Antoine Corriveau’s lyrics have never been this cryptic, but they’ve probably also never been this clear – and as devoid of metaphors as “Deux femmes,” the cornerstone song of Feu de forêt, his new EP.
Take a moment to imagine Corriveau’s compelling, musky voice pronouncing these simple, yet exceptionally intense, words, as if the song was unfolding before its creator, as he was finally seeing the blinding, naked truth.
Tranquillement je reviens (slowly I make my way home)
Il est cinq heures du matin (It’s five in the morning)
Il vente à l’arrière du taxi (It’s windy in the back of the taxi)
Entre deux femmes je suis ici (Between two women I’m here)
Tranquillement je reviens (slowly I make my way home)
Celle de droite me prend par la main (The one on the right takes my hand)
On pleure à l’arrière du taxi (We’re crying in the back of the taxi)
Entre deux vies je suis ici (Between two lives I’m here)
Quand elle est partie (When she left)
C’est là que j’ai compris (That’s when I understood)
Tu ne seras pas l’amour de ma vie (You’re not the love of my life)
“I felt I was saying things very, very, very, maybe too clearly, and I ask myself how I was dealing with that for a long time,” says Corriveau. He’s discussing this set of lyrics that burns all masks, a confession song that he’s been playing onstage for awhile now, and even left off his previous album, Cette chose qui cognait au creux de sa poitrine sans vouloir s’arrêter.
“The answer I found was that I absolutely need to have the guts to go there, because otherwise, it’s all pointless,” says Corriveau. “Recording that song helped me understand that as soon as I’m a little scared when I start writing a sentence, it means I have to sing it. I’m a big Dylan fan, and I often think of one of his [Music Cares] acceptance speech where he said that throughout his life, people criticized his voice and told him he sings like a frog. Dylan’s reply was something like, ‘The next time you want to evaluate a voice, don’t ask yourself whether it’s beautiful; ask yourself if it’s telling you the truth.’”
Not a Fan of EPs
“Quite frankly, I’m not a fan of the EP format,” say Corriveau with a laugh, well aware that it might not be the best sentence to utter while promoting your latest EP. The recording is a collection of songs he wrote to flesh out the narrative arc of the concert he presented at Montréal’s Usine C in December of 2017. Feu de forêt is both the end of a creative cycle, and the beginning of his association with Montréal’s Secret City Records imprint, also home to Patrick Watson, The Barr Brothers and Suuns, to name just a few.
The deal makes sense, because the music usually released by the label is spiritually linked to that of Corriveau, who’ll become the first Francophone on its roster. Hopefully, their European office could allow him to fly overseas more often.
So, not a fan of EPs? Corriveau is still a believer in the mesmerizing power of the full album, experienced from beginning to end, a notion antithetical to the culture of the almighty playlist. During a recent visit to a high school where he sometimes hosts workshops, a young girl admitted to him that she doesn’t know the name of any of the artists she listens to all day long. Why? Because songs are streamed in complete anonymity, unless one checks their phone screen.
“It’s a complex issue, but I find it makes music less sacred, and strips it of much of its value,” says Corriveau. “Sure, we consume more music, but how? I was happy to get three free months of Apple Music, because it meant I could listen to my vinyl albums when I was at my girlfriend’s, but I ended up hating how it changed my relationship with music. This smorgasbord of choices means I waste 45 minutes wondering what I feel like listening to. And it also hinders the intimacy that develops between you and an album that you listen to over and over.”
You’ll probably have guessed by now that the “ambisonic” concert he’s presenting on Nov. 9, 2018, at Club Soda, during Coup de cœur francophone – an event that will deploy speakers located in front, behind, and within the audience – is yet another of his schemes to increase the enchantment of our relationship with music that’s not disposable.
Thanks to Gilles Vigneault
Music, in all its sovereignty, will always triumph, no matter what slights its emissaries have to endure. (Or at least that what we repeat to ourselves as a form of reassurance.) “Mon coeur paré passera partout” Antoine Corriveau proclaims, that being the title of a song that came out of a week-long workshop at Gilles Vigneault’s place in Saint-Placide.
“We had to finish one song by the end of the week, and the reason Fanny [Bloom] sings it with me on the EP is because she’s the first one I presented it to,” says Corriveau. “I wasn’t quite sure what I was saying in that song, but the night I sang it to Fanny, we both realized that it was inspired by that 90-year-old man [Vigneault], and his desire to contribute and bequeath a legacy of French-language poetry in The Americas.”