More random musings from Fat Roland. On his mind this month (as far as we can tell) is French Music
Bonjour. Je m’appelle Fat Roland, which en français est Rolande Le Grand. Je suis un writer pour Sound D’Electronique. I write beaucoup brilliant words dans le subject of techno, musique concrète, très cool synthétiseur sound, and many other claquer noises that go boom-boom-boom.
Dans 2024, musique Française is going to be the next grande thing. Thomas Bangalter, which in French is Thomas Bangalter, will reformez Daft Punk. Suddenly, everyone will be wearing helmets. Wait. What’s the French for helmet? Suddenly, everyone will be wearing uber-berets au les tête. Laurent Garnier will get a Numbero Une dans le disco pop charts, and Jean-Michel Jarre will write songs about all the other elements such as hydrogène, nitrogène and, um, dodecahedrène, or something. Jeez, Fats. French and science in the same column? Have you lost your mind?
Le Angleterre folks ne pas like the French. Ever since Nelson kicked le bottom de Napoleon at le Battle De Trafalgez, les English have thought they were the best at everything. In 1994, they built a tunnel across the Channel so they could pop their heads through and say “yah boo sucks” to the French.
And yet, the French are better at everything. They’ve got ‘Boléro’, we’ve got ‘Sussudio’. They have discothèques, we have karaoke nights down at the Red Lion. They have Flat Eric, we have Sooty. Actually, we Brits win that last one. Sooty could easily beat Flat Eric in a fight. That wand is lethal. Straight in the eye. Ouch! What’s French for “ouch”? Ouchez-vous!
There’s a reason why Kraftwerk went on a ‘Tour De France’ rather than bombing it up the M6 on a Segway. Chicago house legend Lil Louis chose a ‘French Kiss’ instead of a sloppy snog outside Luton Town Hall. Adam And The Ants sang ‘Young Parisians’ not ‘Yobbo Mancs Throwing Up In Wetherspoons’.
I’m often mistaken for Serge Gainsbourg because of the way I twiddle my organ. His most famous hit ‘Je T’Aime… Moi Non Plus’ translates as ‘I Like You… But I Can’t Do Maths’. He once wrote a brilliant tribute to Bonnie and Clyde. (Why he’d write a song about ‘Blue Peter’ dogs, I have no idea.) Gainsbourg was always seen smoking Gitanes cigarettes. Five packs a day. This made him super-cool, which is ridiculous. I eat 14 Greggs pasties every lunchtime. Is that cool? No, it makes me smell of onions and meat. As people always say to me, “Je t’aime… moi tu has une odeur répugnante of crusty steak bake”.
Au revoir, which is French for “thanks for reading – see you again next month”. I’m brilliant at this. Brilliantez. Le brilliantez où est le supermarché à l’hôtel. Bonjour. Honestly, I’m a natural.
