POUR 500 BALLES AMÈNE-MOI SHREK

I’ve been listening to many French rap music this week. I read an interview of a French rapper, he was saying that “before”, there was a difference between the rap parisien and elsewhere, and the rap marseillais. You could listen to Busta Flex, X Men, Les Petits boss, it was joyful, even if they were dealing with serious matters. Whereas bands like IAM, 3e Oeil, or even la FF, were using many violins, piano sounds, and melodies expressing pain. I like both. Some people are against “conscious rap”. I love it. I don’t care about the message, over and over heard. I just listen to the violins, the piano, the angry voices and styles of the rappers, and I like what is expressed. I am also fond of Booba, “La richesse est dans nos coeurs / Mon cul moi j’ veux de l’oseille”. That’s contradictory, but I don’t really care. No coherence. But whatever, coherence leads to snobbism, and elitism. I like Booba in Mauvais Oeil, I like Booba in Ouest Side. I like Le Klub des loosers. That’s a revolution; I have a problem with rap music, a positive problem.

That’s listening to Groupe sanguin that I rode my bike in Skomagergade (Roskilde Main Street) during the afternoon. The way was blocked by strollers and teenagers wearing skinny jeans. I saw a poster with Maddie’s face on it. You know, the British little girl who got kidnaped or killed this summer. Here in Denmark, Maddie’s face is everywhere. I, just, wondered why. And then I thought about Danish cinema. Danes go the movies, they’re human. The particularity is that Danish cinema is very dark and pessimistic. I’ve also wondered why. But I have a kind of answer today, and it is the same both for infatuation for Maddie’s case and Danish cinema. Here everybody is happy, I already wrote it. For the Danes, Maddie’s case is like cinema, it is no real, it’s fiction. People are enthusiastic about Maddie, and love their cinema. During the film, characters lose their job, get divorced, and die sometimes. But at the end of the film, the light in the cinema room is switched on, and Danes can go back to their real life; they still have a job, a wife, and they still are alive. They read the newspapers, articles about the little girl kidnaped or killed, and then they put the newspapers on the table of the living room, and look a their children in a satisfied and reassured way. It’s like “thank God, tutto va bene”:

http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=isCaxqBlv48

In precisely two weeks, I’ll be back in Paris.

ÅRSFEST @RUC

On l'a fait tout seul
Du sous-sol au toit sans boussole
De la caresse au doigt dans l' boul
Ca vient de Boulogne

Årsfest. The RUC annual party. Before coming here, I didn’t know about this event. Now that I lived it, I’ll never forget this night. One of the best parties of my life, ever. I would be too long, much too long, to describe all the night, to write the praise this event deserves.

Just a few memories, a few pictures in my mind. It was for me the first time I got drunk in my class room. Also the first time I had such a good diner with the student of my course. Tortillas, Lasagnes, chocolates, French bread, many salads, many quiches, well, great. For the alcohol, cherry wine brought by José, beers, many, many beers, white wine, gin, martini. Enough to be drunk at 9 pm. It was the first time I run drunk in the hall of my study building making a race with friends. I also vaguely remember this moment when we’ve been dancing on tables in an empty amphitheatre, graffiting on the board stupid draws and words. And so many colours. Neons, lights, pink, green, purple, yellow everywhere. There was this fake rodeo machine, we were screaming each time somebody was falling from the fake buffalo. Five, six concerts all over the campus. And there was noise, music everywhere, in each street, in each ear, in each eye, in each bush, in each vein. People wearing costumes, a country music band playing under tents, hot dogs in every hand, Tuborg for 5dkk in every house, the canteen transformed into a dance floor, with spotlights, smokes on the ground…

Sometimes it’s better not to write too much. So just have a look at the photographs, and try not to cry realizing that Årsfest now belongs to the past, or worse, realizing that you’ve missed this colossal party, the party of the year.