•
Rating:
In the whirlwind of more or less legendary artists who have passed over the decades, it's normal for someone to be left behind, forgotten by the masses of listeners. However, it is amusing that it is always the great artists, those with the greatest sensitivity, who become "niche". It is a pity because certain albums would bring great pleasure to many people, but it always ends up being just a few who discuss them.
This is the case with Marianne Faithfull, remembered more for a fateful Mars bar than for her exceptional talents as a performer. One can easily divide Ms. Faithfull's career into two distinct and defined parts: one clean and straightforward, filled with beautiful covers and led by a crystalline and childlike voice; the other filled with many liaisons dangereuses, heroin addiction, suicide attempts, but above all, beautiful songs interpreted with a new voice. The new voice of Marianne Faithfull is one of experience, of innocence fleeing chased by cocaine stripes and cigarette butts.
In 1979, "Broken English" was released, an undisputed masterpiece by Marianne Faithfull. Those who followed this artist at that time surely raised their eyebrows at the cover: a completely blue-saturated photo portraying her in an almost bored and depressed attitude, careless; the only point of color in this sea of blue is the ember of a cigarette lazily held between her fingers. The album starts with the title track: Cold War scenarios and obsessive rhythm transport us to lands where English, German, and Russian blend. The hoarse and tarry voice breaks often, adding expressiveness and uncertainty. It is followed by three gems: "Witches' Song", "Brain Drain", and "Guilt", where the album's sound direction becomes clear, oriented towards a perfect fusion of Punk's anger, Reggae's rhythm, and New Wave innovations. Then stands out "The Ballad of Lucy Jordan", where we confront the shattered dreams of a woman, oppressed by family routine and pervaded by a longing desire to escape. "Working Class Hero", a John Lennon standard, lives a second life reinterpreted by Marianne Faithfull, who transforms it into a sincerely indignant piece splashed with a rock sound. The album (short, with only 8 tracks) concludes with what I consider the best and most representative piece of this Faithfull period: "Why'd Ya Do It". Marianne Faithfull here indulges in all kinds of profanity: explicit sexual references and stevedore curses follow one another for almost 6 minutes, telling a story of obsessive jealousy and grave betrayal by a man ("Why'd ya do it, she screamed, after all we've said / Every time I see your dick I see her cunt in my bed"). The anger is palpable and compelling, Faithfull's j'accuse is powerful and oddly liberating even for those who listen. Anyone who should experience betrayal by their partner can easily memorize some verses of this song and then spit them in the face of the adulterer: it would make a splendid impression!
Anyone who considers themselves a music enthusiast cannot miss this album, if only for Marianne Faithfull's importance in the '60s as a muse of the Rolling Stones (Sister Morphine who do you think wrote it?) and as a friend of the Fab Four. Ms. Faithfull is an artist from another time, one of those who were not afraid to be seen disheveled or with dirty nails. Completely alien to any divaism, she never cared about presenting herself as a model of righteousness. For her, no glittering and winking songs, just so much decay and depravity. No bare breasts and seductive dances, just a cigarette, a microphone, and vocal cords hot as asphalt in August. "Broken English" is one of the many unrecognized and buried milestones waiting for the listener-archaeologist to come and dust it off.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Broken English (04:38)
Could have come through anytime,
Cold lonely, puritan
What are you fighting for ?
It's not my security.
It's just an old war,
Not even a cold war,
Don't say it in Russian,
Don't say it in German.
Say it in broken English,
Say it in broken English.
Lose your father, your husband,
Your mother, your children.
What are you dying for ?
It's not my reality.
It's just an old war,
Not even a cold war,
Don't say it in Russian,
Don't say it in German.
Say it in broken English,
Say it in broken English.
US CD MFSL Ultradisc UDCD 640
r. 08 08 1995
What are you fighting for ?
What are you fighting for ?
What are you fighting for ?
What are you fighting for ?
What are you fighting for ?
What are you fighting for ?
Could have come through anytime,
Cold lonely, puritan.
What are you fighting for ?
It's not my security.
It's just an old war,
Not even a cold war,
Don't say it in Russian,
Don't say it in German.
Say it in broken English,
Say it in broken English.
Say it in broken English,
Say it in broken English.
What are you fighting for ?
What are you fighting for ?
What are you fighting for ?
What are you fighting ...
04 Guilt (05:11)
I feel guilt, I feel guilt,
Though I know I've done no wrong I feel guilt.
I feel guilt, I feel guilt,
Though I know I've done no wrong I feel guilt.
I feel bad, so bad,
Though I ain't done nothing wrong I feel bad.
I feel bad, so bad,
Though I ain't done nothing wrong I feel bad.
I never lied to my lover,
But if I did I would admit it.
If I could get away with murder
I'd take my gun and I'd commit it.
I never gave to the rich, I never stole from the poor,
I'm like a curious child, give me more,
More, more, more, more, more, more.
I feel blood, I feel blood,
Though I feel it in my veins, it's not enough.
I feel blood, I feel blood,
Though it's streaming through my veins it's not enough.
I never stole a scarf from Harrods,
But if I did you wouldn't miss it.
I never stole a doll from Lovecraft,
But if I did you know I'd kiss it.
I never stole from the rich, I never gave to the poor,
I'm like a curious child, just give me more,
More, more, more, more, more, more, more, more.
I feel guilt, I feel guilt,
Though I know I've done no wrong I feel guilt.
I feel guilt, I feel guilt,
Though I ain't done nothing wrong I feel guilt.
Guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt
Guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt ...
05 The Ballad of Lucy Jordan (04:12)
"The morning sun touched lightly on the eyes of Lucy Jordan
In a white suburban bedroom in a white suburban town
As she lay there 'neath the covers dreaming of a thousand lovers
Till the world turned to orange and the room went spinning round.
At the age of thirty-seven she realised she'd never
Ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair.
So she let the phone keep ringing and she sat there softly singing
Little nursery rhymes she'd memorised in her daddy's easy chair.
Her husband, he's off to work and the kids are off to school,
And there are, oh, so many ways for her to spend the day.
She could clean the house for hours or rearrange the flowers
Or run naked through the shady street screaming all the way.
At the age of thirty-seven she realised she'd never
Ride through Paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair
So she let the phone keep ringing as she sat there softly singing
Pretty nursery rhymes she'd memorised in her daddy's easy chair.
The evening sun touched gently on the eyes of Lucy Jordan
On the roof top where she climbed when all the laughter grew too loud
And she bowed and curtsied to the man who reached and offered her his hand,
And he led her down to the long white car that waited past the crowd.
At the age of thirty-seven she knew she'd found forever
As she rode along through Paris with the warm wind in her hair ..."
07 Working Class Hero (04:42)
As soon as you're born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career,
But you really can't function you're so full of fear.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you're so clever and classless and free,
But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
There's room at the top they are telling us still,
But first we must learn how to smile as we kill
If we want to live like the folks on the hill.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
A working class hero is something to be,
A working class hero is something to be.
Loading comments slowly
Other reviews
By luludia
"Suffering has forged it and now it is sharp as a sword, harsh as a sentence, and hoarse as a cough from Mary the coquettish."
"Danger is a great joy and darkness is bright as fire — only someone like Marianne could sing it."
