#69 Malajube

As for me, Malajube has always been an obscure band whom I didn’t quite understand, but still, they knew how to make me smile, which is enough, and they sing in French quite naturally, which is good enough.

To us, Malajube was a bunch of guys who just barged in Paris, one was wearing a wig, another one had a disco synthesizer and the third guy brought a pair of spoons he kept beating on his thigh. Casual guys but, we may confess, we didn’t quite know what to have them do. So we decided to go for a walk and they began to beat on everything. That was Montreal -40°C. We could have sat before some wasteland or in a Prefecture’s waiting room, still, the whole thing would have stayed just breezy and fresh.

We still felt like prats after they played Montreal, because we had no idea what to do next. Cross a boulevard, climb on cars, sing songs to old ladies, make a terrible mess in a café... and take the subway. Come on, we’ve never done that before and we had tickets.

Thank you, Parisian people. Thank you to be even more perfect than extras, thank you to hardly ever look at the camera, to do as if the guys we were filming didn’t even exist, just like the one who asks you for a meal voucher every morning. Thank you for acting like a still set, for resisting the desire to smile, for never trying to interact with this light little band who came to try and entertain you between two stations of your run. Thank you for remaining like a flow at the crossroads of République’s connections, thus emphasizing the humanity of this bunch of boys who tried and catch your eye and ear among the hurried surge of people.

In the end, the last video is just the metaphorical reflexion of the one before. Cars have replaced people. Just like them, they pass by and it is only for a short moment when they meet that they allow us to get a glimpse of a band, over there, playing...

Translation by Sskizo