What are you listening to now?

It was his birthday yesterday

Daniel Guichard is a singer-songwriter born in Paris November 21, 1948, a Breton factory welder father, Henri Guichard, and a mother to three Russian, Polish and Ukrainian.

It's a song that takes my guts when I listen. I have translated the lyrics and you'll understand pourquoi.Profitez any moments of your life malgrés the ups and downs,your family and friends .



My old man

In his old, threadbare overcoat
He would go off, in summer, in winter
In the little, cold morning
My old man

There was only one sunday a week
The rest of the week, he would work
To earn money like he could
My old man

In summer, we would go to the sea
You know, it wasn't misery
It wasn't paradise either
But oh well

In his old, threadbare overcoat
Several years long he took
The same suburb bus
My old man

In the evening, as he'd come back from work
He would sit down without saying a word
He was rather silent
My old man

Every sunday was monotonous
We would never invite anyone
But he wasn't sad about it
I guess, my old man

In his old, threadbare overcoat
On paydays, when he'd come back home
We could hear him shouting a little
My old man

To us, it was always the same old song
He'd criticise everything—rich people, bosses
The left, the right wing, even God
That was my old man

We didn't have TV at home
Instead, I'd go out for a walk
For some hours, to get out of it
That's dumb, ya know!

To think I spent several years
Beside him without ever giving him a look
We barely opened our eyes
The two of us

It wasn't very clever of me 'cause I could
Have accompanied to the bus stop for once
Perhaps he would've liked it
My old man

But when you're just fifteen
Your heart isn't big enough
To hold all those things in it
You know

Now that he's far from here
When I remember all this, I think to myself
'I wish he were by my side right now'
DAD...


Good listening

I believe that all the sons of workers recognize a bit their "old man" in this song....

Little three of a kind by Genesis...

When a singer with tortured mind spits his soul some time before his foretold death, it gives this...




Alain Bashung - La nuit je mens (On night i lie)



Obviously, facing this kind of text, i don't even attempt the translation... Traduttore, traditore, Italian people say...

So, here are the French lyrics , if you want...

Hubert-Félix Thiéfaine

Les dingues et les paumés ( The nutcases and the lost )


Neither lesson, nor morality...

Just a very ridiculous and very pitiful advertising at the beginning of this video, which spoil the work of others...
But we live in a consumerist world, isn't it...?

For beginning the day well, boots, cats and bees