a stone,
It's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump,
It's a little alone

A snake, a stick,
It is John, it is Joe,
It's a thorn in your hand
and a cut in your toe

A point, a grain,
A bee, a bite,
A blink, a buzzard,
A sudden stroke of night

A pin, a needle,
A sting, a pain,
A snail, a riddle,
A wasp, a stain

A pass in the mountains,
A horse and a mule,
In the distance the shelves
rode three shadows of blue

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life
in your heart, in your heart

A stick, a stone,
The end of the road,
The rest of a stump,
A lonesome road

A sliver of glass,
A life, the sun,
A knife, a death,
The end of the run

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the end of all strain,
It's the joy in your heart.