(Oh no, she’s writing about music again…this photo is of Serge Gainsbourg, who is not my husband.)
Recently, my husband stumbled (not literally) onto a really cool CD. It’s called Histoire de Melodie Nelson, by Serge Gainsbourg. He can’t remember how he knew how to look for it (maybe it was a dream from a past life) but it might have been a review in The Week, our favorite magazine, and the only print magazine I read regularly. (Having to tend to this blog, a small child, a job for which I have a lot of reading to do, and oh yeah, that writing thing, means that I don’t get thing called leisure. Some day, some day, but meanwhile, we have The Week.)
So this album. It’s hard to categorize, but it compels me to listen. This morning, I listened to it twice in a row. It is one of those things, like a discovery of T. Rex in my late 30s, that sort of makes me cry, because it sounds so real and inventive and strangely fresh, despite being just a little younger than I am. It’s like a soundtrack–it is a concept album, afterall–but so much better, sexier, and I don’t know what words to use, maybe there are French words to describe it… for any of my French readers who have heard it, please let us know how we should describe it. The textures of sound are rich and yummy.
You should hear it.