“Love is a kind of warfare. Slackers, dismiss!

There are no cowards guarding this standard.

Night and winter, long roads and cruel sorrows,

and every kind of labour are found on love’s campaigns.

You’ll often endure rain pouring from heavenly clouds,

and frozen, lie there on the naked earth.

They say that Phoebus grazed Admetus’s cattle,

and found shelter in a humble hut.

Who can’t suit what suited Phoebus? Lose your pride,

you who’d have love’s sorrows tamed.

If you’re denied a safe and level road,

and the door barred with a bolt against you,

then drop down head-first through the open roof:

a high window too offers a secret way.

She’ll be glad, knowing the chase itself is risky for you:

that will be sure proof to the lady of your love.

You might often have been parted from your girl, Leander:

you swam across so she could know your heart.“

When thinking of a classic, Ovide’s “Ars amatoria” came to mind. It seems since Ovide, unfortunately, the art of loving, if there is such a thing, hasn’t much changed. So, some contemporary, and slightly cynical love songs about wait, nostalgy, separation and longing,. According to Ovide, it’s all part of the process.

Someone here kindly suggested to listen to Hunter Thompson’s own mixtape. I did that and here’s the result in a playlist, some good ole fashioned american music. Or at least some of the tracks on it as this now cult album is hard to find.

Warren Zevon said, “Jesus Marauding Christ! This is the hippest album in the world.” I say, let’s not exagerate!

Oh, here’s another book about being free and careless and irresponsible, as well as totally tasteless. I suppose nowadays you’d just say Trash.  As for me, I’ll keep treasuring that one moment:

- “When are you taking off?”, Bruce asked.
-”As soon as possible, I said. “No point hanging around this town any longer. I have all I need. Anything else would only confuse me.”
He seemed surprised. “You found the American Dream?”he said. “In this town”? I nodded. “We’re sitting on the main nerve right now”, I said.

Encore un livre qui parle d’être libre et irresponsable, inconscient, dans une Amérique en déliquescence. Et le rêve américain dans tout ca?

Click here to listen to the dedicated soundtrack

A graphic novel and a playlist about modern love. Ah, this modern love.

Un roman graphique et une playlist a propos de ce putain d’amour moderne.

A Japan feature for this Sunday, since my mind’s been around that country for  a while. And a great book by Murakami (the other one) , “Coin Locker babies”.  This is a book with no hope. This a book on how life is a bitch. And it goes well with J Pop and mostly, some J Rock and Visual Key. So, weird stuff for a change, including 70’s Psycho rock from Kyoto. Since one of the babies has a go as rock star.

Cela fait un moment que je pense au Japon. Du coup je vous propose “les bébés de la consigne automatique”, de Murakami (l’autre). Un bouquin absolument superbe et à se prendre en pleine face. Pour écouter avec de la J Pop, J rock, Visual Key et même du rock psychédélique de Kyoto. Vu que l’un des frérots de la consigne se frotte à une carrière de Rock star.

Et il parait qu’un film avec Asia Argento  et Val Kilmer est envoie d’être produit.

This book is best know due to the Sophia Coppola adaptation. It’s about desire, longing, and the absolute totalness about being a teenager. It’s very boyish, too I think.

It starts like this:

” On the morning the last Lisbon daughter took her turn at suicide-it was Mary this time, and sleeping pills, like Therese-the two paramedics arrived at the house knowing exactly where the knife drawer was, and the gas oven, and the beam in the basement from which it was possible to tie a rope. They got out of the EMS truck, as usual moving much too slowly in our opinion, and the fat one said under his breath, “This ain’t TV, folks, this is how fast we go.” He was carrying the heavy respirator and cardiac unit past the bushes that had grown monstrous and over the erupting lawn, tame and immaculate thirteen months earlier when the trouble began.
Cecilia, the youngest, only thirteen, had gone first, slitting her wrists like a Stoic while taking a bath, and when they found her, afloat in her pink pool, with the yellow eyes of someone possessed and her small body giving off the odor of a mature woman, the paramedics had been so frightened by her tranquillity that they had stood mesmerized. But then Mrs. Lisbon lunged in, screaming, and the reality of the room reasserted itself: blood on the bath mat; Mr. Lisbon’s razor sunk in the toilet bowl, marbling the water. The paramedics fetched Cecilia out of the warm water because it quickened the bleeding, and put a tourniquet on her arm. Her wet hair hung down her back and already her extremities were blue. She didn’t say a word, but when they parted her hands they found the laminated picture of the Virgin Mary she held against her budding chest.”

And here’s the suggested soundtrack.

“Is it possible to share your life with someone whose record collection is incompatible with your own? Can people have terrible taste and still be worth knowing? Do songs about broken hearts and misery and loneliness mess up your life if consumed in excess? For Rob Fleming, thirty-five years old, a pop addict and owner of a failing record shop, these are the sort of questions that need an answer, and soon. His girlfriend has just left him. Can he really go on living in a poky flat surrounded by vinyl and CDs or should he get a real home, a real family and a real job? Perhaps most difficult of all, will he ever be able to stop thinking about life in terms of the All Time Top Five bands, books, films, songs – even now that he’s been dumped again, the top five break-ups?“

This is, basically, High Fidelity. As books and soundtracks go, this one seemed unavoidable.

Here are, therefore “favorite records, single” and a couple of “floor fillers at the Groucho”

And, since this book was adapted on screen, here are some extracts from the High Fidelity soundtrack, which even has Stereolab in it, and Elvis Costello too.

In this Paul Auster’s serie, the question is the story itself, and whether or not it means something is not for the story to tell. Deconstructed narrative and recurring patterns are not without reminding jazz, and some 20th century music, which therefore dominates in the dedicated soundtrack.

Emily Haines has been around for some time now, from the Broken Social Scene to Metric. She’s back, with this new track called “reading in bed”. The remix on her Myspace seems particularly adapted to the activity. A great way to celebrate this blog’s birth.

Ca fait un bout de temps qu’Emily Haines traine dans le quartier de mes affinités musicales, de Broken Social Scene à Metric. Là, elle revient avec un beau morceau intitulé: “Reading in bed”, qui s’écoute ici. Le remix sur son Myspace me parait aussi particulièrement adapté à l’activité. Une belle façon de fêter la naissance de ce blog.

This blog is about books. And its about music. How they help one escape, grow, laugh, feel and think. And how they go together. As I sit back and open a book, I often wonder: what will I listen ,while reading? This is my answer. I’m looking forward to yours.

Ce blog parle de livres. Et il parle de musique. Pour oublier, grandir, rire, sentir et penser. Du mariage entre les sons et les mots. Souvent, je m’installe pour lire, et je me demande ce que je vais écouter . Ceci est ma réponse. J’attends la vôtre.

Lucie. DJ de bibliothèque.