♫ : April March

Now Your Ears Are Ringing
The Birds Have Stopped Their Singing
Everything Is Turning Grey

Ah, come hanno ragione gli inglesi… Loro dall’altro del loro aplomb sanno che se una donna si incacchia lo fa per davvero. Già perché chi la conosce la evita l’ira funesta di certe donne, quella decantata per intenderci il caro buon vecchio Omero. Quella stessa ira delle tre protagoniste del capolavoro di Russ Meyer, la stessa che spingeva la cara buon vecchia Kelis a cantare frasi come “I hate you soo much right now, I haaate” o tutte le nefandezze che faceva Lily Allen al suo ex in Smile. Lo stesso stato d’animo che dà il titolo parafrasato del post: “L’inferno non ha mai conosciuto una furia paragonabile a quella di una donna disprezzata”. E visto che la causa del mal è stata proprio un cittadino di sua maestà eccomi costretta a ripiegare sulle parole di William Congreve, che poi perché dannarsi l’anima per un uomo che copre le sue pudenze con un gonnellino…

“As you’ll answer it, take heed
This Slave commit no Violence upon
Himself. I’ve been deceiv’d. The Publick Safety
Requires he should be more confin’d; and none,
No not the Princes self, permitted to
Confer with him. I’ll quit you to the King.
Vile and ingrate! too late thou shalt repent
The base Injustice thou hast done my Love:
Yes, thou shalt know, spite of thy past Distress,
And all those Ills which thou so long hast mourn’d;
Heav’n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn’d,
Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn’d”.

William Congreve - The Mourning Bride

Per essere solo il 1697 il buon Will ci aveva visto lungo

Ah, l’amour… l’amour

La revanche à l’américaine

La revanche à la française

Laisse tomber les filles
Laisse tomber les filles
Un jour c’est toi qu’on laissera
Laisse tomber les filles
Laisse tomber les filles
Un jour c’est toi qui pleureras
Oui j’ai pleuré mais ce jour-là
Non je ne pleurerai pas
Non je ne pleurerai pas
Je dirai c’est bien fait pour toi
Je dirai ça t’apprendra
Je dirai ça t’apprendra
Laisse tomber les filles
Laisse tomber les filles
Ça te jouera un mauvais tour
Laisse tomber les filles
Laisse tomber les filles
Tu le paieras un de ces jours
On ne joue pas impunément
Avec un coeur innocent
Avec un coeur innocent
Tu verras ce que je ressens
Avant qu’il ne soit longtemps
Avant qu’il ne soit longtemps

La chance abandonne
Celui qui ne sait
Que laisser les coeurs blessés
Tu n’auras personne
Pour te consoler
Tu ne l’auras pas volé

Laisse tomber les filles
Laisse tomber les filles
Un jour c’est toi qu’on laissera
Laisse tomber les filles
Laisse tomber les filles
Un jour c’est toi qui pleureras
Non pour te plaindre il n’y aura
Personne d’autre que toi
Personne d’autre que toi
Alors tu te rappelleras
Tout ce que je te dis là
Tout ce que je te dis là”

France Gall – Laisse tomber les filles

Bisoux,

la fille de poche

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7NDsbEiCxXw

Demain, ya une binne qui va traverser l’Atlantique juste pour me venir voir. On va être 2 jeunes pousses à lutter contre les français. yaaaaaa c’est trop chtarbééé.

une nana qui capote.

I don’t know about anyone else, but, when a chick’s cancer goes into remission, that’s a green light to bang every babe in sight and bribe them with hush money.  I think Socrates said that.

I don’t know what I’m doing sometimes.

I know what I like and don’t like. I know what makes me laugh or cry (been a while since I’ve done that, maybe just sad) or just plain happy. But what if I took the plain out of it. What makes me really happy. (That is besides gunning a GT3 through the Nurburgring.) This is where I’m stuck. I don’t know. But I know it has something to do with the heart.
The heart in all it’s importance and pressure escapes me. Sure I’ve felt it’s beauty before. Oh, I have. In all it’s power and glory I’m a witness. But I’ve also felt when it’s empty. But most of the time it’s just there waiting to be touched. This is where I find myself today.

We choose who we want to take a drink from our heart. But how do we choose???
Like most men, I’m cursed and blessed with a penis. What I mean is it’s a great general but a horrible scout. The penis rarely points in the right direction. It’s got radar for SHIT.  If it were a GPS it would always lead you to the city dump then proceed to empty your pockets and slap you in the face. “It ain’t ever been right.” But I keep looking to it for direction. Why are we as men so stupid???  And does it ever change.??? Do we ever take the hint and start making sound choices with our penis or are we just doomed to follow the path always taken? We have a problem or just a…

So this is where I’ve been. Leading with the magic stick and hoping the heart will follow.
I thought I had it all figured out. I was gonna separate the two. Unleash the penis and muzzle the heart. I would bask in the glory of the penis and ignore the heart. That is give the penis (with protection) but withhold my heart. This would surely solve everything. Right!? L.A. was the perfect place. The land of beautiful people and shallow hearts. And it was…

But something was wrong. I wasn’t full. Something was lacking. It must have been the city. So I left to tour the Bay Area. In the Bay, things must be different. It’s where I grew up and the Bay Area does pride itself on being about so much more. Right?.  Plus my family lives here.
Well, it wasn’t the location.  It was me.

It took a stranger with a big beautiful heart and a mutual understanding to make me realize what was smack dab in my face all the time…
We don’t have to LOOK. It’s already there. We have it inside of us. All of us. It’s called LOVE. And it’s not for HIRE nor for SALE. It’s ours and only ours. We can’t give it to anyone. And no one can take it from us.
LOVE IS WHAT WE GIVE OURSELVES!!!
It’s what we allow ourselves to feel. When we meet someone that gets our heart pounding we think an exchange of the heart must occur. We must give up ours in exchange for theirs. An arbitrage of the heart. But I say NO!!! Close the market. Hearts are at stake here. Instead just…

Breathe, reflect, and give your heart a big kiss. You did this not your mate. You are the magician of your heart. You work the magic. Others are too clumsy with things that don’t belong to them.  You allowed yourself to feel this way now take possession.
I’m not being heartless. On the contrary. I’m saying love yourself and never stop. Don’t look for approval or even mutual feelings. Just give it to yourself. Just give it to yourself, I say. That connection, that sensation, that  weightlessness, we all feel with our mate is so amazing that we think we must give up the very thing that allows us to feel so great. Well I say resist the urge. Your heart will thank you.

Some will think this is just a protectionist theory. That is, don’t let your heart get broken 101. But it’s not. It’s a right tool for the job theory. You can still give love and love someone. If fact,  I say give more.  As much as you want. The world needs more love not less. But understand that this act is something beautiful you gave yourself not someone else doing. The ultimate it’s ME not YOU. A selfish but positive act if you will that resulted in an emotion that made you feel good. Notice the “positive”. If negative acts make your heart pitter-pat than you are a monster and have no heart.
But if a beautiful sunset, a rainy morning, an innocent smile from a child, an intimate moment with your mate, or a song, really touches you…Then just breathe, reflect, and give your heart a kiss.

Like a beautiful piece of art….

(Francesco Clemente, Scissors and Butterflies)
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Beauty like love is not universal. It exists because you witnessed it and gave it life. It’s yours, so protect and enjoy where its power exists.

Inside of you.

Your heart.

Di questo spot mi piace il mescolamento fatto tra le immagini suggestive e la musica utilizzata… e a dire il vero la cosa che mi ha colpito di più è stata proprio la bellissima canzone Chick Habit di April March, energica ed originale.

In realtà ho dovuto rivedere lo spot per più di una volta per riuscire a memorizzare il nome “Be-Total Plus”… è successo anche a voi?

Pierogies cosmopolites.

April March – Chick Habit

Hang up the chick habit
hang it up, daddy
or you’ll be alone in a quick
hang up the chick habit
hang it up ,daddy
or you’ll never get another fix

I’m telling you it’s not a trick
pay attention don’t be thick
or you’re liable to get lick

you’re gonna see the reason why
when they’re spitting in your eye
they’ll be spitting in your eye

Hang up the chick habit
hang it up, daddy
a girl’s not a tonic or a pill
Hang up the chick habit
hang it up, daddy
you’re just joining for a skill

oh, how your bubble’s gonna burst
when you meet another nurse
she’ll be driving in a hearse

you’re gonna need a heap of glue
when they all catch up with you
and they’ll cut you up in two

now you ears are ringing
and the birds have stop their singing
and everything is turning gray

no candy in your till
no cutie left to thrill
you’re alone on a tuesday

Hang up the chick habit
hang it up, daddy
or you’ll be alone in a quick
hang up the chick habit
hang it up ,daddy
or you’ll never get another fix

I’m telling you it’s not a trick
pay attention don’t be thick
or you’re liable to get lick

4x :

you’re gonna see the reason why
when they’re spitting in your eye
they’ll be spitting in your eye

Quentin Tarantino, God I wish it wasn’t…

This is a feature from the Moviebarn radio show on FreshAir. Each week I’m going to talk about a film that sucks baws, but has a great song on the soundtrack. Naturally, this could provoke some interesting responses…

As we all know, Grindhouse hit America with all the punch of an infant with carpal tunnel syndrome. Pompous people in cravats who wear sunglasses during the day blamed audiences for “not getting the concept of a double bill”. Whether or not that’s true’s open for debate, but one thing’s for sure – Death Proof is a bad old movie.

Let’s look at the facts; Grindhouses, flea pits, whatever you want to call them, were built on schlocky movies with low production values but high action and intensity. Damaged prints, bad acting, stuff on the floor that might be vomit, might be beer, might be something else but above-all good fun films. Robert Rodriguez’ Planet Terror gets this.

As the first half of the double it storms out of the gate, throws the jockey into the nearest bush and runs around trampling spectators. It’s full of neat visual effects that echo the Grindhouse’s poor maintenance, and the action is truly relentless. Zombies, women, car chases, huge guns, big explosions, gore all over the place, and a pair of excellent moustaches. In short, every box you want in your Friday night film is ticked, in red, with a huge pen.

Death Proof on the other hand is not how you do this kind of thing. Don’t get me wrong, I like Quentin Tarantino, but he needs someone to stop him over-cooking it from time-to-time, because he sure as hell isn’t going to stop himself.

Death Proof wants to be a feisty, funky tale of women empowering themselves to stop a crazy chauvinist pig. Decent idea, but the execution, oh hell no.

There’s enough dialogue to sink a battleship, and so much of it’s not necessary. Bit of chat, move on – don’t stand around for ages doing bugger all. And lots of talk means, yep, you guessed it, no rock. There’s very limited action here, confined to two main chases, one of which is OK, but the other is little more than an advert for Kiwi stuntwoman Zoe Bell. Which she needs, ‘cos she won’t be getting any calls RE: her acting any time soon. Wooden is too soft a word, if she was any worse she’d have dug roots into the ground and started blooming.

The most inexcusable thing about Death Proof though is Tarantino himself. He looks like an abstract map of Italy. He has a voice like a cat stuck in a blender. He has an ego the size of a small yacht and a borderline foot fetish. Despite these flaws, he has the gall to cast himself as the barman who everybody loves. The women, the men, fuck, even the soft furnishings want a piece of his action. Ok it’s a pet/vanity project to begin with, but Quentin, at least keep up the pretence that it isn’t “allaboutyou”.

Meanwhile, in the background, April March gets the tone that Tarantino aimed for first-time. Her track Chick Habit is the standout on that great saving grace of flawed Tarantino movies – the soundtrack. It’s catchy, it grabs your attention, it’s a bit racy, and a bit dangerous. The point of the song is “Don’t mess with women, or you’re gonna get it”, which sums up the film’s key theme pretty well. But above all it captures the retro cool that Quentin wanted, and Rodriguez nailed.

Listen to it here;

April March – Chick Habit

Death Proof OST 2007 Warner Bros.

Letras

Torrent (192k)

Descarga directa (128k)

MP3:> April March: “Chick Habit”

MP3:> The Coasters: “Down In Mexico”

MP3:> Pacific Gas & Electric: “Staggolee”

MP3:> Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich: “Hold Tight!”

Always dug the April March cover of this song.

[download]

[purchase album]

‘hang up the chick habit’

mit dem soundtrack zu tarantinos neuestem ‘death proof’ wird april marchs ‘chick habit’ bekannt. auf ihrem album ‘chick habit’ singt sie neben der englischen version auch ganz französisch ‘laisse tomber les filles’.
das hat in de 1960-ern france gall schon gemacht.

und das ging so:

komponiert hat serge gainsbourg. damals.

Music in my head: “Chick Habit“- April March

I’ve been remiss again in writing. I actually feel bad about it. This is not to say I haven’t had ideas that just haven’t been committed to the blogspace. I thought I would share some of things I’ve been meaning to write about and just haven’t got around to.

1) An incredibly uncensorsed review of the Robert Rodriguez/Quentin Tarantino double feature Grindhouse so riveting it will snatch your balls off.

2) Responses to Aljena’s 5 questions (note: I have different questions to answer) Here’s a sneak peak at some of my answers: I love “The Simple Life” and
dress up as a spy? what? oh shit, you just blew my cover.

3) Some wierd things about me: My second toe sticks out longer than my big toe.

4) What it felt like to go to the gym for the first time in over a year and why I didn’t have the guts to go into the main area and secluded myself in the “small frames” room.

5) 2 outdated pieces that are no longer relevant: a) my feelings on opening day at Fenway and b) what it was like to go the Deval Patrick innaugural celebration and why I was disapointed.

6) and in progress: A no links barred completely un pc review of Chuck P speaking at the Coolidge.