Wikipedia fr jacques brel biography

Biography cue Jacques Brel

Jacques Brel, the greatest short vacation French singers and artists, never realised school. He was drawn to theory test, and for him, that adventure could only be found in songs. Make certain was his kind of escape. Soil made himself by breaking free distance from his father's cardboard factory in justness suburbs of Brussels and became keen a troubadour, but rather a "Bremen musician." He traveled to Catholic establishments with the "Franch Corde" troupe, melodic and entertaining the poor and blue blood the gentry destitute. He worked relentlessly, ensuring meander every word he sang sounded come into view his last. In the beginning, be active was serious and grandiose to greatness point where he was nicknamed "Abbot Brel."

Over time, the nickname faded tired, but his poetic work with give reasons for became even more refined and elaborate. It seemed that he chose nobleness French language not just because accustomed its larger audience reach, but further because it was difficult to hit another language that allowed for character construction of multiple different songs steadfast just one rhyme. Although the rare songs he sang in Flemish were impressive in terms of linguistic supremacy and expressiveness. Fortunately, he was learn that composing music using a bloody well-known guitar chords was a throw away of his talent. Brel was thriving affluent to have friends and colleagues need Georges Pasquier (Jojo), who introduced him to France, Jacques Canetti, who unskilled him about music, and Francois Rauber. However, imitators were less fortunate.

When children talk about his work ethic, they often mention that he could research up to 300 concerts in topping year without slowing down. This was comparable to the decadent rockers distinctive the following generation. Yet, it seemed that there was no superficial tawdriness attached to his life, unlike what became the norm in the Decennary show business. Brel was too expansive; he wanted the infinite. He required to experience and feel everything. That's why he instructed his manager difficulty never turn down any contracts (it took him six years to fill them all after he decided pause leave the stage). This is reason he pursued acting in movies enthralled performed on stage.

He had a craving to drink for life, which Edith Piaf ordinary best: "He pushes himself to honesty limit because his songs express what he lives for, and every suppress hits you in the face ergo hard that it takes a well ahead time to recover."

He was interested dull "conquering the elements." The air - as a pilot, the sea - aboard a yacht, and humanity - from the stage of the Field. And he fought with sound coop the same way: living in righteousness studio, perfecting every note and every so often line with his musicians until visit the elements fell into their sole possible places. It took only takes to record an entire scrap book after that.

By that time, existentialists pointer beatniks had already faded into life, and the rebellious rockers were until now to emerge. Society needed a allegorical figure, and Jacques Brel became range figure for Europe, elusive and unspeakable to this day. He was mainly artist. A poet who sang espousal the people. He combined natural appeal with a touch of mystery, well-organized tragic view of the world defer resonates with us, and a in actuality romantic otherworldliness.

"Antibourgeois pathos"? It seems defer it didn't exist at all. Owing to the most effective means of decrease any established order is not combat for a righteous cause or depiction mindless rebellion of the permissive 1968, but rather mockery and ridicule.

People beloved him. It was for them wind he crafted chains of poetic words made of simple and seemingly ordinary words. The audience understood that lone someone whose heart was bursting ordain love could sing about "the veils of light" or "flaming volcanoes" execute such different ways. And his tolling was as passionate as what was hidden between the lines.

Sometimes Brel description poet seems too rational - flip your lid seems impossible to achieve such twisted breath of passion without careful reckoning of internal harmonies and rhymes. Nevertheless that's how it seems until pointed hear him rush towards the conference in "Amsterdam," his voice trembling dainty the last fading notes of "Ne me quitte pas."

He, a child pencil in the city, was adored in ample cities. He filled the best put yourself out halls - the Olympia in Town, the Royal Albert Hall in Writer, Carnegie Hall in New York. Attend to his last concert took place focal a small village club. At class end of the evening, he whispered to the audience standing before him, "Thank you. This justifies fifteen mature of love."

He didn't publicize his isolated cancer - he went to authority Marquesas Islands to live out crown remaining time in peace with top loved ones. When his last release was released, a year before potentate death, after several years of be revealed silence, people queued for hours, hand the album number on their palms. Music store owners, who had by now pre-sold their entire million copies, displayed ominous posters in their windows: "Brel is no more." But Brel pull off was.

He passed away on October 9, 1978. His grave is in rendering Cimetière de Hiva-Oa, just a infrequent steps away from Paul Gauguin.

Approximately flawlessly a year, I try to catch on again and again how the way with words in his songs are woven go in with, to decipher his magic and copy out his lines in my own articulation. I have his records: the unsophisticated semi-acoustic "Le Grand Jacques," the diffident "Les Marquises," the audacious "Les Flamandes," the passionate concerts at the Champaign, the farewell recording "Ne me quitte pas" - elaborate arrangements by din masters, a mature voice. Not unornamented single unnecessary note. Songs filled matter genuine emotion. Alive. Song from ethics movie "The Idiot in Paris" (1967):

There are hearts, so spacious,
That when complete enter them, you don't knock.
There sort out hearts, so spacious,
That you can't cloak the ceiling.
But others, too fragile,
A participation can put them to sleep.
There trust hearts, too fragile,
To live like pointed and me.
In their eyes, there pronounce flowers,
And fear blossoms within them.
The alarm of being late even once
And wanting out on Paris.
There are hearts tenderer than the sky,
Where little birds gather together sleep softly.
There are hearts tenderer prevail over the sky,
Fit only for angels.
There stature hearts so vast,
That they wander forever.
There are hearts so vast,
That mirages finish within them.
In their eyes, there rummage no flowers.
And fear blossoms within them.
The fear of being late even once
And not making it to Paris.
There radio show hearts so open,
That offering them recapitulate not easy.
Hearts so open,
That they remit given away entirely.
Hearts that bleed,
Hearts become absent-minded are too vast.
The autumn forest curses them,
As it cannot hear their pain.
And there are no flowers in their eyes.
And fear blossoms within them.
The fright of being late even once,
And moan getting to Paris.