A Family Phenomena (from the Mary side)…that Rowan has inherited a trait that his Mother has long exhibited:
The ability to put out street lights when they walk under one…
I first discovered this trait with Mary in Los Angeles, during the first year we were married. Walking home one night from the cinema, we were laughing and talking and I noticed that as we moved along, the street lights would go off when we came up to them, and flash back on when we moved away. It was somewhat unnerving, yet humourous…
For fun over the years, I would invite friends along for a walk, and watch them weird out… Once explained they would enjoy it, but I think it spooked a few.
One of the ‘other’ side effects, or co-travelling phenomena is that Mary melts the interior of watches when she wears them for any length of time; I tried several types over the years, the ones that went quickest were of two varieties;
1. battery powered. Dead in less than a day, the interior a complete melted mess.
2. Antique watches, especially ones from the Art Deco period (20′s & 30′s), these were an expensive lesson.
This phenomena has continued up to the present, as we walked Sophie the wonder dog last night, it happened again. Yikes!
So Rowan has reported that lights are starting to go off at his approach. The mystery deepens I am tempted to have kirlian photos taken to see if their is a plume of energy flying above their heads…
Andrew (my nephew) dropped by for a chat yesterday. He brought good news about his life, and about his young lady, Catherine. Details will follow…
Well, the weekend is here… I hope you have a good time, and take some time for a quiet reflection…
Talk to your friends, strangers, neighbors. Get the ball moving for changing the mess that the planet is in. One light at a time.
Blessings,
Gwyllm
What Is On The Menu:
The Links
Drop Bears – The Truth
The Lyrical Poetry of Jacques Brel
Wild Life Photos – Bloggerhead.com
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The Links
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For those of you who do not know the history of Drop Bears in Australia, I will tell it, so much as I know, as a warning to you and your family.
Origin
In the beginning, there were koalas. Cuddly, furry, slow-moving and sleepy, koalas eat gum leaves for 90% of their waking lives, but prefer to spend most of their time asleep. They live in trees, venturing down to the ground only when it is necessary to move from tree to tree. Koalas are no threat to humans, unless you are foolish enough to climb up a tree and attempt to catch one, under which circumstances the koala may give you a bit of a scratch with its ample claws.
You will be aware that Australia is home to many species that simply don’t exist anywhere else in the world. Echidnas, wombats, koalas, kangaroos, wallabies, bandicoots and potoroos are unique to Australia, just to name a few. Another unique animal is the Drop Bear.
Description
The Drop Bear is described as an arboreal, (tree dwelling) carnivorous mammal of Australia, Phascolarctus Hodgsonii, growing to around 4 feet in height. This description is not far wrong. Believed to have evolved from a similar line to koalas, Drop Bears vary from 3 to 5 feet in hight, but are extremely strong. They are covered in a dense fur, which can range from almost black to the Alpine Drop Bear’s snowy white coat. They have broad shoulders and razor sharp claws on all four limbs. They are able to walk for short distances on two legs, but are much faster on all four, being capable of bursts of speed approaching 60 km/h at full gallop. Their heads are similar to those of koalas, but with enlarged canine teeth, not unlike those of bears or other carnivorous animals. There are no reported photographs of them, and only a select and very lucky few have laid eyes on them and lived to tell the tale.
As you can imagine, admitting their existence would cause some degree of panic, and destroy parts of Australia’s ecotourism industry overnight. It is for this reason that all government departments will, and have denied any knowledge of the existence of the Drop Bear, and are likely to continue to do so in the future. Being an avid outdoor enthusiast, and having contact with people who spend a large proportion of their time outdoors, I have gathered together scraps of information from sources all around the country, linking Drop Bear involvement to such events as the disappearance of Azaria Chamberlain, the death of Captain James Cook in Hawaii, several war-time incidents in northern Australia, the disappearance of a group of cross-country skiers in the Victorian Alps, and the deaths of a number of hikers, canoeists, 4WDrivers, campers, sunbathers and swimmers throughout the country. These ‘accidents’ are often reported as crocodile attacks, falls from cliffs, exposure, and in the Chamberlain case, dingoes were blamed. I have it on good authority in all of these cases, however, that a government cover-up was at work to dispel rumours of Drop Bear attacks and hide the truth from the public.
Dangers associated with Drop Bears
Drop Bears are not cuddly and friendly, like their cousin the koala. They are vicious, calculating, cold-blooded killers. Their usual method of attack is to select animals which stray from their group, including humans, dropping down onto them from above. They then proceed to wrap themselves around the body of their prey, squeezing them to death, often crushing the rib cage and breaking the neck. Occasionally when hunting, and when threatened, the Bears will drop down in front of, and then challenge their prey, snarling and flashing their sharp claws and teeth, before ripping their prey to shreds with their powerful arms and legs. Of all the ways to die in the bush, this would have to be the most horrible. Arms and Legs are torn from the body, along with huge slabs of flesh, which are greedily consumed while the victim still lives. If seen, Drop Bears should NOT be approached, as they are easily frightened and likely to attack. Vehicles are known to have been attacked, and being in one is no defence. An adult Drop Bear is able to easily break windows and enter vehicles to extrude would-be meals.
Sub-species
The Common Drop Bear is found in wooded areas all over the Australian continent, including Tasmania, and is thought to in fact venture as far north as Papua New Guinea and Indonesia. It lives in trees, dropping down to feed on kangaroos, wombats, and anything else that walks beneath it.
The Burrowing Drop Bear is slightly smaller in stature than the common variety, though just as ferocious. It is known to inhabit the drier arid regions of the country, including the deserts of central Australia. It is also fairly common amongst wooded areas, and burrows have been found everywhere from beaches to desert plains. The burrows vary in size according to the individual animal, but the entry hole may be considerably smaller than the actual living space. Holes 30cm in diameter have been known to house Drop Bears 5 feet tall. The animal’s extraordinary contorting ability means it is able to crawl through extremely small spaces in search of wombats and rabbits.
The Alpine Drop Bear grows a special winter coat of almost pure white for camouflage in snowy areas. They have been spotted at lower elevations when the food supply is short, but unlike Common and Burrowing varieties, are able to hibernate for sustained periods. They live in larger burrows than Burrowing Drop Bears, being less able to contort through small openings. During the summer months, they remain in their mountain environment, shedding their white coats and adopting darker furs for camouflage in the lightly treed and grassy plains of the high country.
The Aquatic Drop Bear, as its name suggests, feeds in and around bodies of water. Lakes, rivers, dams and the Australian coastal waters are home to this variety of Drop Bear. With webbed feet and an water-resistant coat similar to a seal, they are ideally suited to marine life, though still retain the unmistakable Drop Bear physique of four legs, broad shoulders and sharp claws and teeth. Aquatic Drop Bears have attacked canoeists, rafters, fisherman on the bank and in boats, sunbathers and swimmers. Cases such as these are often falsely reported by the media as crocodile or shark attacks, in an effort to avoid the mass hysteria which would almost definitely result from an admission that we have a Drop Bear problem.
Conclusion
I have endeavoured to provide you, the reader, with as much information as I can at this time. I have been hounded and ridiculed for sharing such information as this with the public, but I am reconciled to do my best to warn as many people as I can of this potential danger in the Australian Bush.
You have been warned.
Further Info:
Some Disinfo on the Drop Bears…
_______
Jacques Brel
Jacques Brel Sings – Amsterdam
AMSTERDAM – 1964
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui chantent
Les rêves qui les hantent
Au large d’Amsterdam
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui dorment
Comme des oriflammes
Le long des berges mornes
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui meurent
Pleins de bière et de drames
Aux premières lueurs
Mais dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui naissent
Dans la chaleur épaisse
Des langueurs océanes
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui mangent
Sur des nappes trop blanches
Des poissons ruisselants
Ils vous montrent des dents
A croquer la fortune
A décroisser la lune
A bouffer des haubans
Et ça sent la morue
Jusque dans le coeur des frites
Que leurs grosses mains invitent
A revenir en plus
Puis se lèvent en riant
Dans un bruit de tempête
Referment leur braguette
Et sortent en rotant
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui dansent
En se frottant la panse
Sur la panse des femmes
Et ils tournent et ils dansent
Comme des soleils crachés
Dans le son déchiré
D’un accordéon rance
Ils se tordent le cou
Pour mieux s’entendre rire
Jusqu’à ce que tout à coup
L’accordéon expire
Alors le geste grave
Alors le regard fier
Ils ramènent leur batave
Jusqu’en pleine lumière
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Y a des marins qui boivent
Et qui boivent et reboivent
Et qui reboivent encore
Ils boivent à la santé
Des putains d’Amsterdarn
De Hambourg ou d’ailleurs
Enfin ils boivent aux dames
Qui leur donnent leur joli corps
Qui leur donnent leur vertu
Pour une pièce en or
Et quand ils ont bien bu
Se plantent le nez au ciel
Se mouchent dans les étoiles
Et ils pissent comme je pleure
Sur les femmes infidèles
Dans le port d’Amsterdam
Dans le port d’Amsterdam.
–
In English:
Amsterdam
(1964)
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors who sing
about the dreams that haunt them
away from Amsterdam.
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors who sleep
stretched out like pennants
along the dead waters.
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors who die
full of beer and tragedy
at the first light of dawn
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors being born
in the thick heat
of oceanic languors.
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors who eat
on bright white table cloths
shimmering fish,
and they show you their teeth
made to bite into fate,
to unhook the moon,
to eat up the mast-ropes.
And there is a smell of cod
even to the heart of the French fries
which their thick hands invite
to come back for more;
then they get up laughing
they holler like a storm,
they close up their fly
and get out belching.
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors who dance
rubbing their bellies
against the bellies of women,
and they turn and they dance,
like spit suns
in the torn-up sound
of a rancid accordion.
They twist up their necks
to hear themselves laugh
until all of a sudden
the accordion gives out…
Then with a grave gesture,
then with a proud glance,
they bring out their Dutchman
into the bright light…
In the harbor of Amsterdam
there are sailors who drink
and drink and drink again
and again drink.
They drink to the health
of the whores of Amsterdam
of Hamburg and others places,
in short, they drink to the ladies
Who give them their pretty bodies
who give them their virtue
for a piece of gold,
and when they have drunk enough,
they stand firmly, their noses to the sky
they blow their noses in the stars
and they piss hot tears
over unfaithful women..
In the harbor of Amsterdam,
In the harbor of Amsterdam…
—–
QUAND ON N’A QUE L’AMOUR – 1956
Jacques Brel Sings – Quand On A Que L’amour
Quand on n’a que l’amour
A s’offrir en partage
Au jour du grand voyage
Qu’est notre grand amour
Quand on n’a que l’amour
Mon amour toi et moi
Pour qu’éclatent de joie
Chaque heure et chaque jour
Quand on n’a que l’amour
Pour vivre nos promesses
Sans nulle autre richesse
Que d’y croire toujours
Quand on n’a que l’amour
Pour meubler de merveilles
Et couvrir de soleil
La laideur des faubourgs
Quand on n’a que l’amour
Pour unique raison
Pour unique chanson
Et unique secours
Quand on n’a que l’amour
Pour habiller matin
Pauvres et malandrins
De manteaux de velours
Quand on n’a que l’amour
A offrir en prière
Pour les maux de la terre
En simple troubadour
Quand on n’a que l’amour
A offrir à ceux-là
Dont l’unique combat
Est de chercher le jour
Quand on n’a que l’amour
Pour tracer un chemin
Et forcer le destin
A chaque carrefour
Quand on n’a que l’amour
Pour parler aux canons
Et rien qu’une chanson
Pour convaincre un tambour
Alors sans avoir rien
Que la force d’aimer
Nous aurons dans nos mains
Amis le monde entier.
–
In English:
When one only has love – Quand on n’a que l’amour
When one only has love
as a give and take
at the dawn of the great journey
of this our great love;
when one only has love,
my love, you and I,
to make burst with joy
every hour of every day;
when one only has love
to live up to our promises
without any other riches
then to believe in it always;
when one only has love
to furnish with wonder
and cover with light
the blight of the suburbs;
when one only has love
as a sole purpose,
as a sole song
and sole recourse;
when one only has love
to clothe at dawn
the poor and the criminal
in mantles of velvet;
when one only has love
to offer in prayer
for the suffering world
as a modest minstrel;
when one only has love
to give to those
whose only fight
is to search for daylight;
when one only has love
to trace a path
and force fate
at every crossroads;
when one only has love
to speak to cannons
and only a song
to change the mind of a drum,
then without having nothing
but the strength to love
we shall hold in our hands
my friend, the entire world!
—-
NE ME QUITTE PAS – 1959
Jacques Brel Sings – Ne Me Quitte Pas
Ne me quitte pas
Il faut oublier
Tout peut s’oublier
Qui s’enfuit déjà
Oublier le temps
Des malentendus
Et le temps perdu
A savoir comment
Oublier ces heures
Qui tuaient parfois
A coups de pourquoi
Le coeur du bonheur
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Moi je t’offrirai
Des perles de pluie
Venues de pays
Où il ne pleut pas
Je creuserai la terre
Jusqu’après ma mort
Pour couvrir ton corps
D’or et de lumière
Je ferai un domaine
Où l’amour sera roi
Où l’amour sera loi
Où tu seras reine
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Je t’inventerai
Des mots insensés
Que tu comprendras
Je te parlerai
De ces amants là
Qui ont vu deux fois
Leurs coeurs s’embraser
Je te raconterai
L’histoire de ce roi
Mort de n’avoir pas
Pu te rencontrer
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
On a vu souvent
Rejaillir le feu
D’un ancien volcan
Qu’on croyait trop vieux
Il est paraît-il
Des terres brûlées
Donnant plus de blé
Qu’un meilleur avril
Et quand vient le soir
Pour qu’un ciel flamboie
Le rouge et le noir
Ne s’épousent-ils pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Je ne vais plus pleurer
Je ne vais plus parler
Je me cacherai là
A te regarder
Danser et sourire
Et à t’écouter
Chanter et puis rire
Laisse-moi devenir
L’ombre de ton ombre
L’ombre de ta main
L’ombre de ton chien
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
–
In English:
Don’t leave me! -Ne me quitte pas!
Don’t leave me!
Let’s forget –
for all can be forgotten
which is gone by already!
Forget the time
of misunderstandings and
the time
lost
finding out how
to forget those hours
which sometimes killed
by blows of “why?”
the heart
of happiness.
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
I will give you
pearls of rain
come from countries
where it never rains.
I will dig up the earth
even in death
to cover your body
with gold and with light.
I will make a kingdom
where love shall be king
where love shall be law
where you shall be queen.
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
I shall invent
senseless words
which you will understand.
I shall tell you about
those lovers who
saw twice
their hearts
go up in flames.
I shall tell you
the story of this king
dead
for not having succeeded
in finding you.
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
One has often seen
burst anew the fire
of an old volcano
believed to be spent.
There are, it is said,
scorched lands
yielding more wheat
than the best of April.
And when evening comes,
to make the sky flare up,
don’t the black and the red
wed?
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
I’ll weep no more,
I’ll speak no more,
I’ll hide right here,
to look at you
dance and smile, to
listen to you
sing
and then laugh…
Let me become
the shadow
of your shadow,
the shadow of your hand,
the shadow of your dog, but
don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
Don’t leave me!
—-
AU SUIVANT – 1964
Jacques Brel sings – au Suivant
Au suivant au suivant
Tout nu dans ma serviette qui me servait de pagne
J’avais le rouge au front et le savon à la main
Au suivant au suivant
J’avais juste vingt ans et nous étions cent vingt
A être le suivant de celui qu’on suivait
Au suivant au suivant
J’avais juste vingt ans et je me déniaisais
Au bordel ambulant d’une armée en campagne
Au suivant au suivant
Moi j’aurais bien aimé un peu plus de tendresse
Ou alors un sourire ou bien avoir le temps
Mais au suivant au suivant
Ce ne fut pas Waterloo non non mais ce ne fut pas Arcole
Ce fut l’heure où l’on regrette d’avoir manqué l’école
Au suivant au suivant
Mais je jure que d’entendre cet adjudant de mes fesses
C’est des coups à vous faire des armées d’impuissants
Au suivant et au suivant
Je jure sur la tête de ma première vérole
Que cette voix depuis je l’entends tout le temps
Au suivant au suivant
Cette voix qui sentait l’ail et le mauvais alcool
C’est la voix des nations et c’est la voix du sang
Au suivant au suivant
Et depuis chaque femme à l’heure de succomber
Entre mes bras trop maigres semble me murmurer
Au suivant au suivant
Tous les suivants du monde devraient se donner la main
Voilà ce que la nuit je crie dans mon délire
Au suivant au suivant
Et quand je ne délire pas j’en arrive à me dire
Qu’il est plus humiliant d’être suivi que suivant
Au suivant au suivant
Un jour je me ferai cul-de-jatte ou bonne soeur ou pendu
Enfin un de ces machins où je ne serai jamais plus
Le suivant le suivant.
—-
Sorry, no English Translation…
—
But here is one of my favourites..
If We Only Have Love
If we only have love
Then tomorrow will dawn
And the days of our years
Will rise on that morn
If we only have love
To embrace without fears
We will kiss with our eyes
We will sleep without tears
If we only have love
With our arms open wide
Then the young and the old
Will stand at our side
If we only have love
Love that’s falling like rain
Then the parched desert earth
Will grow green again
If we only have love
For the hymn that we shout
For the song that we sing
Then we’ll have a way out
If we only have love
We can reach those in pain
We can heal all our wounds
We can use our own names
If we only have love
We can melt all the guns
And then give the new world
To our daughters and sons
If we only have love
Then Jerusalem stands
And then death has no shadow
There are no foreign lands
If we only have love
We will never bow down
We’ll be tall as the pines
Neither heroes nor clowns
If we only have love
Then we’ll only be men
And we’ll drink from the Grail
To be born once again
Then with nothing at all
But the little we are
We’ll have conquered all time
All space, the sun, and the stars.
_____
Although it is often thought that Brel is French, his roots are in Belgium. Or, as Arno (who definitely has inherited a lot out of the legacy of Brel) once said in Humo “One thing we mustn’t forget : Brel is the biggest singer-songwriter of all times. A wonderful human being : a loner, a brilliant storyteller, an excellent singer, a very good actor. And the energy on stage, and the things he was telling there … that’s pure rock’n’roll. And he was from Belgium, you know. The brightest songwriter of the whole world. We tend to forget that.”
Born in the year 1929 in a well-off family in Schaarbeek, Brussels. In between his studies (Saint-Louis), his military service (in Limburg), a marriage, kids and work in a cardboard factory he confines his poetry to paper. Brel feels locked in.
In 1953 he finally takes the gamble : he records a 78-tour with two songs (“La foire” and “Il y a”). The record is discovered in Paris by Jacques Cannetti (the writer and future winner of the Nobel Prize). After a session at the studios of BRT-radio Limburg, he decides to take another gamble : he goes to Paris by train. He performs in cabarets and music-halls, records some music, but stays mostly unnoticed (his aspirations were not so much to become a performer himself, but to write songs for others to perform) until 1957 when the song “Quand on a que l’amour” is discovered.
The themes in his work include friendship (Jef), goes from idolized love to hatred for women (Les Biches), from the belief in God to anticlericalism (� mon dernier repas) and from a certain sweetness to a manifest anti-conformism and a horror of hypocrisy (Les Bourgeouis, Le Moribond).
For Brel, the words to the music were more important than the music itself : “He wanted to get a message across. Not paying attention to the lyrics, you lose Brel. His heroes and anti-heroes come from life itself. Above all, he uses his personal experience, he projects his dreams. He is haunted by the effect of time on the body, the disgrace and the physical degradation. For the women in his songs, the breasts are often portrayed as lowering. For the men and for himself, Brel fears aging more than death itself.”
Let the French intellectuals speak about him : “Son oeuvre, qui ne se distingue pas particuli�rement par la recherche m�lodique, brille surtout par une science du texte et du jeu de mots qui fonctionne essentiellement sur le principe des oppositions binaires (le noir et le blanc, les paires minimales approximatives) et sur une certaine pr�dilection pour le n�ologisme. Mais c’est sur sc�ne que Brel frappe surtout, apportant � ses chansons une nouvelle dimension, gestuelle, gr�ce � un travail d’expression tr�s minutieusement pr�par�”. A poor translation would be : “His works excel, not so much because of the study of the melody, but because of a science of text and wordplay that functions essentially on the principle of binary opposition (black and white, approximate minimal pairs) and for a certain predestination for neologism. But it is on stage that Brel makes the biggest impression. He gives his songs a new dimension, in gestures, by a very carefully prepared expressionism.” Although a bit bombastic : well said Gaston!
Or, as France Brel (his daughter) once said : “The French relate to my father intellectually, they analyze him. But the Belgians feel him. Brel is somebody who ate mussels and fries and drank beer. He belongs to them, he’s one of them. It’s a certain look. a way of being.”
Brel has never denied his Belgian roots. A number of songs were recorded both in Dutch and in French (Mijn vlakke land – Le plat pays. De Burgerij – Les bourgeois). Others carry bits in Dutch (e.g. Marieke). He also often sings of the time of his youth and the country of his origin (Bruxelles, Le Plat Pays, Jacky …). The song “Les F…” causes quite a stir in 1977 : Flemish nationalists and the clergy felt attacked.
But, says France Brel: “He also made fun of the clergy, the bourgeoisie, of everything. He loved to provoke, to demystify. In fact, he was very Flemish. He believed in discipline, hard work, he was always punctual. Our family is Flemish in character in many ways, Jacques was proud of his Flemish blood.”
“If I were king,” Brel himself once said, “I would send all the Flemings to Wallonia and all the Walloons to Flanders for six months. Like military service. They would live with a family and that would solve all our ethnic and linguistic problems very fast. Because everybody’s tooth aches in the same way, everybody loves their mother, everybody loves or hates spinach. And those are the things that really count.”
Some simple analogies also could give you an impression of the power of Brel : “as poetic as Bob Dylan, as introspective as John Lennon, as virile as Bruce Springsteen; his intense stage presence, and the killing involvement it reflected, was reminiscent of Edith Piaf.”
In 1967, he says farewell to the stage after the musical “L’homme de La Mancha” and dedicates most of his time to cinema. The reason : “he felt like a trained monkey unpacking his bag of tricks and singing the same songs every night”. In “Vieillir”, he ridicules himself : “thundering old men … spitting out their last tooth singing Amsterdam”. However, he continues to record songs.
In 1973, he had enough of the cinema as well and “retreats” to the Iles Marquises. After four years in that lonely paradise (the islands where Gauguin painted), he comes back to Paris and records another album.
To give an idea of the impact Brel has had during his lifetime this anecdote from “Big in Belgium” by Jan Delvaux : “In 1977, after a number of years of silence, he announces the release of an album. Eddie Barclay of his record company frees up all available means : the record goes into a box with a lock to all the French radio stations. On the official release date he announces them the secret code of the lock. The record sells 650.000 copies on the first day ! The total well surpasses 2 million.” The album “Brel” contains all the themes of his oeuvre : friendship (Jojo), hatred of women (Les remparts de Varsovie, Le Lion), death (Vieillir) and generosity (Jaur�s).
At the end of his life, lung cancer is discovered. In 1974 he has an operation in Brussels. He continues to sing with one lung, one song at a time. The disease gets the upperhand in October 1978. He is buried on the cemetery of Atuone on the island of Hiva-Oa on Tahiti.
The legacy of Brel : some 100 songs, the appearances in his films, the International Brel foundation, films of his live-performances at the Olympia in Paris and the Ancienne Belgique in Brussels that send shivers down your spine.
Brel surely is one of the most covered artists around. Among the interprets of his music are the likes of Scott Walker, Alex Harvey, Neil Diamond, Ray Charles, Frank Sinatra, Petula Clark, Shirley Bassey, David Bowie, Nina Simone, Mark Almond, Arno, Leonard Cohen …
His talent also widely surpasses the areas of the world where French is spoken : In America for example, Terry Jacks scores a n�1 hit with an adaptation of Le Moribond (Seasons in the sun) and even to this day a “libretto-less” musical tours the country : “Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris”.
As jazz-performer Mike Zwerin recalls : “my friend … called me and asked if I wanted to go to Carnegie Hall with him that night to hear ‘some Frenchman named Brel’ sing. Neither one of us had ever heard of him or understood one word of French, but free tickets are free tickets. We were surprised to find the hall packed. We were even more astonished when we heard Mr. Brel. Though jazz musicians are known for their hostility to singers in general – considering them a commercial necessity taking away time from more talented instrumentalists – we were overwhelmed. Transfixed. Brel’s language was universal and the intensity of the performance overflowed the boundary of such a limiting definition as ‘singer’.”
Now 20 years after his death, almost nothing of that impact of Jacques Brel has been lost.
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(The Red Light District of Hamsterdam…)
