Finistériens, the new album by Christophe Miossec directed by Yann Tiersen just arrived in stores.
In his time, Miossec made a false labored diction a style that never failed to charm ( you want to spit well, I'm not drunk ) which was, it must be admitted, largely plundered by his followers since informal, but his current writing implies difficulties of emancipation less attractive.
Miossec, to paraphrase a presidential game cliches canonized by the rulers of the skylight tragic, has no monopoly of melancholy in Brest was not Byzantium the debacle sentimental and alcohol even transformed by the suffering of the singer Nevertheless, an artificial paradise whose perpetual apology finally drunk. The pair = Miossec Britain is there a twinning unwavering?
This assertion of identity could convince in its first years of operation, she tired after more than ten years of good and intestines abuse. Miossec should pause to clear his bile and regain a little faith among the wrecks of the past and bruises. His concerns have become redundant, its stale petitions, it exposes the first quidam lost on his flight, watching the knowing wink or a pat on the back battered by a never-ending elbow slipping on the lake infinite zincs frozen. Yet, we still love, and his city, a thousand times, that he is not worried. We just hope that one day discover in his Miossec land of inspiration, his Garonne, the Low Countries to enable it to escape the ordinary course of things. His native country will not turn a deaf ear to his soft invective, then out of pity. Why we repeat mechanically difficult to forget past loves and joys, deceased, in the rolling existential compromises? His concept jalopy needs a good review, its drizzle is farther from the sputum. Miossec
... One for the road, and another for the rout, and this at length album where Christopher piles up again running out of ideas. During that time, the server gets tired, the boy would like to lower the curtain on a sad repetition nanard hermit who no longer seems to believe that we are wandering tale.
Mio is dry and we also always the same dreams counters, always the same strikes battered by rain, and even those workers whose Christophe knows yet properly evoke the disappointments do we take more than tears of pageantry.
when America withdraws from his beaches viscosities vaguely self-indulgent, there are algae that language was mistreated by a hasty writing has moved away from the reefs of an inspiration to arrival expiration. The verse is emptied and drunkenness has reason ignores the boy, whom he cares, he gets bored and we with him because the overtime hours of Coffee smicards are not paid to the pain of customers leached ( Only I lost in Montparnasse )
Nevertheless, The Joggers Sunday is a nice reflection on the frailty of our resolutions in spite of its urban-sounding title Delermiennes, Men Straw talking about the precariousness of the world professional is cleverly composed and lit if the prophecy of this gloomy refrain deserves some praise discrete CSD eyeing the same subject, lack of finish and stylistically bogged down in guitar chords made a hundred times on the songs from previous albums. But hey ...
Translate contemporary alienation is not the priority thematic songwriters chroniclers of our nation, I tip my hat still pierced to the glory of this sudden burst of lucidity and pungent'm listening to the last event truly a weapon worthy of the talent of Christophe Miossec, album 1964 where quarantine sea bass, perfectly negotiated, gave the beauty of its oncoming wrinkles. It was five years ago, will we wait so long to recover, boosted by the threat of a symbolic age, the author who once knew so well how to capsize our souls? The boat is in port, waiting quietly for clemency waves, hopefully it will not take water by then.
Didier Boudet
Finistériens (Pias) - album release September 14, 2009
Only what I lost - The Joggers Sunday - At Montparnasse - Straw Dogs - CSD - Our Best Years - Jesus PMU - Hated Me - Close home - Far from the crowd - a fortune Sea
Christophe Miossec ( official website )
In his time, Miossec made a false labored diction a style that never failed to charm ( you want to spit well, I'm not drunk ) which was, it must be admitted, largely plundered by his followers since informal, but his current writing implies difficulties of emancipation less attractive. Miossec, to paraphrase a presidential game cliches canonized by the rulers of the skylight tragic, has no monopoly of melancholy in Brest was not Byzantium the debacle sentimental and alcohol even transformed by the suffering of the singer Nevertheless, an artificial paradise whose perpetual apology finally drunk. The pair = Miossec Britain is there a twinning unwavering?
This assertion of identity could convince in its first years of operation, she tired after more than ten years of good and intestines abuse. Miossec should pause to clear his bile and regain a little faith among the wrecks of the past and bruises. His concerns have become redundant, its stale petitions, it exposes the first quidam lost on his flight, watching the knowing wink or a pat on the back battered by a never-ending elbow slipping on the lake infinite zincs frozen. Yet, we still love, and his city, a thousand times, that he is not worried. We just hope that one day discover in his Miossec land of inspiration, his Garonne, the Low Countries to enable it to escape the ordinary course of things. His native country will not turn a deaf ear to his soft invective, then out of pity. Why we repeat mechanically difficult to forget past loves and joys, deceased, in the rolling existential compromises? His concept jalopy needs a good review, its drizzle is farther from the sputum. Miossec
... One for the road, and another for the rout, and this at length album where Christopher piles up again running out of ideas. During that time, the server gets tired, the boy would like to lower the curtain on a sad repetition nanard hermit who no longer seems to believe that we are wandering tale.
Mio is dry and we also always the same dreams counters, always the same strikes battered by rain, and even those workers whose Christophe knows yet properly evoke the disappointments do we take more than tears of pageantry.
when America withdraws from his beaches viscosities vaguely self-indulgent, there are algae that language was mistreated by a hasty writing has moved away from the reefs of an inspiration to arrival expiration. The verse is emptied and drunkenness has reason ignores the boy, whom he cares, he gets bored and we with him because the overtime hours of Coffee smicards are not paid to the pain of customers leached ( Only I lost in Montparnasse )
Nevertheless, The Joggers Sunday is a nice reflection on the frailty of our resolutions in spite of its urban-sounding title Delermiennes, Men Straw talking about the precariousness of the world professional is cleverly composed and lit if the prophecy of this gloomy refrain deserves some praise discrete CSD eyeing the same subject, lack of finish and stylistically bogged down in guitar chords made a hundred times on the songs from previous albums. But hey ...
Translate contemporary alienation is not the priority thematic songwriters chroniclers of our nation, I tip my hat still pierced to the glory of this sudden burst of lucidity and pungent'm listening to the last event truly a weapon worthy of the talent of Christophe Miossec, album 1964 where quarantine sea bass, perfectly negotiated, gave the beauty of its oncoming wrinkles. It was five years ago, will we wait so long to recover, boosted by the threat of a symbolic age, the author who once knew so well how to capsize our souls? The boat is in port, waiting quietly for clemency waves, hopefully it will not take water by then.
Didier Boudet
Finistériens (Pias) - album release September 14, 2009
Only what I lost - The Joggers Sunday - At Montparnasse - Straw Dogs - CSD - Our Best Years - Jesus PMU - Hated Me - Close home - Far from the crowd - a fortune Sea
Christophe Miossec ( official website )
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