Okay, Camille is cuteness personified. Catherine Ringer does a passable Edith Piaf. Anais does the kind of sad reject me love song that always goes over big. But these singers shrink when compared to Ysa Ferrer. Unfortunately, I think that is why she is not among the elect. A woman who has a tendency to wear pom poms in her hair and loves nothing more than to serpentine around her background dancers might not seem like she has the, well, gravitas of an Alain Bashung. In fact, her whole act is a slap in the face of gravitas. Ysa doesn’t do the traditional love song, a la Anais, but a sort of manga variant. Admitting the corniness of Faire l’amour, when you plunge into an Ysa Ferrer love song, you don’t find a heart on a sleeve, but a cartoon vision of the cosmos. Ysa makes bi manga love, a variant of love that hasn’t yet caught on on this planet. It involves costume changes and ecstatic animation. To bi or not to bi shouldn't be taken in the sense of homo sapien sex - bi here is human or extraterrestrial.
I’m not quite sure why Ysa Ferrer is treated as such an outsider by the French music business –Even The Do is nominated, a French group that sings entirely in English – but it makes me sad. Luckily, Ysa Ferrer seems unpeterturbed. And has made another very silly video of herself in a blonde wig, fighting to the sounds of Sens interdit. Well, at least they love her in Russia.
MANY YEARS LATER as he faced the firing squad, Roger Gathman was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover
ice. Or rather, to discover the profit making potential of selling bags of ice to picnicking Atlantans, the most glorious of the old man's Get Rich schemes, the one that devoured the most energy, the one that seemed so rational for a time, the one that, like all the others - the farm, the housebuilding business, the plastic sign business, chimney cleaning, well drilling, candy machine renting - was drawn by an inexorable black hole that opened up between skill and lack of business sense, imagination and macro-economics, to blow a huge hole in the family savings account. But before discovering the ice machine at 12, Roger had discovered many other things - for instance, he had a distinct memory of learning how to tie his shoes. It was in the big colonial, a house in the Syracuse metro area that had been built to sell and that stubbornly wouldn't - hence, the family had moved into it. He remembered bending over the shoes, he remembered that clumsy feeling in his hands - clumsiness, for the first time, had a habitation, it was made up of this obscure machine, the shoe, and it presaged a lifetime of struggle with machine after machine.