J’ai acheté… Fashion Nuggets de Cake
Dans cette nouvelle rubrique hebdomadaire, je vous présente les nouveaux articles
de ma collection d’albums musicaux sur support physique. Une tentative de suspendre,
le temps d’une matinée de fin de semaine, la course frénétique de nos jours, d’échapper
à la logique de nos écoutes stériles sans fin sur les plateformes de diffusion,
et de nous pencher sur un seul recueil de chansons. Puis, une fois l’écoute
terminée, de laisser nos écouteurs à la maison et d’aller jouer dehors ou de
savourer le silence plutôt que de poursuivre l’écoute de pistes générées par
des algorithmes, qui font de la musique une bouillie dépourvue de sens, sans
fin et sans nom.
J’ai déniché un album classique du groupe Cake de 1996,
Fashion Nuggets, dans une boutique de CDs et de livres d’occasion de mon quartier, qui est assez bien fournie.
Un album qui raconte la solitude, l’isolement (Open Book), l’aliénation (Daria), l’inadéquation par rapport à la modernité (Frank Sinatra, The Distance, Stickshifts and Safetybelts), la déception, voire le dégoût face à la société (Race Car Ya-Yas, Italian Leather Sofa) le sentiment d’être abandonné, incompris (Sad Songs and Waltzes), exploité par le monde, que ce soit par une femme (She’ll Come Back to Me, It`s Coming Down, Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps, I Will Survive), dans le cadre d’une relation d’amour ou par les riches et les politiciens (Nugget). Un album aux paroles tristes et mélancoliques, mais où l’élégance de la musique confère à l’ensemble une grâce et une luminosité qui donnent de l’espoir, ne serait-ce que celui que la beauté sauvera le monde. La reprise d’I Will Survive, chanson célébrissime et revisitée moult fois par une pléthore d’artistes, se démarque, elle aussi, par son lyrisme élégiaque et son souffle à la fois léger et saturnien.
Passages:
an old man sits collecting stamps
in a room all filled with chinese lamps.
he saves what others throw away.
he says that he'll be rich some day.
**
As they speed through the finish, the flags go down
The fans get up and they get out of town
The arena is empty except for one man
Still driving and striving as fast as he can
The sun has gone down and the moon has come up
Not long ago somebody left with the cup
But he's driving and striving an hugging the turns
And thinking of someone for who he still burns
**
No trophies, no flowers, no flashbulbs, no line
He's haunted by something he cannot define
Bowel shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse
Assail him and bail him with monster truck force
**
friend is a four letter word.
end is the only part of the word
that i heard.
**
but you're caught in your own glory.
you are believing your own stories.
writing your own headlines.
ignoring your own deadlines.
but now you've gotta write them all again.
you think she's an open book,
but you don't know which page to turn to, do you?
**
but when we're driving in my malibu,
it's easy to get right next to you.
i say, "baby, scoot over, please."
and then she's right there next to me.
i need you here with me,
not way over in a bucket seat.
**
so if you really love me,
say yes.
but if you don't, dear, confess.
and please don't tell me
perhaps, perhaps, perhaps,
**
she's leaving your house.
she had to get out.
she's mad,
and she'll take her mattress with her.
**
now simple feet that flicker like fire
and burn like candles in smoky spires
do more to turn my joy to sadness
than somber thoughts of burning planets.
**
all day i wait and wait
to hear her footsteps on my walkway.
she never came.
**
she doesn't care
whether or not he's an island.
she doesn't care,
just as long as his ship's coming in.
**
she's got a silk dress
and healthy breasts
that bounce on his Italian leather sofa
**
but sad songs and waltzes aren't selling this year.
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