UN JEUDI À 14H

Description

A few years ago, I sang one of my songs at the building's party, at the back of the 3rd courtyard. I was scared stiff. A beer can can hurt. When I finished, a lanky man with a red beard came up to me. He told me it was a shame to sing alone. I knew he was a drummer, so I thought, "Great, he's offering his services, that's cool! I'm going to play with a pro... and bam." "Oh! No, no, no," he said, "It's not about playing drums at all. But I'm learning double bass, and I'd really like to practice with someone." I thought, a little annoyed, "This guy is looking for a beginner, and he comes to me?" But since he wasn't entirely wrong, I immediately replied, "Okay, my place, Thursday at 2 PM." On Wednesday evening, there was an aperitif in one of the building's apartments. We sang until 3 AM, which isn't necessarily the best time to recruit a singer. The next day at 2 PM, Maylis Collet knocked on the door with a baby in her arms, three coffees, and the synthesizer she got for her 11th birthday. I handed her the lyrics to "La tronçonneuse," which Loup, 9 months old, immediately tore up and nibbled on. "Okay, now we need a drummer." When you're looking for a drummer in the neighborhood, you don't really have a choice; it's always Alan Blum. This guy is a real kingpin; you don't mess with the bass drum in his territory without his approval. You'll quickly find yourself with one of his drumsticks stuck in your gut. So, one Thursday at 2 PM, I was summoned. He was sitting in his armchair, a cigar in his hand. He put his hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, in a deep, hoarse voice, "Alright." And just like that, Vincent et les Trividic was born. A music band, with friends, built around my songs.