Ballade à l'acoustique pour un refrain murmuré..

Chaque chanson est plus belle que la précédente… Bravo!

Ta voix , tes textes et tes douces mélodies font de toi et je pèse vraiment mes mots un Monsieur de la chanson française poétique . Respect 💙🤍💖

Texte sensible joliment interprété 👌

Beautiful guitar and wonderful voice. So great song!!

It Might Be Affection

Trapped

The original version of this song called C Jam was closer to track #6 - Walking In New Orleans (Revisited) -  but Steve put such a cool guitar part on this one and gave it a character of it's own, that I changed the name of the song as it reminded me of a trip to New Orleans and how cool it was to just walk down the streets hearing the music from the bars and clubs we passed by.

Steve Giddings - Lead Guitar, Lap Steel Guitar
Zamm Kenoby - Drums
Rafael Freitas - Bass Guitar
Steve Hillier - Piano

Mixed and Mastered by Zamm Kenoby

Music by Stephen Lawrence Hillier

Cover Art By Leraynne S.


Walking In New Orleans

Wake Me When It's Over

Translation above
Texte et chant : Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel
Musique : Myckaël Marcovic
Illustration : Annie Madec

Spotify : https://open.spotify.com/intl-fr/album/02PDO44GYjPQo0V8dFOeKk?si=j_qSmI1AROKGo4xk9aMtlQ

La poésie se boit

D’un Nice révolu
Au monde tropical
D’une escale en bateau
Près d’une radio libre
Revenue d’un bouquin
Immaculée contraception
En passant par les tarés
Qui nous parlent tant

De leur dernier voyage
Pour nous jeter enfin
Leurs pseudo métaphores
En criant des sornettes
Du haut des goélettes

Et faut pas les croire, Monsieur,
Que demain, à midi
S’il reste une heure à vivre
Je me battrai pour l’homme
Jusqu’au bout de mes forces.
S’il reste une heure à vivre
Je me battrai pour l’homme
Jusqu’au bout de mes forces.

Mais ma voix s’est coincée
Dans un nuage bleu
Sur mon pays, ma terre,
Pas très loin de la baie
Qui m’arrache à la nuit.

Quand tu dors mon ami,
Prends le temps de rêver
Pour quand tu seras vieux,
Et mesure ta mesure
Sans trop crier, l’ami, (bis)
Sans trop crier…

Post-mortem, pour moi,
La mort est à Venise
Dans mes bras tu verras
La poésie se voie
La poésie se noie
La poésie se boit

Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel, 2025
Musique de Myckaël Marcovic, 4 mars 2025

Poetry can be drunk

From a bygone Nice
To the tropical world
From a stopover on a boat
Near a free radio station
Back from a book
Immaculate contraception
By way of the crazies
Who talk to us so much

About their last voyage
To finally throw us
Their pseudo-metaphors
Shouting nonsense
From the top of the schooners

And don't believe them, Sir,
That tomorrow, at noon
If there's an hour left to live
I'll fight for man
To the end of my strength.
If there's an hour to live
I'll fight for the man
To the end of my strength.

But my voice is stuck
In a blue cloud
Over my country, my land,
Not far from the bay
That snatches me from the night.

When you sleep my friend,
Take the time to dream
For when you are old,
And measure your measure
Without shouting too much, my friend, (bis)
Without shouting too much...

Post-mortem, for me,
Death is in Venice
In my arms you will see
Poetry can be seen
Poetry can be drunk
Poetry is drowning

Lyrics by Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel 
 Music by Myckaël Marcovic, 4 March 2025

La poésie se boit (Jean-Paul Gaido-Daniel / Myckaël Marcovic)

if Green was not a Color

Apple Music

This is the next track in our album, Tribe, which we hope goes some way to express the sacred, shamanic roots of Celtic music as performed at the original ceiladhs, with bardic verse and Gaelic singing. The poem is called the Cauldron of Poesy and is said to have been recited by the Druid Amergin White Knee.

Celts

Trois mots griffonnés à la hâte.. Que deviens tu..
Souillac, les rives de la Dordogne qui ont vu grandir et finir ma jeunesse..
Paroles:
Quelqu'un a glissé, sous ma porte,
Des mots griffonnés, à la hâte,
Juste trois mots jetés au gré de quelque sorte.

Que deviens tu,
Toi qui jadis fit la route en solitaire.
Que deviens tu,
Toi qui naguère, sut mettre mon coeur à l'envers,
Que deviens tu.

Le temps étend, plus qu'il ne faut,
Son long manteau, sur ma jeunesse,
Et la rivière, charrie ton prénom dans ses flots.

Mmm..

Que deviens tu,
Toi qui jadis fit la route en solitaire.
Que deviens tu,
Toi qui naguère, sut mettre mon coeur à l'envers,
Que deviens tu.
Que deviens tu.

Le temps a glissé sous mes doigts,
Les mêmes notes qu'autrefois.

Christian PERUTI
auteur, compositeur, interprète

Three words hastily scribbled.. What have you become..
 Souillac, the banks of the Dordogne where my youth grew up and ended..

 Lyrics: 
Someone slipped, under my door,
 Scrawled words, hastily,
 Just three words thrown at the whim of some sort.

What becomes of you,
 You who once traveled the road alone.
 What becomes of you,
 You who knew how to turn my heart upside down not so long ago, 
What becomes of you.

Time stretches, more than it should,
 its long cloak over my youth,
and the river carries your name in its currents.

Mmm..

What becomes of you,
 You who once traveled the road alone.
 What becomes of you,
 You who knew how to turn my heart upside down not so long ago, 
What becomes of you.

Time has slipped through my fingers, 
the same notes as before.

Christian PERUTI
author, composer, performer

"Au fil du temps"

Que deviens tu

Introduction and Lyrics in English:

The ghost forest really does exist on the German Baltic coast. Over the centuries, the beech, oak and ash trees have taken on bizarre shapes due to the Baltic wind and the many storms. To me, they look like bent, crooked figures that seem to be on the run from the recurring storms. 
As almost all the trees have only one crown and are completely bare underneath, they also give me the impression that they have shut themselves off from the fury of the storms and withdrawn into themselves.
In my imagination, the storms stand for the inner ghosts or demons that more or less haunt everyone rarely, sometimes often or always at night.  
For me, the trees in turn symbolize the sometimes panic-like fears and the need to flee when the inner ghosts appear.   
At the same time, in my mind the trees also stand for the great achievement of some people who nevertheless live and continue to live under the impression of permanent demonic inner storms: Admittedly somehow crooked, slanted and crooked; but nevertheless in a marvelous way peculiar, unmistakable and original.
This is the background against which the song ""Ghostly Forest"" was created.

Ghostly forest

Every night you are there
Like a fool tormenting me with relish
Like a sneering clown
You force me to look into my abyss

Mmh

Fall deep, almost unbearable these soul wounds
Give me this one shot that pulls me out of the tunnel of pain
aah

You tell me dark things
Accuse me, expose me, make me small
You put me before the last judgement
Spit brazenly in my scarred face

You give me the feeling
That all I want is to die, to be dead
Oooh
Seemingly salvation, consolation

No! Get up!
Get to your feet!
At the bottom
You're still healthy,

I was 
In the ghostly forest
I lost my way there,
I still find the gap
Which leads me to my Yes! to life
Leads me to life!

You never leave me in peace
Give me new blisters every night

When I think I've banished you now,
You come prancing in from the left

Not one tired night 
I woke up without your fearful bite
Behind windows, doors, cupboards you sit 
Always ready for the nightmare leap

This morning
my deepest soul centre would have almost
faded before you

You were on the verge of destroying my core
Dishonouring my dignity beyond repair

A deflated moment
Who knows only silence, rigor mortis
Oooh
Already thought I'd never return

No! Get up!
Get to your feet!
At the bottom
You're still healthy,

I was 
In the ghostly forest
I lost my way there,
I still find the gap
Which leads me to my Yes! to life
Leads me to life!

Gespensterwald (Ghostly Forest)

This song came from a place of emotional conflict, where love and ambition kind of collide. I was in this space where everything around me felt blurry... all these people, all this noise, all this movement, but then there's that one person who still has this quiet hold on you. And yet, even in that connection, we keep spinning in circles, never really landing anywhere.

I wanted to capture what it feels like to choose your passion, your stage, your voice, your art, over a relationship that’s lost its clarity. That line, ‘I’d rather work a microphone than work on us,’ is really personal. Because when I’m on that stage, or in the studio, I feel seen. I feel loved in a way I don’t always get in real life. There’s a kind of euphoria in being heard by strangers that sometimes feels more real than intimacy with someone who’s grown distant.

The second verse dives deeper, waking up to noise, to expectations, to people calling your name, but the one name you want to hold onto is already slipping. And you’re left asking yourself: why are we still running if we’ve both already let go?

It's bittersweet, it’s raw, and it’s real. This isn’t a breakup song in the traditional sense, it’s more like... a confession. Of choosing yourself, even if it hurts.

Tasha- Microphone [ Demo]

TB Respect- let it be (rockstar mix) TB

Auteur, compositeur, interprète, je suis à la recherche d'un label ou d'un producteur, ainsi que d'un manager pour faire de la scène.
Author, composer, performer,  I am  looking for a  label, and a manager.

Que deviens tu

Christian PERUTI

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