It is a shame about Narcoleptic Dave’s car. The occasional incident like that makes me miss writing JonnyB’s diary.
Fortunately, this sort of thing is quite rare in the village these days: a few years on and we are all quite sensible. We didn’t even manage the village outing to the punk weekender this year.
Welcome, if you’ve popped by following the bits and pieces in the Norfolk press. The blog’s now semi-retired, but you can catch up with ‘local interest’ things by following the JonnyB links – bear in mind that although it’s written in the present tense, it dates from over a decade ago, which confuses some people. Please do go buy a book – it’s very good, you know.
If there are any lurking old-school readers who pop in here from time to time to see what’s happening, do say hullo on Twitter when you get a chance… I miss you all, boooooooooooooooo.
Frédéric Debreu continues to develop a life of his own. The latest twist comes from France; a contact from French musician Michel Ameline, with his version of Debreu’s riotous ‘La Veuve Vengeresse’ (‘The Vengeful Widow’).
M. Ameline (I shall call him that, as it sounds exceptionally French, and I don’t know him well enough to refer to him as ‘Michel’) has kindly given his permission to share this: his translation of my English ‘translation’ of a French song by a fictitious French artist in an English book. So there you go.
The audio recording is below and it is quite lovely, for anybody who appreciates a little chanson.
La Veuve Vengeresse(Alex Marsh/Michel Ameline)
Devant à son vieux mari quarante années d’ tourments
Elle eut un curieux sourire le jour de son enterrement :
“J’ vais pas l’ rater, s’ dit – elle, ce sale menteur dégénéré !”
Elle balança une fleur dans l’ trou … puis s’ fit le jeune curé .
Ne jetons pas la pierre à la veuve vengeresse.
Les cornes posthumes du mari n’ furent pas imméritées.
Non, ne jetons pas la pierre à la veuve vengeresse.
Les cornes posthumes du mari n’ furent pas imméritées..
On entendit dans toute la nef l’ écho de francs ébats :
Le fossoyeur fut le suivant des mâles qu’ elle tomba .
D’ un enfant d’ choeur rougissant elle compléta l’éducation,
Puis s’ tourna vers les choristes et … bénit la congrégation.
Un gendarme apeuré fut chargé d’ la conduire au cachot.
Excitée par la vue des menottes elle lui j’ta un r’gard … chaud !
Il app’la des renforts de peur qu’elle ne l’attrapât
Dix collègues, matraque en l’air, vinrent … et elle ne résista pas
Ne jetons …
Au tribunal, ensuite, “ Ce n’est pas juste !” s’écria t – elle,
Puis, sortant du box, à la défense fit voir ses jarretelles.
Elle pinça les fesses du juge et tripota l’greffier outré …
Et, scandalisant le public, elle corrompit les jurés.
Comme tout l’ monde, devant Saint – Pierre elle dût un jour se présenter …
Le malheureux, depuis, regrette bien de l’ avoir acceptée
Et sur son épitaphe, aujourd’ hui, tous les r’gards s’arrêtent
“ Papa mort, notre chère maman … soudain perdit la tête .”
The film was made by Claire at Interesting Digital. We work on projects together occasionally; some fun, some serious. (Readers from the old days may remember some Post Office-saving action…)
The original graphics – taken from the book cover and insert – were by Jason at Rawshock Design, who must be one of the most talented designers working in the UK book industry today.
Aside from the legendary Debreu, credit for the tune goes to Paul Thompson. A lover of Georges Brassens and Jake Thackray, Paul has promoted the work of Thackray through regular live performances, appearances on BBC radio, DVD production and, most recently, writing and recording for an album of long-lost Thackray songs.
And the playing, arrangement and recording was by Will Thompson, who was given the melody and a brief, and came back first time with something that couldn’t have been more perfectly-suited.
I was a teenager at the time, and I wasn’t very good at it. I could blame the fact that I was growing up in very un-angry, un-rockandroll surroundings; or the fact that I was heavily into progressive rock at the time; or the fact that I was on target to horribly bomb in my English ‘A’ level. Or I could simply accept that I didn’t have the first fucking clue about what I was doing.
“We are the aliens, we come from the Planet Og; We look like a cross between a monkey and a dog.” Yeah, take that Paul Simon!!!
It was sooner rather than later that I decided that lyrics weren’t my thing. As did the rest of the band.
A little while ago I wrote a bit of an essay about Jake Thackray and Georges Brassens, and how they’d been the inspiration for Frederic Debreu. With Jake’s last will and testament long-since having been read, I couldn’t send him a gushing fan-boy note with a copy of the book, but on a whim I sent one to Paul Thompson instead; he’s the man behind jakethackray.com and a general authority upon and mover behind All Things Jake.
I’d written some lyrics when I’d been writing the book, partly as a sort of background-immersion type thing; partly to ensure that I was consistent when I quoted them back to myself throughout the pages. These were worked up into a little promo booklet to go with advance copies of the book (there are still a couple available if you contact the publisher). So I popped one of those in Paul’s envelope as well.
To cut a long story short, Paul replied unexpectedly, having set the lyrics to music. Which was a little flabbergasting, given that my last musical collaboration was about twenty years ago, with a girl who I met via the ‘Loot’ small ads. Anyway, between the two of us, we’ve created a library of lost Frederic Debreu songs. Translated to the English, of course.
Here’s one: it debuted at the Lymm Festival in Cheshire this month. See what you think.