Pontaillac- Royan, July 1985
Acquired, listened to, re-listened to, recopied by entire stanzas; lyrics step by step are revealed.
They are thousands, like me, in the derisory secret of their room to feel the same creaking swell that sweeps them away, the same surge of hardened steel that overwhelms them, at the same time.
It’s a need for any growing generation to cling madly to the new musical wave, who, while drawing abundantly from the sources of previous generations, wants more than anything to stand out.
“You didn’t invent anything …” daddy launches us at the table, while in a few weeks my clothes have turned black, that my eyes are hemmed in coal all around; that Colin, disproportionately grown up, gets scolded , because of his long legs he can’t sit really straight anymore without shooting in mines.
Disease generation, silent, pampered and sulky, which carries ingratitude and universal mockery as a standard in its outfit and outrageous makeup.
Like acne, it’s an unjustifiable evil that erupts in every pore; with tight leather collars, unnecessary trinkets sprouted into incongruous growths, with their set of pins and nails, with the explosion of hairstyles. And our tongues, they remain paralyzed.
I feel adults are irritated by these kids who no longer communicate.
Our revolt is no longer played on the barricades of May 68; it’s only an obstinate silence. Edouard calls us “ New Romantics” ( but he hasn’t invented anything either) ; that makes Colin mad. Because once we’ve been given this label, it is no longer necessary to try to understand us.
Colin and I often escape to Royan in the afternoon. First, for clothes.
This time he found me a t-shirt ,very close to the body, with a bare shoulder, diagonally. I really don’t know what my brother has, with shoulders in general… But I trust him blindly.
The record store is a second obligatory place. It’s where I spend all my pocket money, in tapes.
– “A Broken Frame” this week ? laughes David, you’ll soon be smarter than us !
– When Eponine found out the doctoral thesis existed, she said she wanted to write one about Martin Gore …
– Frankly, I pity your parents. I can’t be easy everyday !
– I think you did more to bleach my father’s hair than any of us both…
– Me ? I was the kindest guy with him. It’s just that dissertation and me don’t see eye to eye. But I liked when he taught us about poetry… when I listened …