About three days in La Rochelle (1)

December 1985

Once again we did it. Just in time, a 43-page dossier with photos, musical press articles, inserts about Fritz Lang and Edgar Poe,  lyrics and testimony of all these teenagers who loved Propaganda; one in England who Alban knew, one in Germany who Colin knew ; several Colin’s mates in Montaigne’s preparatory class, Coquelicot, Virgile and of course Alb himself.
Colin pointed out to me not without malice that he forgot to talk to me about former member Andreas Thein. It seems that the rivalry with Susanne made him leave (sadly) .

(Andreas Thein)

Over the course of this work, and throughout this year of my fifteenth birthday (1986) I saw two fraternal figures grow up; and it wasn’t always my real brother Colin who had the most influence on me anymore. Eventually I understood why; Colin sometimes tried to shape me while Alban always liked me just how I was. His company has always been both reassuring and stimulating, he had no prejudices; about nothing, and he made it his duty never to refuse anything to those he liked.

Colin, David , Diane and I took the old 4L and drove to La Rochelle in the beginning of Christmas holidays.  We believed in a punishment from heaven when the front left wheel burst in the middle of Rochefort’s swamp, still white from the morning frosts and drowned in the fog.
But when we arrived in La Rochelle, finally in the early afternoon, a soft light gilded the towers of the port.
“ It’s always like that; said Alb. Your road can be long, dreary and rainy; there’ll always be a bit of sun to welcome you when you arrive in La Rochelle”

And it is true that to see the young people walking around in ample gabardines, on the bridge leading to the Saint-Nicolas quarter, one would have thought in the early days of autumn for the air was so soft.
Alban rented an old apartment on the second floor of an old house, whose owner, he said, had the extreme advantage of being almost deaf. The main room, with its antique crisp floor, was the entire width of the floor, with a tiny balcony overlooking Saint-Nicolas street. He and Virgile had pushed the table there, so we could eat in the sun while the more cautious sat down inside. Maude and Valentine were there also, in red and emerald pull over dresses, quite short over their high varnished boots.

The guys were wearing berets, autumnal paisley shirts over their turtlenecks, wide pleated pants with tight ankles; and paraboots. I soak up everything; grilled fish from the port, lots of white wine , chocolate cake , joyful sounds rising from the street and sometimes greetings for Alban when he sat astride the balcony railing with Colin, to smoke.

Tonight would be their set, in a little club behind the port and near what was at the time called the “House of Culture”, they had to go there and install their equipment, bring some of their records ( Alb, David but especially Virgile owned maxi -tracks and remixes LP imported from UK, Japan or USA) while we girls would go shopping with Colin, with a lot of good thrift shops addresses in pocket.

“ If we’re not too destroyed tomorrow, we’ll go make our wishes in front of your future high school.
– I want it so much , Alb, all is so cool in here !
– I love the way you’re always happy , Lark, don’t become one of those high school girls who think it’s stylish to sulk all the time.
– I wonder why on earth I could pull a face right now …”