One of the few things I have to thank this ghastly pandemic for is that I've listened to way more songs than I ever used to... Yes, I've also read way more books, and watched way more movies and serials. But those were things I used to do, and have just done more of. Listening to songs wasn't really me.

It's partly because of our constant quest for new material for our dance list. Dancing, you may recall, is one of the ways in which we wage the uphill (and pretty much losing) battle to stay fit. But songs don't need to work out as dance numbers to still be interesting.

For example, from The Guardians (a movie I will write about as soon as I've finished reading the book on which it was based) came La Chanson des Bles d'Or (The Song of the Golden Wheat), dating back to 1882.

Its rolling melody (by Frederic Doriawith) and its gentle, pastoral text (by Camille Soubise and F. Lemaitre) are infinitely soothing:

... My dear, when evening descends on the earth,
And the nightingale comes to sing again,
When the wind breathes on the green heather,
We will go and hear the song of the golden wheat ...

In this version it's sung by Andre Dassary, who has the most delightful voice...


The photos in this post were taken in Normandy, 1990



From the charming French podcast One Thing in a French Day, by Laetitia Perraut, I learnt about Demain Des l'Aube (At Dawn), sung by Les Frangines.

This lovely song is based on the poem of the same name by Victor Hugo.

It starts out like a love poem:

Tomorrow, at dawn...
I will leave... I know that you're waiting for me.
I will go through the forest, go through the mountains.
I cannot stay away from you any longer...

Then you realize that the poet is sad. He is lost in thought, not seeing or hearing anything on his path, his back bent. The light of the day feels like night.

And finally, you realize he is visiting a tomb, on which he places a bunch of green holly and heather in bloom...

The poem doesn't tell you whose the tomb is, but a little research will reveal that it's his daughter, Leopoldine. In 1843, at the age of 19, and just six months after marrying, she and her young husband drowned. The rather moving video that accompanies Les Frangines' version of the poem reflects their pilgrimage to their grave. If only all music videos were so inspiring...





Lastly, we have Via Con Me (Come Away With Me) by lawyer-turned-musician Paolo Conte. It has featured in many films, apparently, but we first heard it in Mostly Martha.

I defy you not to just feel that little bit better when you watch this montage, where the rhythms of the 1981 song animate the feet of 1930s dance stars.

"'S'wonderful, 's'wonderful, 's'wonderful... Chips, chips, do-di-du-di, ci-boom, ci-boom..."

Or, listen to this slightly faster version by the man himself.





If you look at the lyrics, though (here they are in English), it's not all boppy exuberance:

Away, away, come away from here.
Nothing binds you to this place any more,
Not even these blue flowers...
Not even this grey weather,
Full of music
And of men you liked...

Away, away, come away with me
Enter into this dark love
Don't miss for anything in the world,
Don't miss for anything in the world,
The multimedia show
Of someone in love with you...

Away, away, come away with me
Enter into this dark love
Full of men...
Come in and have a hot bath;
There's a blue bathrobe.
Outside a cold world is raining

According to Marcello Tanca, there's a lot in this song that is typical of Conte's work, which often juxtaposes the "province" and an alternative. The province "is a haze of days which all resemble one another, of fog and grey skies". It is banality and repetition -- not necessarily unpleasant, but unexciting: "Most of all, the province is time spent waiting. Waiting for someone or something, waiting to be jolted out of the daily tedium."



There are two potential counterpoints to the "province". Firstly, there is anything that is interruptive, anything that issues "an invitation to step outside of the monotony of unchanging days on end". Secondly, there is "elsewhere": "If the province represents boredom, fog and haze, solitude and existential collapse, 'elsewhere' is the promise of adventure, of a new start, of happiness... Imagination ... becomes the antidote to the tyranny of the familiar and habitual. Thus, the flight 'elsewhere' is a flight away from death."

Given that we're hopelessly and irremediably stuck in the "province" at present, I'm all the more grateful for all the insights and interruptions that give me different perspectives and glimpses of elsewhere, packaged up in little moments of delight.