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.

La Rochelle, October 1985

My dear Epo,

It is once more very late at night or very early in the morning, all the others have left the flat and sleep stubbornly doesn’t come.
Time for me to write you my report on the case that concerns us, isn’it ?
Coquelicot , Maude and Valentine were here tonight and  we had heated discussions about Colin’s situation. It was nice to have girls’ point of view on it. But one thing always remains; it is serious , and we have to do something for your brother. Not only to avoid Edouard’s presence at the beginning of holidays, but to build his project for next year.

I’ve called him. He’s in such a state of despair that he can’t even have the slightest idea of ​​what will become of him. It hurts me, what happens to him, I can feel it in my flesh; and I’m not exaggerating. It was good to talk to each other, and to realize that we have to deal with the same difficulties in our lives. And really Eponine , I thank you to have trusted me this way, for calling me immediately; and for confiding his problem to me. I know it may sounds weird, being glad in such circumstances; but rest assured that I will do anything to help him.

Since you have to know the enemy well in this kind of business, I got it into my head yesterday to read Edouard’s books; but surely not to buy them. And as he’s a “local hero” I thought I would find some old ones at the library on Gargoulleau’s street. But I was a little ashamed to ask the curator who I know is a fine scholar, not particularly fond of this kind of literature.
I was searching by myself on the shelves, and there, stroke of luck; I came across a crazy Edouard’s admirer… It must be his readership, idle middle-class women in their forties, but you know me a little now; I can be hypocritical enough to strike up a conversation.

I love people, and their diversity fascinates me; but frankly there are things totally beyond me. However, this little talk brought me a detailed bibliography,and especially the language elements in force among his fandom…

Virgile visited me in the afternoon, and caught me reading his latest novel : Restless by my side (just the title is evocative …) Well, of course he didn’t expect to find me immersed in this kind of hyper- heteronormous literature. Then we drank and laughed a lot by reading together; and it ended with a bet.

Dare or not (for a bottle of scotch) to pass me off as an old Edouard’s  bigot who would call his publishing house to know the dates of his promotional tour in the United States. I know Virgile and Colin aren’t on very good terms, but you’ll always find Virgile’s support for a good prank.
And it didn’t stop there, he will have to order me Erasure’s first LP (Wonderland, to come next year)  at our rather picky record seller, because I even played my role of old fury to call his first book fair in Boston. We now know exactly when he will have to leave France and be sure that David, Virgile and your servant will kidnap Colin precisely beyond this limit. It will be good that you call us during this kidnapping, to keep us informed of what the sad sire intends to do.

Because really, on top of all the hassle he causes us; his book literally falls from my hands ( maybe I’ve found my Rohypnol , sugar, thank you ! ) I wonder why such tortuous love intrigues and all these privileged men’s concerns can interest so much people; they seem so far from the struggle of life. And I say love, but it’s almost sex; with very few feelings, always incomplete ( in my opinion anyway) . I understand so much why Colin wants to run away from this world …

We are not giving you the funniest part in this case, but I promise you that we’ll properly celebrate our victory at the DJs’ set in Rochefort, and why not invite Diane? Tender friends also deserve their ( great) reward.

Have a nice last week of school, and lots of kisses…

Alb

Royan  , October 1985

«  They want me to be at home on the first Saturday of holidays. They both want me to agree without conditions to what Edouard has planned for me. A tiny flat in the building where he lives and the obligation to look after his old mother when he’ll be abroad to promote his fucking books , namely almost all the time. Officially, this should allow me to have free housing; but I know very well this is a way to have me constantly on sight, and incidentally to escape his mother and have his “affairs” in peace.
– What can I do, Colin?
– I have no idea for the moment, but I wanted you to know that I won’t come back for holidays, or at least for the beginning of these. I’m staying at Simon’s home, taking time to find a solution. But keep me posted on everything they plan to do.”

I hung up with a heavy heart, the trembling of his sobbing voice still in mind.

“ What the fuck can we do for him ? This is unbearable.
– You see , right now I just want to run away, but it won’t solve anything for him. We can do nothing, because we’re too young; with school and parents…
– Didn’t you say me that you had another gay friend of his age in La Rochelle?”

Instantly I kissed Diane on the lips. Alban , of course. Wasn’t he the one to call in all inextricable situations? And then more, he was the only one who could bring good mood and adventure in all this sordid story. This time it was a slightly shrill hissing sound in the telephone line that brought us to La Rochelle.

I hadn’t heard Alb’s voice since august, it was strange to hear him pick up, with the noise of cutlery, the sound of New Order and laughes in the background.
I was sure they were all there, everyone from the party, by him.

“ Eponine? What’s happening to you, you’ve got such a small voice” And then, silence behind, just the music, more melancholic this time.

I told him about Colin, about adults, about Edouard, and about the noose of intolerance in which he would be trapped the next year, in Paris. I was trying to take a detached tone, but my emotion, and all this fear of things I only half understood caught me up while speaking. And the lack of breathing at the end of the line made me understand it wasn’t funny at all.

“ Give me his number. We’re gonna call him, David is here. And don’t worry, we’ll find something to get him out of there, even if we have to spend the night on it. What kind of friends would we be otherwise? “

In my head, there was now his smoky room, guys and girls leaning over a coffee table, and chatting animatedly while drinking a lot. No doubt, a perfect battle plan would come out of this brilliant meeting …
I don’t know why, but I was reassured. Knowing that there were plenty of friends in the business , even the least concerned, but all united by the comforting power of a vodka bottle warmed my heart.

“ Epo, there are guys outside” moaned Diane.

Night had completely fallen now, and it was the hour when  particular bunches were hanging out around the station.
Alb could hear them knock on the plexiglass walls.

“ For heaven’s sake, I don’t know who you are with nor where you are, but keep a low profile when you go out from this booth. Just walk, do not respond to provocations !”

As we were quickly going out , a guy called out to me.
“ Hey you ! You’ve forgotten your phone card.
– Take it, it’s for keeping you waiting …
– But it is that the young lady has manners… Don’t you want to have a phone call with us?”

We continued to walk, very quickly; we were already far away and this ordinary threat got lost in the night.
Anyway, I wasn’t losing much; there was almost nothing left on my card.

La Rochelle , october 1985

My very dear Epo,

It’s seems we’ve overcome this first month of the year which separates you from high school, haven’t we?
Lark, I’ve promised that I would be there each time you needed to write or speak during these days, and I’ve got only one word ( we all should …) I’ve waited so greedily for high school myself that I can easily understand this feeling of endless time, my activity bulimia probably comes from there, as well as this unfortunate tendency to insomnia.
Nothing bores me during the hours of the night, and especially not all these things that you say which do not seem bland or confused to me.
All that to say you don’t always have to be witty or on the point, those who are obsessed with it often fall into caricature and get boring from wanting to be interesting at all costs.

There are many things I may see in what you’re telling.
First, these worries about Colin which probably wouldn’t exist without the adults’ pressure.  As long as he does well, why bother him with his plans for next year ? I don’t want to question this friendship your father has for a long time, but why does he let this “Edouard” intrude like that in his son’s university career ? Really I think that the less you involve “informed advisers” in the guidance of someone, the more you give him the possibility to find what will really make him feel fulfilled.
I would even go further, for me it smacks of deception. I don’t feel like your mother has a say in all this, and with his prestige as a “writer” and his elitist mentality he would have the right to take her place and steal her concerns about Colin’s future? To be completely frank with you, I don’t find this very “sane”, even if it’s none of my business…

What bothers me the most in this story is that the place of this man in your family affects you too, makes you feel useless and unimportant. So it doesn’t seem so surprising that you seek refuge in lyrics and sounds. We probably never see ourselves so well than in songs that touch us.
I’m not the greatest Depeche Mode’s fan, but I’ve listened to “Leave in silence” and I loved it. I find Martin Gore  really good at catching the scent of toxicity that surrounds us sometimes, and of relationships falling apart.

As for Ian Curtis, what he writes always seemed to me ( and this is very personal, but anyway …)  to be the ultimate point of vibration that a lucid mind can achieve when he comes up against the incomprehension of others. I wouldn’t say it’s sadness; not only, but an absolute degree of clairvoyance , and what happens when you listen to him may finally be as ancient as world. A catharsis.
To me, it’s precisely related to what you say about poetry which can’t afford to lie. But there’s a tragedy in it also, such a point of truth rarely finds an answer in the world we live in, and when it does , it can be too late. Maybe your mother can be right on this point : don’t immerse yourself too much , or too fast in his lyrics; also stay grounded in reality, even if it seems boring to you.

Call me when Colin will be back for holidays; we’re going to mix in Rochefort at the end of the month. Coquelicot got over her breakup and thanks god she’ll be on boards with us again. But there is nothing exceptional in what we do,our respective jobs and studies don’t leave us much time for creation, unfortunately. David’s arrival gives me some hope however, the repertoire he brings maybe give us more leeway.
I may explain it to you more precisely later, but I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to miss the moment when sleep will finally catch me.

Take care of yourself, and once more, don’t hesitate to write what bothers you , but also what excites you (as Colin doesn’t seem to be very “available” at the moment) . Have a sweet week Eponine and don’t get it into your head that your moment will never come.

Read you very soon,

Alb