Hello readers,
I felt like doing something different for you in my column this month.
I have recorded many albums in my career, in French and in English. I think many of them are more beautifully written in French, and are more accurate about my personal story than anything that I could have written myself at that time. I’m fairly certain that most of you who read The Gleaner are bilingual, and there are so many incredible lyrics that were written for me that I really want to share with you.
I will write a little backstory that inspired these lyrics. If you have been reading my columns, you will have a little history of my life. You will know that I was born In New York, left as a baby, but lived there briefly later in my teens.
Les Sirenes de New York was written by Luc Plamondon for my album, Chaude. I composed most of the music on that album and co-wrote songs with Steve Segal and with my brother, Billy. The album was produced and orchestrated by Steve, one of the most talented and extraordinary guitarists that I had the privilege to work with in my entire career.
All the lyrics on that album were written by Luc Plamondon, author of Starmania, La Legende de Jimmy, and Notre Dame de Paris. He co-wrote two of these three famous musicals with Michel Berger. Performing in the musicals on stage in Paris and here in Quebec was an important experience for me and for my career in music.
Luc and I became good friends, and he wrote many lyrics for me. Here is one of the first songs from the album Chaude.
LES SIRÈNES DE NEW YORK
Dans le sein de ma mère, les sirènes de New York
Me berçait déjà
Dans les villes du hasard, où j’me traine comme une loque
Elles courent après moi
Comme le chant démoniaque d’une guitare électrique
Qui hurle à la mort
Les sirènes de New York, pour moi c’est d’la musique
Qui me colle au corps
Dans les rues de New York, on voit courir les rats
Sous les limousines
Y’a des gens qui tueraient, qui feraient n’importe quoi
Pour un gramme d’héroïne
Les sirènes de police, les sirènes d’ambulance
Tournent autour de moi
Comme un merry-go-round du temps de mon enfance
Qui ne reviendra pas
Dans le cirque de ma tête
J’entends les fanfares de la fête
Du moment que j’entends les sirènes de New York
Du moment que j’entends les sirènes de New York
Dans le sein de New York, où on meurt anonyme
Au milieu d’la foule
À l›approche des sirènes, assassins et victimes
Ont la chair de poule
Mais je ne connais pas de musique plus belle
Que leur cri strident
Qui se mêle dans la nuit à l’odeur des poubelles
À l›odeur du sang
Couchée au milieu des vidanges
J’entends les trompettes des anges
Du moment que j’entends les sirènes de New York
Du moment que j’entends les sirènes de New York