A Question Of Lust

Pontaillac, March 1986

«  Don’t worry bro, he’s certainly freezing his own balls on the mountain , while we have near 20°c tonight on this terrace …
– Precisely, I would love him to be here and enjoy the exceptional sweetness of weather. But he may not care, sun shined brightly in the Alps today.
– What’s going on Colin? You seem so sad. Is it because of yesterday afternoon, when dad caught you wearing this silver crop top?
– No, I piss them all off. He helped me for that, he helped me finding my way to escape them next year. But I wanted him to share the travel with me.
– And Simon?
– Sorry for him, but you can’t longer enjoy an ordinary wine when you’ve tasted a Chasse-Spleen
– He wouldn’t like you being desperate and emphatic like that, bro.”

Colin looks at me deeply. Maybe I’m farer from him on this soft falling night. I ‘d like to help him, but it’s impossible for me to have bad thoughts on Alban now. And it doesn’t fit with this moment we have both outside, brother and sister, with the lazy wind and the rising stars; and the radio sizzling in the open kitchen.

“ You know him better than me, don’t you sister?
– Nobody knows him, I think. But this mystery hasn’t got the right to spoil the holiday evening we have together … there may not be many more. It’s nice out, maybe nature is beckoning us to let simply go…
– You know him. You talk like him. But you’re right. “

At this point, the sound of our radio becomes clearer. They have a great announce to make. Their LP is out , on sale, and here’s the host’s favorite track by Depeche Mode.
I jump on my feet.

“ Oh, your Walkman again? Going to have an artisanal recording which you alone have the key?”

But we have to keep it , bro. You don’t know yet that it will be priceless.
Heavy sounds hit the spring air which still stammers, little by little they form a difficult melody by repeating; and the voice that emerges is not what we expected
Fragile

There’s so much tenderness and supplication in the words we catch
be gentle
never willingly do you harm
apologies
my weaknesses, you know each and everyone

And most of all
Independence, is still important for us though …

Is it there the freshness of a winter which tries to take back its rights on the night?
We’re standing in each other’s arms , voiceless and suddenly transfixed.

What is this for a song? Not a slow, not a ballad, nor a damn romance.
It weeps gently , but it strikes also ; and it talks about us all , about all that far from false noise can shape and consolidate what really matters between two people ; desire, loyalty , despite the whim that governs and constantly threatens human relationships .
 And the heavy sounds of the beginning, that resonated in the background , they beat again louder in the end , obstinately, as if no end, no night could erase them anymore.

High Meanders

Pontaillac, January /February 1986

I should work on my solfege. But there’s “High Meanders” on the radio, like every Friday (late) evening.

Sometimes I hear Virgile’s voice in it; and I don’t know the girl, with that voice made hoarse with cigarette; that I love …
No need to count on me during these two hours; my answering machine is unavailable.
How I try to record, purists would laugh at me… I’ve got only my Walkman, and it’s already better than the old dinosaur Panasonic “block” straight out of the 70s.
The connections that I make are often hazardous, and it happens that on the tapes we find incongruous noises of the outside, a Colin’s fart (even if he denies), doors slamming and one time the flush…

But I want to keep it all so bad, as much as the magazines which pile up dangerously in the dust.

On this cold and endless winter, where sometimes electricity fails because of the storm, I still have my Walkman and the radio , like a friendly presence which reminds me of what I’m in love with.
It is the sound of these long nights where my questions about the life to come grow and accumulate.

From what I remember, “High Meanders” often started with Sisters of Mercy’s “Body and Soul” in an extended version that shaped blue ethereal forms floating over an unreal swamp of darkness.

L’Equerre, 1986


I knew that , far from the jubilation of sets with David and Alb; Virgile was a melancholic; and you could feel that when he made his programs alone; playlists took the beauty and the depth of his elegiac mood, and blew coldness on the flying time of those two hours.
It happened that however I could hear the others’ presence in what was played, Valentine’s cute temptation with “Under The Milky Way” ; Coquelicot’s fire in “Love Like Blood” and several times in the end , the call of Alb’s  desire for rejoicing in a burning version of “Duel” which sounded like a decadent climax after the silver flood of these romantic rivers.

But what fitted the most with the cold darkness of dawning February was this song that Virgile in the end of a broadcast announced. There I could feel all the beauty of his, in “Virus Meadow”

Just recorded, and stolen, only for you who listens to our bizarre volutes…

It is like, in Worcestershire,  the mossy humus of a fantastic forest, where the oldest poetry of England ferments and rise again.
Dark and deep roots crawling on grass and ferns, friends , you can barely see them in your candlelight ; but you can hear them whispering tales  of a temptation from another age

Suck enchanted nightshade twine

Hear the bells beneath us chime

… And also the trees…

This was “High Meanders” , listener my beloved
Have an inspiring night