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Versione 1
Rating: 1)
"Listen, listen..."
"......"
"I tell you, listen..."
"......"
"Mick Jagger is dead..."
"What?"
"Yes, Mick Jagger, the fabulous prince consort from whom you ran away..."
"...."
"Oh Marianne, look... doesn't it seem to you that the walls are now trees and the floor a meadow?"
"Oh yes... but what does this dream mean? That I want to kill Mick?"
"Oh no, what it means is that you are building your new house."
"......"
2)
In the mid-seventies, Marianne Faithfull lingered on a wall in Soho like any other junkie.
She stayed there, perpetually fleeing from a golden past, completely out of her mind and all in all happy to be nothing...
Oh, the nothing/pain alternation was much better compared to when everyone pointed at her whispering: "look, that's the bride, oh yes, that's her."
In short, from swinging London's princess to the princess of the outcasts,
3)
"A new house and a new voice"
"A new voice?"
"Yes, 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."
"....."
"So enough with this wall, now let yourself be taken by the hand"
"....."
"Yes, let yourself be taken by the hand by those scruffy punk knights and then maybe..."
"Maybe?"
"Maybe some shrewd musician will help you find the most suitable dress for your blues soul"
"....."
4)
Sometimes it takes time to find your true home. And it takes time to make your voice truly resemble you. And, as a famous song says, you need to go station to station, that is, from station to station.
And in that slow and absurd passing like an agony, sometimes it happens to operate slowly like an alchemical transmutation.... and so shit becomes gold, and the voice becomes song.
Technically speaking, in Marianne's case, this talk of shit and gold simply means one less octave and a lot more expressiveness. Which is what happens when you transform from a whispering angel to a blues girl with a voice as wrinkled as an old man's face.
Exactly the type of voice needed to stage the fabulous hybrid between soul cabaret Morrison/Doors style and a sort of Central European version of blues (Dietrich blues).
And here we are talking not so much about music, but about attitude, about soul...
.
5)
Here, ladies and gentlemen. This is, more or less, the story of "Broken English," one of the most beautiful albums of the late seventies. And a unique piece on top of that, such that there isn’t another album like this one...
Consider it a kind of pop wave with a very warm heart... or, if you prefer, everything that revolves around the concept of a ballad or even a modern classical lied...
With a whole series of "almosts" intersecting and interlocking (the almost spectral, the almost sweet, the almost blues, the almost reggae, the almost pop, the almost wave)... And that precisely by intersecting and interlocking, they compose that unique sound we were talking about.
And here I stop, because, as often happens with the albums you love the most, words fail...
Let's just say that the songs are all magnificent and that a phrase like "Danger is a great joy and darkness is bright as fire" only someone like Marianne could sing it.
6)
But at least about "Working class hero" you will tell us something? All right, it is cold and hypnotic (with guitar riffs like whiplashes) and represents as best as possible the social conditioning Lennon talked about...And “Why d’ya do it”? Oh fabulous, fabulous!!! Reggae rhythm, hard guitar, Marianne screaming and crude like never before…And “The ballad of Lucy Jordan”? Oh it's a magical synth folk hybrid… and talks about a housewife...
There was a nice little film in the eighties, "Montenegro tango," that too talked about a housewife and had a beautiful ending, one of those that give satisfaction... Imagine a happy family with the little wife bringing Sunday roast to the table... oh that’s the ending.
Only then a caption appears saying something like "beware, there’s poison in the roast"... Well, the ballad of Lucy Jordan, which was the soundtrack for that film, has a different ending.
Very, very different.
7)
And anyway, at sixteen, I didn’t know Marianne was the lady of the Stones, I didn’t know about the attempted suicide, I didn’t know about the dream I told you about.
I didn’t even know Lennon’s “Working class hero”...
And I didn’t need any romantic myth to like an album (I need myths less today, perhaps because I know that life is shit)...
But at sixteen, I fell in love with this album... and I still love it today...
Au revoir...
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.
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Other reviews
By R13558860
The new voice of Marianne Faithfull is one of experience, of innocence fleeing chased by cocaine stripes and cigarette butts.
Broken English is one of the many unrecognized and buried milestones waiting for the listener-archaeologist to come and dust it off.
