Dia de los muertos (6)

Another guestpost for All Souls Day, this one’s by Jan-Willem about drowning:

In the mid-thirties, Kurt Weill had fled Germany and tried to build up an existence in France, before eventually relocating to the US. During this brief French interlude Weill and playwright Maurice Magre co-wrote a potboiler song for cabaret singer Lys Gauty, who performed and recorded it with considerable success.

La complainte de la Seine is a lurid yet utterly modern affair about corpses and shattered dreams lying at the bottom of the river Seine, including such items as ‘Rings tossed in by misunderstood women / Feet that a propeller sliced off a body / And the accursed fruits of sterile wombs / Pale aborted children that nobody loved’. Baudelaire would have been proud.

Gauty gave the song an appropriately melodramatic reading, but to my mind she is outclassed by opera singer Teresa Stratas, who recorded it with much pathos for her 1981 album The Unknown Kurt Weill. My only regret is that there isn’t a complete band to back her up. The 2007 reading by Enikö Szilágyi, a Rumanian/Hungarian singer with a lower and attractively husky timbre, is also excellent, but not quite as gut-wrenching. Weill performer extraordinaire Marianne Faithfull recorded a live version in 1997.

The model upon which the 1934 Complainte was fashioned may well have been the Ballade vom entrunkenen Mädchen (Ballad of the Drowned Girl) from Brecht and Weill’s 1929 Berliner Requiem. This was translated into French as La fille noyée and recorded by i.a. Pia Colombo (1969) and Wende Snijders (2006).

Lys Gauty – La complainte de la Seine
Teresa Stratas – La complainte de la Seine
Marianne Faithfull – La complainte de la Seine
Wende Snijders – La fille noyée
Pia Colombo – La fille noyée

Dia de los muertos (5)

Roger Grund on a Sunday to slash your wrists by:

Ask around which day of the week is associated with death and in 8 out of 10 cases you’d get Sunday. It seems it is only a small step between rest and Rest-In-Peace. So it befits on Day of the Dead to revisit Gloomy Sunday, a song written originally by the Hungarian composer Rezső Seress in 1933.

Be warned, Gloomy Sunday is a song of considerable power and mystique. The particular frequencies of Gloomy Sunday appear to carry a secret code that leads its unsuspecting victims to commit suicide. Many artists have dared their version of the magical and ill-fated chords of Gloomy Sunday. Billie Holiday, Bjork, Diamanda Galas, and of course the ubiquitious Serge Gainsbourg,  just to name a few. More recently Claire Diterzi in 2006 released an elegant but strangely upbeat Sombre Dimanche, so far without any reported casualties. However for the full suicidal impact the listener need to turn to the delightful and desolate version of Gloomy Sunday recorded by New York chanteuse Lydia Lunch on her brilliant 1979 album Queen of Siam.

Someone once said that to be lost at sea must be the saddest way to die. Therefore as a bonus on the Eurovision Festival of Death also the panoramic vista of ‘Listen! Those Lost At Sea Sing a Song at Christmas Day’ by Get Well Soon. Douze Points pour l’Allemagne!

Lydia Lunch – Gloomy Sunday

Claire Diterzi – Sombre Dimanche

Get Well Soon – Listen! Those Lost At Sea Sing a Song at Christmas Day

(picture stolen from here)

Something to die for (Dia de Los Muertos 4)

It’s my own guilty pleasure to re-write my will every now and then. Nothing much to say in it actually, but nevertheless, music is an important part of it. One track that is in it for years now: ‘The Carnival Is Over’ performed by Nick Cave and his Bad Seeds back in 1986 on their ‘Kicking Against The Pricks’ album with only covers on it. A rather dull and annoying song in itself, but what Cave and companion Blixa Bargeld made out of it sounds as the most beautiful and thrilling Goodbye to me.
The original of the song (and we’re going to do a little Blokhuisje now – Dutch readers know what I mean) goes way back in time. Most people know this track as performed by The Seekers in 1965. Tom Springfield (yes, Dusty’s brother) wrote the lyrics for them. At the label also credits for Frank Farian, a German producer who wasn’t the most original man in musicbizz, so a bit of suspicion is allowed here. This Seekers’ song was covered very often, but was ‘The Carnival Is Over’ an original in itself? The answer: no. In fact the track goes back to 1826 when Hector Berlioz used a piece of an old Russian traditional in the ouverture of his opera ‘Les Francs-juges‘. Later on this evolved in a Russian folksong titled ‘Stenka Rasin’, that was recorded by several orchestras and artists under all kind of different titles.

One of those performers is – and now we’re getting close, finally this is a blog about French music – Charles Aznavour & les Compagnons de la Chanson, who recorded it as ‘(La Légende de) Stenka Razine’ in 1951. Not half as stunning and touching as Cave did, but French it is.

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds – The Carnival Is Over
Charles Aznavour & les Compagnons de la Chanson – (La Légende de) Stenka Razine

Dia de Los Muertos (3)

There probably will be no music at my real funeral. I’d rather prefer a reading of the last three pages of Pierre Drieu la Rochelle’s Le feu follet. However, at my fictitious funeral this All Saints’ Monday, my future ghost will engulf in the kitsch grandeur of the English version of Le Moribond. Jacques Brel’s 1961 original is a bit too snappy for my tastes, and Terry Jacks’s 1974 smash hit adaptation – originally to be recorded by the Beach Boys (!) – well, let’s put a shroud over it. The ultimate version is undoubtedly by Rod McKuen, close Brel friend and translator of many of his lyrics. His rugged-voice US version, adapted first by the Kingston Trio in 1964, sentimentalizes Brel’s chanson for sure, and simultaneously transforms it into big-scope American death disc drama. Paradoxically, the starfish on the beach granted him a nice bit of immortality.
Rod McKuen – Seasons in the Sun

Dia de los muertos (2)

Short but sweet guestpost in honour of the Day of the Dead (2/11) by Anna Maria:

Gainsbourg wearily hisses at the man who stole his Jane in a sunny setting, but his words sting with acidic intent. Perhaps he didn’t really wish for his rivals’ death but he sure liked to vent a little. A good song to wish for the worst for your enemies, and then maybe forgive them and move on. And maybe you’ll remember the ones you can no longer see and miss them a little too.

Serge Gainsbourg – Vieille Canaille

This is the original version, by the way.

Dia de los muertos (1)

Today and tomorrow I will post several guestposts in honour of Dia de los muertos, the Day of the Dead (November 2) or All Souls Day. French songs, of course. Sylvester kicks off with dead leaves on dirty ground.

Death brings so many sweet melodies to my mind. It was one the favourite themes of Jacques Brel (‘Mourir la belle affaire. Mais Vieillir… ô vieillir!’); Léo Ferré immortalised his deceased monkey Pepée in a song; Renaud scolded the Putain de camion which killed his friend Coluche in a motor accident; a heartbroken Serge Reggiani sang La barbe à papa in dedication to his son, who committed suicide a year earlier; Barbara unforgettably memorized a visit to her dying father in Nantes – he had already passed away when she arrived… Oh… Hallelujah! So many lovely chansons death has brought upon us!

My all-time favourite was an offspring of the renowned artistic collaboration of composer Jacques Kosma and poet Jacques Prévert. Together they wrote not only the evergreen Les feuilles mortes (Autumn leaves), but also Barbara. Melancholically, a man remembers the happy smile of a young girl he once saw in Brest. It was shortly before the war, which brought death and destruction to the city. What will have happened to this girl – Barbara? Like Les feuilles mortes, this song was made famous by Yves Montand, but I prefer the even more sober interpretation by Les Frères Jacques.

Les Freres Jacues – Barbara