After 12 years of existence, went our fourth album “A venir”. The first song that gave the album’s tittle sest the tone by questioning our future in the light of the present and asking: what we will decide to do with it?
\nThen there is:
\nThe time that passes and the desire to live fully that is becoming ever stronger.
\nThe pride of being a woman and wearing it every day.
\nLove and struggle.
\nThe tribute to the places and people we\u2019ve come across all these years, and to those who have brought so much to us but who have left too soon, like the guitarist\/singer Schultz<\/p>\n
It is not money, it is not glory; it is passion and friendship that intoxicate us and make us live.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
10 tracks in all, recorded at the Studio de l’Ile d’amour<\/a> by St\u00e9phane Lef\u00e8vre and Gilles theolier who also did the mixing.<\/p>\n
The album is released in vynil, CD and digital. The band produced the disc and 4 labels and friends are involved: Maloka<\/a> de Dijon, Rudy\u2019s back<\/a> d’Angers, Acontrario records de Montreuil and Fire & Flames<\/a> the German label, domiciled in Kiel.<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nA venir – Lyrics<\/h2>\n
[accordion-container]
\n[accordion-section title=”To come…” id=”item-1″]
\nWhat will be left of our childhood
\nWhen our two heroes will go away?
\nWhat will be left of adolescence
\nWhen screens will eat her?
\nWhat will be left of the beautiful years
\nWhat we waste to work?
\nWhat will be left of the time which passes
\nWhen comes the day we die\u00a0?
\nWhat will be left of the beauty
\nWhen we shall have ravaged everything?
\nWhat will be left of liberty\u00a0?<\/p>\nWhat will be left\u00a0?<\/strong><\/p>\n
What will be left of ideal
\nThat we had tattooed
\nWhen we shall give up\u00a0?
\nWhat will be left of our passage
\nWhen the Death will go that way
\nThat i twill be the end of the journey\u00a0?
\nWhat will be left of our desires
\nWhen a day the most beautiful love
\nIn the words will have become deaf?
\nWhen we shall not want to smile any more
\nWhat will be left of our face?<\/p>\nWhat will be left\u00a0?<\/strong><\/p>\n
Will there be a rebel
\nAn Amazon, a Foreigner
\nTo like still the sun\u00a0?
\nWill it stay a few years
\nTo end my song
\nAnd to live with nonsense?
\nWill it stay in the universe
\nA star to be fetched\u00a0?<\/p>\n( Author: G\u00e9raldine D )<\/em>
\n[\/accordion-section]
\n[accordion-section title=”MY RESTING PLACE” id=”item-1″]
\nDon’t look for me where myrtles grow,
\nYou won’t find me there, my sweetheart,
\nWhere lifes wither near machines,
\nThere, is my resting place.<\/p>\nDon’t look for me where birds are sing,
\nYou won’t find me there, my sweetheart,
\nA slave I am, where chains ring
\nThere, is my resting place.<\/p>\nDon’t look for me where fountains spring
\nYou won’t find me there, my sweetheart,
\nWhere tears flow, teeth grind,
\nThere, is my resting place.<\/p>\nAnd if you love me with true love,
\nThen come to me my good sweetheart,
\nAnd cheer my heart from sorrow,
\nAnd sweeten for me my resting place.<\/p>\n( Author: Morris Rosenfeld, 1911)<\/em><\/p>\n
This poem was written to call back the fire of the factory Triangle Shirtwaist,<\/em>
\non March 25th, 1911, when Morris Rosenfeld had been used.<\/em>
\nThe fire had made 146 deaths, 123 women and 23 men, mainly Jewish and Italian immigrants.<\/em>
\nThe workers had not been able to escape, because the boss had condemned emergency exits,<\/em>
\ncommon practice so that the workers do not have of unauthorized break and to warn the flight.<\/em><\/p>\n[\/accordion-section]
\n[accordion-section title=”The getaway” id=”item-1″]
\nTime’s run out to wait, the tick-tock shivers;
\nEvery minute by calling endlessly an other one,
\nTells me to take the key and to rock it
\nIn a big wheatfield, to find it not more.
\nBut I would leave only if you come with
\nThe cat, the bird and I and then some copecks.<\/p>\nCatch an end of star and come in my old boat<\/strong>
\nFace the giants, who live in streams.<\/strong>
\nThe passionate winds will lead us both<\/strong>
\nTowards our Eldorado, where we shall live happy.<\/strong><\/p>\nI wait for you in the corner of the block number seven.
\nDo not take so much stuff, we shall leave light.
\nBefore embarking I shall visit a poet\u00a0;
\nHe will give me rimes, which we can sing.
\nThe tune will take us, up to our hermitage
\nWhere the reverie will come until the next trip.<\/p>\n( Author: G\u00e9raldine D )<\/em>
\n[\/accordion-section]
\n[accordion-section title=”Ruby colour” id=”item-1″]
\nA touch of madness settled
\nOn the crowd which stopped
\nTo think, walk, breathe
\nWhen the gypsy arrived.<\/p>\nShe ignited as she swirled,
\nShe sweated as she perspired
\nLove, innocence, desire
\nIt was too much, it was necessary to finish it!<\/p>\nColor ruby, the red which painted its lips<\/strong>
\nColor ruby, the roses thrown to her feet<\/strong>
\nColor ruby, the dress of the last prayer<\/strong>
\nColor ruby, the fire which consumed her<\/strong><\/p>\nAngel’s face deformed
\nFor a body which refused itself;
\nA motionless smile for ever
\nIn the name of the greed.<\/p>\nShe fought as pounded
\nHer heart for the one that she liked.
\nThe freedom, the dream, the laughter
\nIt was too much, it was necessary to finish it!<\/p>\nColor ruby, the make-up which covered her eyelids<\/strong>
\nColor ruby, eyes turning away from the sky<\/strong>
\nColor ruby, the insubordination and the anger<\/strong>
\nColor ruby, the fist brandished towards the sun<\/strong><\/p>\nTo all the Esmeralda, from here to India<\/em><\/p>\n
( Author: G\u00e9raldine D )<\/em>
\n[\/accordion-section]
\n[accordion-section title=”The punk rocker in golden hands” id=”item-1″]
\nA guitar, a rocky voice
\nAnd here begins the song.
\nIn the bar we stop drinking
\nOr on the contrary more than reason.
\nThe sport posted on the sign
\nLine in the docs of the public,
\nTaken by the magic fingers
\nWhich make run the tune.<\/p>\nThe punk rocker in golden hands<\/strong>
\nMade beat the hardest hearts<\/strong>
\nThe punk rocker in golden hands<\/strong>
\nTreats a little all our wounds.<\/strong><\/p>\nThe smile settles down on the lips
\nOf the children of binary rock
\nIn a movement all rocked
\nOn an imaginary flowerbed.
\nAnd it is little as a sun
\nWhich warms bodies tired
\nBy the depression which slumbers
\nIn the hollow of the rebel souls.<\/p>\nPunk rocker in golden hands <\/strong>
\nA night went to see somewhere else <\/strong>
\nLeaving us only ones with the death <\/strong>
\nOrphans of the major chords<\/strong><\/p>\nBut punk rocker in golden hands <\/strong>
\nAlways sings and still plays <\/strong>
\nFor the guys and the evening girls<\/strong>
\nWho drink life at the bar rack.<\/strong><\/p>\nFor Schultz<\/em><\/p>\n
( Author: G\u00e9raldine D )<\/em>
\n[\/accordion-section]
\n[accordion-section title=”THE PARTY” id=”item-1″]
\nDance, trance, friends, emotion
\nShout, drunk, kiss, transgression
\nSmile, life, madness, out of control\u00a0!<\/p>\nThat\u2019s what we do, and will we do\u00a0!<\/strong><\/p>\n
Mosh, pogo, whirl around, stage diving
\nJump, love, hug, fuck
\nFreedom, feeling, pleasure, move your feet\u00a0!<\/p>\n( Author: G\u00e9raldine D )<\/em>
\n[\/accordion-section]
\n[accordion-section title=”The last breath” id=”item-1″]
\nIt is fifteen o’clock on the city
\nThe sun covers the ardent town
\nOf its reassuring light,
\nRocking the sleepy children.<\/p>\nIn a greasy spoon, men play
\ndice without words nor a noise.
\nOne follows with tenderness in his eyes
\nA dog which sniffs at the mud.<\/p>\nWhen suddenly the animal shouts
\nAnd skips into his knees.
\nThe man understood and in a tour
\nPushes him in front of so that he runs away<\/p>\nRun, run, do not wait for me<\/strong>
\nRun, run, and leave me<\/strong>
\nBut think of me, but think of me<\/strong>
\nDon\u2019t forget me, don\u2019t forget me!<\/strong><\/p>\nIn a room a couple lives
\nTheir first moment of happiness,
\nbeing guided by the desire
\nAnd the beating of their heart.<\/p>\nWhen the earth begins trembling
\nThey believe in the confusion of the senses,
\nBut the roaring of sirens
\nAlready announces their sufferings.<\/p>\nFast, fast, look at me<\/strong>
\nFast, fast and kiss me<\/strong>
\nBut if you live, if you survive<\/strong>
\nDon\u2019t forget me, don\u2019t forget me!<\/strong><\/p>\nNear the nuclear power station a house
\nShelters a mother and her son.
\nThey were never really afraid
\nOf this concrete giant.<\/p>\nThen they stay dazed
\nWhen he let them down
\nAnd falls in rooms under the pressure
\nOf a wave filled with one thousand waste.<\/p>\nThe woman kisses her child
\nIn an affectionate dying breath.
\nWith their destroying nature,
\nPeople stole them life.<\/p>\n( Author: G\u00e9raldine D )<\/em>
\n[\/accordion-section]
\n[accordion-section title=”A hint of nostalgia” id=”item-1″]
\nA day furthermore, short night and then,
\nNothing. A telephone which lies and a screen which sells.
\nShe is alone. All is left.
\nOn the piece of furniture faces smile to her friendly.<\/p>\nNeverthelesse photos show a well filled life\u00a0:
\nTwo magnificent children, a successful marriage,
\nAn attractive house, the holidays in the beach,
\nVery nice colleagues, an acceptable work.<\/p>\nYears scrolled without she notices it
\nTaking care of her relatives, of nothing
\nIf it is not the small concerns of the everyday life.
\nHere, everything was well. Why to look too far?<\/p>\nFrom woman she became a mother, the grandmother,
\nBelphegor concealed by diverse masks.
\nShe does not remember if on day she was beautiful
\nAnd it\u2019s not the thing for which we expected from her.<\/p>\nA light in the eyes would want to glisten,
\nBut it\u2019s to late, the door closed.
\nAnd if she had known she would not have walked
\nHer craziest desires, her sweet friendships.<\/p>\nBut the morality urges us to live soberly,
\nTo Diog\u00e8ne she prefers Candide and his garden.
\nThe enjoyment is thrown in underground passages.
\nThe voice of the TV rocks her friendly \u2026<\/p>\nTo all our grandmothers.<\/em><\/p>\n
( Author: G\u00e9raldine D )<\/em>
\n[\/accordion-section]
\n[accordion-section title=”Woman” id=”item-1″]
\nEh You\u00a0!
\nYou speak about my body\u00a0?! Listen to last time.
\nIn your stereotype the women are beautiful like that:
\nThey have to be sportswomen, slim and futile,
\nBut the breast at half-mast and the plump buttocks.
\nYou can fiddle with them, whistle for them, kiss them,
\nBecause they are exposed, they wait only for that!
\nTo work also it is necessary to be seductive,
\nBecause the brain of the women is in their breasts.
\nThey have to carry heels, skirts and subleties
\nOr on the contrary hide their forms and their attractions.
\nAt any rate it is the male who decides.<\/p>\nWoman, idiot, chick, zouze, female, bitch or princess,<\/strong>
\nMouk\u00e8re, mother, ugly woman, ice-cold, whore, Djinn or tigress.<\/strong>
\nI don’t care of how you call me, I carry proudly my sex.<\/strong><\/p>\nI heard you \u00ab\u00a0but it is old as the earth
\nThe men work, govern, the women bring into the world\u00a0!\u00a0\u00bb
\nMasters of the universe against hostesses.
\nThe fort which protects the low house wife.
\nAh! This is why they knock, rape, bruise and punch
\nExchange the vagina, the bottom of those who they love so much?!
\nToday you are afraid because you see that they take issue
\nThe traditions that put you centuries to be built
\nTo check their body. And you are well right.
\nThen you demote, you try to slow down.
\nBut freedom is a flame which we cannot be put out \u2026<\/p>\n( Author: G\u00e9raldine D )<\/em>
\n[\/accordion-section]
\n[accordion-section title=”Till the end” id=”item-1″]
\nYears we go on the roads to play
\nPunk and sing enjoyment, fury with leaky pockets
\nIt\u2019s not money, not glory\u00a0; it\u2019s passion and friendship
\nWhich make inebriate and make us live.<\/p>\nNo way to declare ourselves a failed,
\nIt\u2019s too late not to continue always.
\nAnd the dawn would be very too boring and pointless
\nIn only consumer, orderly, docile and slavish.
\nI\u2019s not money, not glory\u00a0; it\u2019s passion and friendship.
\nBecause it\u2019s you, because it\u2019s us.<\/p>\nThe Friends, the Sportsmen of Montreuil City
\nWreck their ears by listening to our verses.
\nAt the Tanneries, “the King” is collapsed on the stage,
\nRocked by the tunes, the rhythmic and the riffs.
\nIn Berlin the May Day, we meet the friends
\nIn the disorder of Rebel store, demonstration and scene.
\nK\u00f6pi and Supamolly remind us that we can
\nParty and fight and build.
\nThe Ath\u00e9n\u00e9e Libertaire of Bordeaux, either is not outdone.
\nWe always have messy hair there by a wind libertarian.
\nHe carries us towards Euskadi, to whom my heart is carried away,
\nSnatched by the brother\/siterhood, decades of fight and the mountain.
\nThe vegan food of Zorro, the walks in SanPauli with our punk guide.
\nThe brimming emotion at the concert for Paco, and the beers
\nWhich stream to hide the tears.
\nWalks at the edge of Weser with the buddies of Bremen
\nThat we sometimes find in the demonstrations antifa with those of D\u00fcsseldorf.
\nThe fire and the party in the concert in Budapest and, the festival DIY of Gdynia.
\nFritz and Felix Family, Grallouiteurs, The Grand Roger l\u2019Agenais,
\nThe punks (blues) of Kiel, the CCC, the Terriens of Rochefort
\nAnd Bourg en Bresse, are stronger
\nThan the customs officers, who do us nakedly,
\nWith our suspects\u2019 mouths in their formated heads.
\nBecause nithing can be done, we shall be ther in every case.<\/p>\n( Author: G\u00e9raldine D )<\/em>
\n[\/accordion-section]
\n[\/accordion-container]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Fourth album of Cartouche. Recorded in 2017 – 10 songs available in CD or vynil.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":834,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[14,195,17],"class_list":["post-981","albums","type-albums","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-discographie","tag-a-venir","tag-album-cartouche","tag-album4"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.cartouche.punkrock.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/albums\/981","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.cartouche.punkrock.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/albums"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.cartouche.punkrock.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/albums"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.cartouche.punkrock.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.cartouche.punkrock.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=981"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.cartouche.punkrock.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/albums\/981\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2772,"href":"https:\/\/www.cartouche.punkrock.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/albums\/981\/revisions\/2772"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.cartouche.punkrock.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/834"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.cartouche.punkrock.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=981"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.cartouche.punkrock.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=981"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.cartouche.punkrock.fr\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=981"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}