This is a recording of my relatives and I singing last weekend. It was made in my talented cousin’s bedroom/studio. All background vocals and instruments are real, a computer was used to mix it all up that’s all. I know the song does not make any sense and is pretty rude and dirty. But what do you expect, that’s my family. Below, you can read what happened and why we recorded it.
[odeo=http://odeo.com/audio/11169993/view]
NB: The talented writers of this amazing song (ahem) have nothing against Ségolène Royal. (Quite the contrary). The fact that she was called Queen of Twats is pure unlucky coincidence. You’ll understand why below.
Now, let me explain.
It’s strange. I talked to my dad on the phone tonight and he was telling me which ones on the Pédéblogosphère (his own words) were his favorite and which ones he found corny & silly (he can’t really remember names though, just things like: “I don’t really like the one who looks like…”) but I won’t go into further details of course . Because, yes, my parents read this blog and they also read the blogs of the people who comment here. It may sound scary & weird, but that’s just the way it is. But let me tell you a little bit about them before you get too scared.
If I ever took you to my family’s place, you would probably
a) get scared by the 7 hour long lunches and dinners while being force-fed by my mother (’cause if you do not take 4 servings of every dish, she might get really upset)
b) be told how skinny you look and you therefore need to eat more (I’m usually not included in that skinny category though)
c) get overwhelmed by people who talk all the time and ask you lots of nosey questions (me included)
d) get forced to participate in the family’s favorite activity: Singing really loudly
e) and finally get forced to stay up till 2 am talking, singing, eating or doing it all at the same time.
Last weekend, I went to Provence to visit my relatives and also say hello to my old granny who lives in St-Rémi-de-Provence, a quaint little town that tourists visit because Van Gogh cut his ear there more than a century ago. Some of my family members were there too.
On the first night, after we had all been force-fed, accused of being skinny and been asked tricky questions. We went over to the traditional sing along. But this time, we changed the rules and decided to write a song, sing it and record it. Unfortunately, in spite of the family Von Trapp ambitions of my relatives, we are not yet very good at lyrics. Neither do we master the art of poetry. We therefore played the Exquisite Corpse in order to write a song.
But what is the Exquisite Corpse? You are asking.
Well, well. If you’re French, you may actually be aware of what the Cadavre Exquis is. It’s a game that was invented by writers and philosophers belonging to the Surrealist Movement in France, sometime in the 20/30’s. It consists of a piece of paper that travels among the participants. Each participant writes a sentence, folds the piece of paper so as to hide what was written and then hands it over for the next person to add a line to the story and so on and so forth until the whole thing becomes a story. The result doesn’t usually make any sense but the syntactic accuracy leads to a sort of crazy story that might as well be the beginning of a surrealist novel. So we decided to do the same thing with a song.; Each person would add one line and then tell the next person what it should rhyme with. Example: If I write: Je t’aime mon amour, I would tell the next person to write a line rhyming with “our”.
Then we went to my cousins’ bedroom and recorded the song in his little home-made studio. He quickly created the music. We decided we should sing in a USA for Africa kind of style, one line each. And since Cindy Lauper couldn’t make it with her waaaa yee ha haaaawaaaa wah, my sister appears every now and then throughout the song imitating some well-known French females singers. Let’s see if you can guess who they are. But since my family is a bit dirty-minded (we haven’t really gotten over the fart/pee and poo stage) and by then we had had too many drinks so the final lyrics sounded like this:
Ma vie, mes amours et, / Avec mes yeux foncés / S’en aller au-dessus / Fantasme de Robert Hue / La foufoune de Sylvie / Il faut pas qu’on s’y fie / C’était un grand pet gras / Pourquoi suis-je si las ? refrain: Je ne sais trop pourquoi / Garder le pet en moi / Niquons joyeusement / Des radis donne-m’en / Décibels énervés / La lune m’éclaire la raie / Votez pour Ségolène / Des connes tu es la reine. // A chauffé mon regard / Et voilà un motard / Je suis seule à Paris / Face à toi, je faiblis / Nain de jardin l’es-tu ? / Puais sous ton tutu ? / La gloire du matin / Rentre dans mon vagin – Refrain
Approximate English translation
My life, my loved ones and, / With my dark eyes / To go above / Robert Hue’s fantasy / Sylvie’s pussy / Shouldn’t be trusted / T’was a big fat fart / Why am I so tired? – Chorus: I don’t really know why / I keep this fart inside / Let’s f*** happily / And give me some radish / Angry decibels / The moon shines on my butt-crack / Vote Ségolène / You are the queens of twats // It warmed up my look / But here is a biker / I’m alone in Paris / In front of you, I get weak /Are you a garden-elf? / Stank under your tutu / The morning glory / Enters my vagina – Chorus
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frog with a blog
Frog with a Blog 