My wife is using an app to learn French.
It’s a noble pursuit – it will help in her job, it’s one of our country’s official languages, it’s a language she half-learned as a child – but it does make for some surreal moments at our house.
Often, the app gives her a random phrase in French, and she has to speak the English translation into her phone. She wears headphones of course, so usually I’m not aware that she’s practicing. So, late at night after the kids have gone to bed, I’ll be sitting there doing work or perhaps writing this very blog, when suddenly my train of thought will be derailed by my wife suddenly saying something like:
“The hotel down the street has closed.”
Dutiful and attentive husband that I am, I will take out my own headphones and turn to look at her. The lighting is low, so I can’t tell if she’s looking at me. Did she say something about a hotel down the street? Is there even a hotel down the street?
I offer a meek, “What was that?”
“My aunt has two cats.”
Is she looking for me to confirm this, or is this news? I make a non-committal “huh” noise. A few moments’ silence, and then:
“They have re-scheduled the meeting.”
The meeting? Did I forget something? Did the cats re-schedule the meeting?
Eventually, she will realize I’m looking at her, I’ll realize what’s going on, and we’ll share a quick smile before both getting back to work. It’s the kind of inconsequential-but-somehow-important interaction that happens when you’ve been with someone for a while, and one of the best things, in my opinion, about being married.
Malajube was one of the first bands my wife and I discovered together, at a weekend-long music festival in 2006. As we arrived on the Friday night, Malajube was in the middle of their set, and we were smitten by their indie-ness. Or maybe it was their Montreal-ness. Or maybe we were just smitten by each other, and our shared enthusiasm made everything more vibrant.
Later that night, in a tent, we tried to remember the melody of a song Malajube had played; a mournful four-chord loop that had caught our ears. Much to our delight (and, probably, much to the annoyance of anyone within earshot of our tent) we managed to remember the harmonies together. We couldn’t remember the lyrics – something about cats re-scheduling a meeting I think – but the song, “Etienne d’août,” became a favourite.
This version, though officially a “remix,” isn’t a remix in the usual sense. It’s really just the original song, minus the drums and electric guitars. Though it lacks the driving power of the original, the melody that captured my ears in 2006 comes through even more clearly.
What makes this a beautiful song:
1. Being familiar only with the original, I was surprised to hear how busy the cello and violin are. I especially like the way they swell as the song approaches the 3-minute mark.
2. Malajube really liked adding a lo-fi sound to their vocals. The limited frequency range on the vocals, added to the affected delivery, makes it sound like they’re not so much singing to you as whispering a secret.
3. I was joking before, but as it turns out the lyrics kind of are about a re-scheduled meeting, with the singer waiting patiently for a loved one’s return: “Et quand tu reviendras / Je serai près de toi.” Or, for those of you without a French app, “And when you return / I will be close to you.”
Recommended listening activity:
Watching someone you love do an everyday thing.