Hors saison
Posted in Chanson on Feb 25th, 2009 No Comments »
Francis Cabrel is my favourite contemporary French singer. I like him in the same way I like Jackson Browne, whom he resembles in the quiet reflectivity of his songs.
The song ‘Hors saison’ from his album of the same name, is a man’s melancholy reflections on his surroundings while staying in a seaside town out of season. Seaside towns in the winter have a unique melancholy of their own. If you have stayed in Blackpool during February, as I have, you will know what I mean.
“It’s the silence you notice most,Shutters closed, Old plants still in their boxes on balconies. It must be out of season.
The sea at least carries on the same, Its rollers playing the same tune, Its empty, stubborn [têtue] song, For some stray ghosts huddling inside their hoods. It must be out of season.
The wind pierces these now too long avenues. Someone is looking for an unknown address. The mail overflows the doorsteps of summer houses. It must be out of season.
The town seems to fade behind its salty mists. The sea’s anger is too near. Its torments condemn it to screens of smoke. No-one is coming away from the quay.
You could take everything, walls, gardens, streets. You could put your names above the letter boxes Or perhaps one day people will come back. It must be out of season.
The sea at least carries on the same, Its rollers playing the same tune, Its empty song - where are you? [où es-tu?] - For some stray ghosts huddling inside their hoods. It must be out of season.
The town seems to fade behind its salty mists. The sea’s anger is too near. Its torments condemn it to screens of smoke. No-one is coming away from the quay.”
The song seems to be a sensitive rumination on the look of general sadness that pervades a seaside town in winter, when the holiday makers have gone. However Cabrel makes a small change in the repeat of the verse substituting “où es-tu?” (Where are you?)for “têtue” (stubborn) in the original. It is a small change transforms the meaning of the whole song.
No longer a simple reflection on an empty town in winter. It is a cry of anguish at separation. His “Where are you?” is like Jane Eyre’s anguished cry when she hears Rochester’s voice carried on the wind. From the general it has become specific and personal - and poetic
