La Rochelle, December 1985

The boys installed Virgile’s Emulator next to the turntables, and when it comes to “Shake The Disease” sampled voices of radio hosts announcing the track with dreadful french accents rise and mix on the extended version; which makes people laugh and dance at the same time.

All three take each other by the shoulders in front of us, and move frenetically for a bit , chained like that; before returning to their respective positions. Virgile adds chord and voices effects several times. Of course they don’t have their own mix table yet, and they get by with what they have.

But the temperature has gone up a notch in the room, and we have the impression of moving in a sphere of heavy steam in which the violet light diffuses.
I met on “Just One Kiss” the same trance of tears I had on Val’s birthday ; a smooth trance, but one of those I often have when I’m with friends , and the music is so good , that neither my mind nor my body is anymore in conversation; or just with the melodic lines and the imperious pulsation of the rhythm. I’m not with anybody anymore, even not with myself I think. It is likely that this passion for music has at times made me a little asocial; because I no longer belong to the world around me when I’m in states like these.

What has been magical in all boys ‘ set , is that from mockery moments , with their own contagious beat, took over pure puffs of amorous lyricism in forever-extended songs like those of The Cure. As I was not to myself , I felt briefly some presence around me though.
And it was not a good one, even if it disappeared quickly . In an instant all my flesh came in alarm; and I came back to myself.
Maude and Diane were looking at me with a devastated air.
“ Didn’t you feel it , Epo? The boy, he touched you .”

I was still all dizzy, unable to answer anything; feeling all the weight of shame grab my flesh.
“ We will not accept that, said Maude, come , we’re gonna find him; he needs to hear a few home truths…”
We didn’t find him in the crowd, but Coquelicot who just arrived from Marans where she was working, Girls must have told her what had happened, but I felt the event was drowning in the pleasure they had to meet each other again.
Where the fuck was Colin? Enjoying himself, for sure. Everybody was enjoying himself, but I couldn’t share their happy mood anymore. Something twisted my stomach and made me tremble all over the place.

I don’t think they noticed that I was walking away; I really wanted to go to the toilets; to lock myself in and let my tears of rage run free. What was going on? I felt so dirty and I couldn’t help but fear that they would despise me, because I had not reacted, because I had not defended myself; because in a nutshell I was elsewhere when it happened.
From there also I had to go out, because other girls were getting impatient at the door.

Leaning against the wall of the room where we danced, He was there. Quite tall, and I could barely see a look that I yet felt cruelly ironic:

“So you never resist, like that?”
Against all caution, I stuck my head towards him, I wanted to see him; to see his pervert face within reach of my spit.
He had nothing from a thug, on the contrary. Judging by his clothes, he even seemed precisely a motherfucker from a good family. But with the features weighed down by unashamed concupiscence and alcohol.

“ Just fuck off. I was immersed in music.”
I still remember his nasal and unbearable burst of laughter. I remember it like the very sound of the abuse; the one perpetuated for centuries by this kind of privileged little guy, for whom the whole world must be at his disposal or even at his mercy. But I didn’t have the strength to spit, anger and fear had made me run out of saliva.

“ Hey c’mon baby, it’s obvious you’re made for me. Just One Kiss …”

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 …”

La Rochelle, November 1985

My very dear Eponine,

Yes, it’s victory; yes it’s relief. Even though battle is not completely over.
But I’ve been so joyful on this set, so excited that you all were here in this euphoric mood; and opportunities like this one are quite rare; I let my feelings explode by mixing. It even amuses Virgil when I’m an extrovert like that.

It was obvious for me to put Propaganda on it. Not only because we all love the band, but also because people generally don’t know any other song than “Duel”; and “P.Machinery” which was released as a single in September.
The whole album is a treasure, in its entire unfolding that tells a story.

I’m not a specialist of the band, by far, but I’m gonna tell you what I know and what I feel about them; hoping it will give you some ideas for your work. I noticed them as the new nugget of ZTT label; who also produced stuffs that I love like Frankie Goes To Hollywood, The Art of Noise and ( sob !) Anne Pigalle ( exquisite; in Everything Could Be So Perfect)
To me, Propaganda is the expression of elegance, and themselves told that they wanted to do some sort of elitist music…for everyone! There is in all details of their work a researched sophistication, in themselves first ; Ralf Dörper and his early experimental recordings already noticed by John Peel, Michael Mertens and his classical background as musician and composer and of course, of course the girls. The precise and metallic sound of Susanne’s voice, and the warmer and more pop inflections in Claudia’s vocals, they both form a mesmerizing duo which sometimes blows hot and cold on the synthesizer layers, sometimes take turns rising on enraged drum machines.

 I am of course thinking on “Jewel”, which approach is not obvious. Some “Duel” lovers hate this track, hearing only an uncontrolled outburst over a profusion of effects in it. Others like me remain breathless in front of such a daring construction which figures so intensely the discharge of aggressiveness going with the “Rough Cut”. Duel is a perfect composition combining the roar which inflicts cuts and the jubilant rythm of a dancefloor tune; Jewel is the shameful and awesome outpouring of it. That’s why you heard me playing, not “Jewel” , but the longer ”Jewelled” in my set. I’ve taken it in a brand new album for the American club market : Wishful Thinking, composed of remixes of tracks from A Secret Wish.

You can recognize on it, in a more stylized visual, the iron meshes of the corset, or of the armor which holds the center of A Secret Wish cover. This instrument, eventually worn by Claudia; as well as the war paintings on their necks and bare shoulders evoke the martial aspect of several songs like “Duel”, “Frozen Faces”, “The Murder Of Love”.

You won’t avoid documenting yourself about the german cultural background on this album from our four Dortmunder members. The musical heritage of electronical pioneers like Kraftwerk , from Düsseldorf; but also the cinematographic universe of Fritz Lang which of course underlies “ Dr Mabuse”; but also “P.Machinery” with direct reference to Metropolis.
The opening and closing of the album to finish, which echoe in the verses of Edgar Poe; in the first long track “ A Dream Within A dream” , with his languid saxophone, and just after the wonderful final “Strength to dream” ; and its symphonic scale on a stormy background; Susanne’s voice saying again
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Well , these are just impressions, thrown without real order on my page; they’re a bit subjective, for I really felt in love with A Secret Wish; and you’ll be glad to know that Martin Gore did too…
I’ll try to study more and bring you technical precisions, but I guess I guess Colin will do the same on his side.
It’s such a pleasure to have met you both; and your parents. Your mother reminds me a german teacher I had in my last year in the Collège Saint-Exupéry when I was fifteen. Both seem so discreet, but with such an accurate sense of humor… The lady I’m talking about came to France when she was 18, and eventually, in her first year of marriage , became so attached to La Rochelle and its history that she settled there.
They adopted a big red cat that she didn’t like very much because of his “hypocrite manners” ; she called him Richelieu …

I don’t what for this anecdote will be useful to you, but you know me now; I can’t stop talking.
Have such a great November time, dear lark; we shall see each other with Colin again in La Rochelle around Christmas; Virgile and I are invited to mix in a night club, for a very different atmosphere ; you’ll see…

Loads of kisses

Alb

( Most of my pictures are taken on Lansure’s Music Paraphernalia. http://lansuresmusicparaphernalia.blogspot.com/
Thanks to him !!! )

( Photo by Benoît Jenouvrier)

In the light of Cordouan, end of october 1985

Indian summer’s light flows through the 4L windows, as Colin and I drive back from Royan, where we brought Diane and David home.
Me and my brother, finally, in a brief moment of freedom before all the questions parents will have for us.

But we are not the type to waste a twilight hour like this. Summer ventures so far in october this year, we stop on the beach, it would be a crime not to do so.
It’s as if in ten years we haven’t changed, we run screaming on the shore; the wind flapping in our clothes, we roll on the sand that goes into our ears and nostrils; with the sea fleas that jump in our sleeves, and the song of seagulls that turns triumphantly above our heads.

Then we seat side by side, to see the stars raising from the silver skyline on the sea. Colin lights a cigarette.

“ Give me one, I’m tired of being ridiculous”
But this time again it ends with a big coughing fit.

“Don’t worry, you have plenty of time to get intoxicated like us … You don’t need that to be someone.
– I’m just glad to seat here with you; now that you have escaped this asshole.
– It’s thanks to you. If you had not called Alban I don’t know where I would be running away now. And it was so simple in fact; friendship did it.
– Wasn’t it more than friendship? I ask , trying to take a puff again , my head on his shoulder.
– There’ll be nothing more than yesterday’s night; he’s an independent, and I’ve got Simon who doesn’t have to know… But you, Epo, with all these letters, what’s going on with him?
– Nothing more … He’s like you, bro !
– Listen to me and never trust soft blondies with sad puppy-dog eyes …”

I try to turn my neck to see if he’s serious, but all the smoke that I made is falling in my eyes. And he laughs.

“ Of course you can trust him ! Despite the life he leads with Virgile, the guy has principles. I wouldn’t say the same about the second …
– But Virgile helped you also; wasn’t it enough for you to become friends?
– It will never happen. You see, Capucine came to Alban’s. She always knew the pressure that Edouard put on me; for the studies, for the piano, for all the projects he had to mold me with the blessing of my own father. She didn’t know the guys before yesterday. Alb welcomed her like a sister, but Virgile couldn’t help banging her…”

Obviously it was a bit abusive on his part, but I think that Capucine is not a fierce girl; that Alban and Colin were doing exactly the same in the next room this night, and I wonder why my brother has such selective indignations…

But no matter.
We are so well there, on the beach; with the humidity of the evening, the sea breeze that make us shiver a little, the halo of Cordouan’s lighthouse slowly caressing our silhouettes on the sand.
I don’t want to debate endlessly. I will eventually understand, one day.

Pontaillac, end of october 1985

We’ve waited for so long the guy’s arrival. Diane and I couldn’t sleep after Alban’s phonecall.
We were carried away with speculations, knowing deep in ourselves that they hadn’t moved from La Rochelle at all, and that they were quietly partying at Alban’s with all the girls and bottles around.

Their discomposed faces didn’t deceive us when they finally arrived at home at seven in the evening. Alb, in particular, had sharply drawn looking features, but always the same energy by giving me the best hug in the world.
I had forgotten this perfume of wild mint and bergamot he wore at Val’s birthday.
Then came my brother I was so happy to see again, tired also , but so released.

Effusions before the emotional shock that I caught in the face , when I saw the huge guy who was following them.
“ Hi, I’m Virgile”
Damn. He was beautiful.
Me, who’ve never been very attracted by boys, I had there the biggest glare of my life for a real person.
Everything in him , I felt, was calling me; from his stature and the bouquet of silky hair on top of it, to the tender glow of his brown eyes.

Diane and I looked at each other, and her glance confirmed me well that we were thinking on the same thing.
But at the same time, there was something bitter in this endeavor. He seemed to be perfectly aware of the effect he had on people, and unlike Alb , he usually didn’t make any effort to be kind because he didn’t need that to be loved.

In this first evening I spent where he also was, he seemed to be wandering around with a bored and ironic gaze.
David, who  always had this friendly and provocative attitude towards his former teacher ( my dad ) made him slightly laugh.
He and Colin were still eyeing each other, as if the adventure hadn’t managed to build friendship between them.
The only people he seemed to show interest in were Alb and mum.

Alb had gone to help her to bring back the ton of food piled up by Edouard the night before. The boys, them, did not shy away from her efforts; and in a few minutes everything was swallowed up, until the last crumb of tarte tatin, the last cloud of whipped cream in a now glittering bowl.
Daddy ended up finding this bunch of nerds sympathetic, and while he was serving a bourbon to David and Virgil; Alb (who drove back) went upstairs with Colin and us. “ Curious to see our rooms”

Colin played “ Once Upon A Time” from the Simple Minds which was just released, and that he had just brought back from Bordeaux. Alb offered us cigarettes, but I was the only one of the four of us who didn’t know how to smoke.
Laughing, Colin and Alb kissed each other.

Diane was stunned that they did it like that, in front of us, without any complex ; but she liked it, and I liked it too.

Because it was long, applied, tender; because there was fire in there, two hands that turned white as they clasped; two muffled sighs that curled around the billows of smoke, two sparkling eyes that fluttered throughout this brief embrace.

I didn’t know how it had happened, but it could have been the coolest couple of the universe.

Pontaillac, end of october 1985

I’m upstairs with Diane and night has fallen on this Friday night.
We’re learning to kiss each other in the most languid way in the world while listening to what is happening downstairs.
Of course Colin should have been there for the aperitif. Mom had made a whole bunch of delicious little puff pastry, even after a day of teaching at 50 kilometers, and it’s for her that I’m a little sad.

I caress Diane’s fishnet stockings, losing my fingers between the stitches. Those stockings that dad and mostly Edouard looked with weird eyes as she arrived. As if wearing them, with leather perfecto, was automatically a invitation, even she’s not 16 yet.
Then we ate, in some kind of tension, because nothing happened. No Colin for the roast; no Colin for the epic tarte tatin that mum prepared the day before. Daddy’s anger was palpable, while Edouard tapped his fork with two fingers, and contracted jaw. They barely touched the pie, while Diane and I copiously helped ourselves a second time.
We wanted to laugh, even if we regretted not being with the boys; we wouldn’t  have missed this air of discomfiture for nothing in the world. And it was again poor mum who tried to keep the conversation going, and who berated us when Diane and me started to giggle.

Now it is 2 o’clock in the morning. Edouard and dad are still in the living room, we can hear their nervous footsteps downstairs, and from time to time mum’s tired voice . I think she would like to go to bed.
Time to play Propaganda’s “Duel” recorded on a free radio station from La Rochelle that Alb had advised me and which played the best New Wave stuff in the world continuously.

“ Won’t you stop playing your jangling music at 2 am ? You should be sleeping!
– Nobody sleeps in this house anyway , dad.
– Eponine ! Come downstairs right now!”

The ringtone saves me.
We have both rushed to the landing in T-shirts and underpants, to hear mum answer and everybody is suspended from their conversation. At first, we felt she was dying of worry, but then she started to laugh and even to exchange some words in English with his interlocutor whose identity I strongly suspected. And hanging up the phone, in this moment which should have been serious, she ‘s trying not to have a too happy face.

“ They’re out of order outside La Rochelle, in Dompierre-sur-mer , the boy told me.
– Who “they”?
– Well, Colin, David, and two other guys that we don’t know; Virgile and Alban. It is with him that I spoke.
– What the hell are they doing? I told you that he should have returned directly from Bordeaux, rather than going to party with friends; it had to end like this.”

I’m mad at daddy who seems to care more about this missed meeting than about four young guys lost in the countryside in the middle of the night. Curiously, it is Edouard who ask if they are okay.

“ They seem to be. They have a friend in Dompierre where to spend the night.
– Well, says Edouard by taking his jacket, it’s a shame but I will have to go. In five hours, I have my plane in Mérignac …
– We’ve not finished to deal with your brother …
– But who’s this “Alban”  you talked to, Anne-Marie? He seemed particularly funny.
– I don’t know, but he’s got exquisite manners. And his English is perfect. He kisses you, Epo.”

At that moment they all turn to me and I turn scarlet. Edouard can’t help but leave the room on a comment.

“ Yes, sometimes it’s surprising to find a civilized individual among all these crazy young dogs.”

Pontaillac, octobre 1985

I am the tiny lark singing on bloomy tree
When morning breaks, alive, in early spring’s glory
My wings shiver in grace, an eternal story
Of Joy falls from the sky wide open in beauty

I swear I’ll never leave
This ecstasy of mine
Little bird lost in light
And dew, and mystery
Joy comes from you my friend
Morning, sun, poetry

I am the little clock ticking in your bedroom
Which tells you now it’s time to take your liberty
To quit your heavy life of fear and misery
And rise beyond them all, brother, in equity

I swear I’ll never change
This wild passion of mine
When music starts to play
With chords and frenesy
Joy comes from you my friend
Rhythm, Heart, Harmony

I am the torn up flag which still slams in the wind
When battles are over and flames in agony
When all seems to be lost and left to barbary
To wake immortal songs of coming victory

I swear I’ll always sing
How much you mean to me
With your crystal clear eyes
And your laugh, remedy
Joy comes from you my friend
Boy, angel, purity.