Multitude

La presentación de Santé (uno de los singles de este álbum de Stromae (alias del belga Paul Van Haver) en el programa de Jimmy Fallon me estuvo apareciendo de manera insistente en Youtube antes de que me animara a darle play debido al prejuicio que tengo hacia Fallon, el tipo me cae extremadamente mal (quizá en la vida real sea un pan de nuestro inexistente Señor). Por otro lado, lo que me hizo darle al click es que se trataba de un artista que en alguna ocasión me apareció en los artistas recomendados de mi cuenta finada de Spotify y que nunca había escuchado con atención. Me alegra haber dado ese click.

A destacar Santé (probablemente el track que más escuché este mes), Fils de Joie (inspirada en un comentario escuchado a Jimmy Paradis sobre los derechos de las trabajadoras sexuales), L’enfer (me pega por el lado más personal al haber estado en la situación que describe la letra), Mon Amour, Déclaration, Mauvaise Journée, Bonne Journée (este último par, temas complementarios).

On Multitude, his primary theme is care—and how humans use and abuse one another as they seek comfort and turn a blind eye to inconvenient truths if it means getting what we want. He embodies these fables through a litany of rogues, often told with piercing humor: The cheating prick of “Mon amour” tries to justify his infidelities because deep down, “tu les aimes bien les connards” (“you’ve got a thing for bastards”), but he’s left stunned and insecure by rejection—wondering how big his rival’s dick is, and where his ex put his clean underpants. On “Santé,” those quickest to toast pandemic heroes are the ones throwing fits at service workers who don’t meet their impossible expectations. “Fils de joie” (“Son of a Hero¹”) tells three grimy stories of proprietorial relationships to a sex worker, as told by a client, a pimp, and a police officer, each spliced with affecting, proud cries of defense from her son. Stromae is not exempt, either: On “Déclaration,” he empathizes with his wife (designer Coralie Barbier) for having to bear kids and the mental load—he even subverts Simone de Beauvoir to sing “on naît pas misogyne, on le devient” (“one isn’t born misogynistic but can grow up to become so”)—but admits change might take time since the world benefits so richly from women’s labor. As he skewers societal complacency, he also mourns it with his regretful falsetto, the piercing zurna filigree, and a synth as slippery and pretty as the patterns that form on the surface of oil.

Laura Snapes | Pitchfork

Lo más escuchado en marzo:

1. Fils de Joie no se traduce como Son of a Hero sino como Son of Joy (Hijo de la Alegría), una expresión equivalente al Hijo de Puta en español. ↩︎