He was uncompromising when composing his songs. His tactical method of addressing issues was profound and often humorous, making him a unique and effective figure in the French community.
Brassens, born in 1921 in the small Mediterrenean port of Sete, wanted to be a poet. He realized very early however that poetry in the 20th century could hardly put bread on the table and instead set himself to become a singer.
He is much less famous internationally than contemporaries like Charles Aznavour, Edith Piaf and Yves Montand, as much of the impact of his songs came from the lyrics, which proved difficult to translate into other languages. He loved the Middle Ages and used a great deal of Old French vocabulary, as well as many classical - ie., Latin and Greek - references. Few people, even in France, possess the background to fully understand his songs.
Yet he was at the same time a hugely popular singer and many of his songs still carry a lot of appeal and relevance. In this sense, he can be compared to Boris Vian, to Jacques Brel, and to a lesser extent to Serge Gainsbourg.
He was very sophisticated, yet at the same time used profanity liberally. While he wasn't politically engaged, he was nevertheless unambiguously a leftist, many of his songs carrying blatant and buoyant anarchist overtones.
While his music was initially quite primitive, the 1950's St-Germain-des-Pres influence quickly made itself felt and while subdued and - in his mind - always secondary to the lyrics, it became increasingly sophisticated - to the point that many of his songs have been covered and reinterpretated by jazzmen (see for instance this UK site: www.projetbrassens.eclipse.co.uk)
He died in 1981, but up to this date (2006) there are few French people - including most of those born since - who can't sing along to his most famous song, Les Copains d'abord ("Friends foremost") or his "Bancs public" ("Public Benches").
For those interested, this site carries a number of (quite good) English tranlations of his songs: www.brassens.org
Les trompettes de la renommée
Georges Brassens Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
Serein, contemplatif, ténébreux, bucolique
Refusant d'acquitter la rançon de la gloire
Sur mon brin de laurier je dormais comme un loir
Les gens de bon conseil ont su me faire comprendre
Qu'à l'homme de la rue j'avais des comptes à rendre
Et que, sous peine de choir dans un oubli complet
J'devais mettre au grand jour tous mes petits secrets
Trompettes de la Renommée
Vous êtes bien mal embouchées
Manquant à la pudeur la plus élémentaire
Dois-je, pour les besoins d'la cause publicitaire
Divulguer avec qui, et dans quelle position
Je plonge dans le stupre et la fornication?
Si je publie des noms, combien de Pénélopes
Passeront illico pour de fieffées salopes
Combien de bons amis me regarderont de travers
Combien je recevrai de coups de revolver!
Trompettes de la Renommée
Vous êtes bien mal embouchées
À toute exhibition, ma nature est rétive
Souffrant d'une modestie quasiment maladive
Je ne fais voir mes organes procréateurs
À personne, excepté mes femmes et mes docteurs
Dois-je, pour défrayer la chronique des scandales
Battre le tambour avec mes parties génitales
Dois-je les arborer plus ostensiblement
Comme un enfant de chœur porte un saint sacrement?
Trompettes de la Renommée
Vous êtes bien mal embouchées
Une femme du monde, et qui souvent me laisse
Faire mes quatre voluptés dans ses quartiers d'noblesse
M'a sournoisement passé, sur son divan de soie
Des parasites du plus bas étage qui soit
Sous prétexte de bruit, sous couleur de réclame
Ai-je le droit de ternir l'honneur de cette dame
En criant sur les toits, et sur l'air des lampions
"Madame la marquise m'a foutu des morpions"?
Trompettes de la Renommée
Vous êtes bien mal embouchées
Le ciel en soit loué, je vis en bonne entente
Avec le Père Duval, la calotte chantante
Lui, le catéchumène, et moi, l'énergumène
Il me laisse dire merde, je lui laisse dire amen
En accord avec lui, dois-je écrire dans la presse
Qu'un soir je l'ai surpris aux genoux d'ma maîtresse
Chantant la mélopée d'une voix qui susurre
Tandis qu'elle lui cherchait des poux dans la tonsure?
Trompettes de la Renommée
Vous êtes bien mal embouchées
Avec qui, ventrebleu, faut-il donc que je couche
Pour faire parler un peu la déesse aux cent bouches?
Faut-il qu'une femme célèbre, une étoile, une star
Vienne prendre entre mes bras la place de ma guitare?
Pour exciter le peuple et les folliculaires
Qui'est-c'qui veut me prêter sa croupe populaire
Qui'est-c'qui veut m'laisser faire, in naturalibus
Un p'tit peu d'alpinisme sur son mont de Vénus?
Trompettes de la Renommée
Vous êtes bien mal embouchées
Sonneraient-elles plus fort, ces divines trompettes
Si, comme tout un chacun, j'étais un peu tapette
Si je me déhanchais comme une demoiselle
Et prenais tout à coup des allures de gazelle?
Mais je ne sache pas qu'ça profite à ces drôles
De jouer le jeu d'l'amour en inversant les rôles
Qu'ça confère à leur gloire une once de plus-value
Le crime pédérastique, aujourd'hui, ne paie plus
Trompettes de la Renommée
Vous êtes bien mal embouchées
Après c'tour d'horizon des mille et unes recettes
Qui vous valent à coup sûr les honneurs des gazettes
J'aime mieux m'en tenir à ma première façon
Et me gratter le ventre en chantant des chansons
Si le public en veut, je les sors dare-dare
S'il n'en veut pas je les remets dans ma guitare
Refusant d'acquitter la rançon de la gloire
Sur mon brin de laurier je m'endors comme un loir
Trompettes de la Renommée
Vous êtes bien mal embouchées!
The first stanza describes how the singer used to live away from the public eye, choosing not to engage in fame and fortune. He was content sleeping in his laurels and didn't feel the need to expose all his secrets. However, people convinced him that he had to come clean and reveal everything about himself. The chorus then chastises the fame industry, saying that the trumpets of fame are poorly played.
The next stanza is the singer's response to the demands to reveal everything about himself. He questions whether he should divulge every detail of his most intimate moments and expose others in the process. He refuses to be excessively exhibitionist and doesn't want to display his reproductive organs publicly. He then makes reference to a woman who he slept with who had parasites, wondering if he has the right to tarnish her reputation. He then concludes that he'd prefer to stick to his original strategy of writing songs and singing them for anyone who wants to listen.
The song's lyrics criticize the fame industry and the idea that people have to sell their souls in order to become famous. It talks about the difficulties and consequences of becoming a celebrity, including the loss of privacy and the pressure to reveal every detail of your personal life. The song is also a critique of the media's obsession with scandals and gossip, and how the desire for attention can drive people to expose themselves and others.
Line by Line Meaning
Je vivais à l'écart de la place publique,
I lived secluded from the public eye,
Serein, contemplatif, ténébreux, bucolique
Calm, pensive, dark, and rustic,
Refusant d'acquitter la rançon de la gloire,
Refusing to pay the price for fame,
Sur mon brin de laurier je dormais comme un loir.
I slept soundly on my laurels.
Les gens de bon conseil ont su me faire comprendre
Wise people made me understand
Qu'à l'homme de la rue j'avais des comptes à rendre
That I was accountable to the common man
Et que, sous peine de choir dans un oubli complet,
And that, otherwise, I risked being forgotten altogether
Je devais mettre au grand jour tous mes petits secrets.
I had to reveal all my little secrets to be honest.
Trompettes
Trumpets
De la Renommée,
Of Fame,
Vous êtes
You are
Bien mal embouchées!
Badly played!
Manquant à la pudeur la plus élémentaire,
Lacking even the most basic sense of modesty,
Dois-je, pour les besoins d' la cause publicitaire,
Should I, for the sake of advertising,
Divulguer avec qui, et dans quelle position
Disclose with whom and in what position
Je plonge dans le stupre et la fornication?
I indulge in lewdness and fornication?
Si je publie des noms, combien de Pénélopes
If I publish names, how many Penelopes
Passeront illico pour de fieffées salopes,
Will immediately be seen as despicable sluts,
Combien de bons amis me regarderont de travers,
How many good friends will look at me askance,
Combien je recevrai de coups de revolver!
How many gunshots I will receive!
A toute exhibition, ma nature est rétive,
My nature is resolutely opposed to any exhibitionism,
Souffrant d'un' modestie quasiment maladive,
Suffering from a nearly pathological modesty,
Je ne fais voir mes organes procréateurs
I don't show my reproductive organs
A personne, excepté mes femmes et mes docteurs.
To anyone, except my wives and doctors.
Dois-je, pour défrayer la chronique des scandales,
Should I, to make headlines with scandals,
Battre l' tambour avec mes parties génitales,
Beat the drum with my genitalia,
Dois-je les arborer plus ostensiblement,
Should I display them more prominently,
Comme un enfant de chœur porte un saint sacrement?
Like a choirboy carries a holy sacrament?
Une femme du monde, et qui souvent me laisse
A woman from high society who often allows me
Faire mes quat' voluptés dans ses quartiers d' noblesse,
To indulge in pleasures in her noble quarters,
M'a sournoisement passé, sur son divan de soie,
Surreptitiously passed on to me, on her silk divan,
Des parasites du plus bas étage qui soit
The lowest scum parasites imaginable.
Sous prétexte de bruit, sous couleur de réclame,
Under the pretext of noise, in the guise of publicity,
Ai-j' le droit de ternir l'honneur de cette dame
Do I have the right to tarnish the honor of this lady
En criant sur les toits, et sur l'air des lampions
By yelling on the rooftops, and in the light of lanterns
"Madame la marquis' m'a foutu des morpions!"
"Madam the marchioness gave me crabs!"
Le ciel en soit loué, je vis en bonne entente
Thankfully, I live in harmony
Avec le Père Duval, la calotte chantante,
With Father Duval, the singing priest,
Lui, le catéchumène, et moi, l'énergumène,
Him, the catechumen, and me, the agitator,
Il me laisse dire merde, je lui laisse dire amen,
He lets me say shit, I let him say amen,
En accord avec lui, dois-je écrire dans la presse
In agreement with him, should I write in the press
Qu'un soir je l'ai surpris aux genoux d' ma maîtresse,
That one evening I caught him by my mistress's knees
Chantant la mélopée d'une voix qui susurre,
Singing the melody in a whispering voice,
Tandis qu'elle lui cherchait des poux dans la tonsure?
While she searched for lice in his tonsure?
Avec qui, ventrebleu! faut-il que je couche
With whom, damn it, should I sleep
Pour faire parler un peu la déesse aux cent bouches?
To make the goddess with a hundred mouths talk a bit?
Faut-il qu'un' femme célèbre, une étoile, une star,
Must a famous woman, a star, a star
Vienne prendre entre mes bras la place de ma guitare?
Come take the place of my guitar in my arms?
Pour exciter le peuple et les folliculaires,
To excite the people and the journalists,
Qui est-ce qui veut me prêter sa croupe populaire,
Who wants to lend me their popular butt,
Qui est-ce qui veut m' laisser faire, in naturalibus,
Who's going to let me do it, in the nude,
Un petit peu d'alpinisme sur son mont de Vénus?
A little mountaineering on their Venusian mound?
Sonneraient-elles plus fort, ces divines trompettes,
Would these divine trumpets sound louder
Si, comme tout un chacun, j'étais un peu tapette,
If, like everyone else, I were a little gay,
Si je me déhanchais comme une demoiselle
If I moved my hips like a lady
Et prenais tout à coup des allumes de gazelle?
And suddenly became as lively as a gazelle?
Mais je ne sache pas que ça profite à ces drôles
But I don't think that benefits these guys
De jouer le jeu d' l'amour en inversant les rôles,
Playing the game of love by reversing the roles,
Que ça confère à ma gloire un' once de plus-valu',
That adds an ounce of value to my fame,
Le crime pédérastique, aujourd'hui, ne paie plus.
The crime of homosexuality doesn't pay anymore today.
Après ce tour d'horizon des mille et un' recettes
After this overview of the thousand and one recipes
Qui vous valent à coup sûr les honneurs des gazettes,
That certainly get you the honors of the press,
J'aime mieux m'en tenir à ma première façon
I prefer to stick to my original approach
Et me gratter le ventre en chantant des chansons.
And scratch my belly while singing songs.
Refusant d'acquitter la rançon de la gloire,
Refusing to pay the price for fame,
Sur mon brin de laurier je m'endors comme un loir.
I sleep soundly on my laurels.
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Written by: Georges Charles Brassens, Francois Quillet
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
Non omnis moriar
I lived apart from the public eye
Serene, contemplative, sombre, bucolic...
Refusing to hand over the ransom asked for fame
On my sprig of laurel I would sleep dormouse like
People of good counsel were able to make me see
That to the man in the street, I had some debts to pay
And that, on pain of falling in complete oblivion,
I must bring into the open all my little secrets
{Chorus :}
Trumpets
Of Goddess Fame,
You make
A most discordant din !
Flouting the most elementary modesty
Must I, for the needs of the publicist’s cause,
Divulge with whom and in what position
I plunge into debauchery and fornication?
If I publish names, how many Penelopes
Will be seen straightaway as the most arrant whores
How many good friends will give me funny looks ?
How many revolver shots will hit their mark on me!
Public display makes my nature ill at ease,
Suffering from modesty that’s almost unhealthy.
I do not show my reproductive organs
To anyone, except my women and my doctors.
Must I, to be headline news in gossip columns,
Drum up attention with my genitals as sticks.
Must I raise them on high more ostensibly
As a choir boy carries the holy sacrament.
A woman of society, who often gives me
Free rein to voluptuous joys in her noble quarters
On the quiet passed on, upon her silken couch,
Parasites of the basest kind that be...
Under the pretext of sensation, under the heading of publicity
Have I the right to tarnish the honour of this lady?
En criant sur les toits, et sur l'air des lampions:
By shouting from the rooftops and chanting the catchphrase : “Madame la Marquise has given me her crabs!”?
Heaven indeed be praised, I live on the best of terms,
With le père Duval, the singing skullcap,
He the catechumen, I the non-conforming man,
He lets me say “Shit!”, I let him say “Amen”,
With his approval, must I write then in the press
That one evening I surprised him at the knees of my mistress,
Singing a murmured chant in a slushing voice,
The while she searched for him the fleas in his bald patch ?
So with whom, ventrebleu ! Must I go to bed
To provoke a bit the goddess with hundred mouths ?
Must a woman who is a celebrity, a star
Come to take in my arms the place of my guitar?
To excite the people and the gutter press.
Who is willing to lend me her much fancied butt?
Who is willing to let me, not wearing a stitch,
Have a bit of a scramble on her mount of Venus
Would these trumpets of the Gods ring out more loud
If, like each and everyone, I was a bit that way,
If I swayed my hips more like a young woman
And suddenly took on a gazelle like grace
But I’m not aware that these jokers gain at all,
From playing the game of love by inverting the roles,
That this would add one ounce more merit to my name.
The crime of same sex love, today, no longer pays.
After this review of the thousand and one smart tricks
Which are certain to earn the honours of the press
I prefer to keep to my first way of doing things
And scratch my stomach, as ever, while singing songs
If the public wants, I bring them out quick time.
If not, I put them all back into my guitar,
Refusing to hand over the ransom asked for fame.
On my laurel sprig, I rest, sleeping like a dormouse.
Thibault M3str-t
La meilleure de Brassens, simplement exceptionnelle. Un véritable doigt d'honneur poétique et musical ! Brassens démontre ici avec brio et humilité qu'il est le seul maître de ses chansons, et rembarre tout ceux qui ne se sentent plus.
Ian Moro
cette chanson est géniale..c'est certainement la meilleure de tonton Georges.. moi ma préférée est toute simple et peu connue,c'est la Marguerite.Ian
Prenom Nom
O
Prenom Nom
O
Non omnis moriar
I lived apart from the public eye
Serene, contemplative, sombre, bucolic...
Refusing to hand over the ransom asked for fame
On my sprig of laurel I would sleep dormouse like
People of good counsel were able to make me see
That to the man in the street, I had some debts to pay
And that, on pain of falling in complete oblivion,
I must bring into the open all my little secrets
{Chorus :}
Trumpets
Of Goddess Fame,
You make
A most discordant din !
Flouting the most elementary modesty
Must I, for the needs of the publicist’s cause,
Divulge with whom and in what position
I plunge into debauchery and fornication?
If I publish names, how many Penelopes
Will be seen straightaway as the most arrant whores
How many good friends will give me funny looks ?
How many revolver shots will hit their mark on me!
Public display makes my nature ill at ease,
Suffering from modesty that’s almost unhealthy.
I do not show my reproductive organs
To anyone, except my women and my doctors.
Must I, to be headline news in gossip columns,
Drum up attention with my genitals as sticks.
Must I raise them on high more ostensibly
As a choir boy carries the holy sacrament.
A woman of society, who often gives me
Free rein to voluptuous joys in her noble quarters
On the quiet passed on, upon her silken couch,
Parasites of the basest kind that be...
Under the pretext of sensation, under the heading of publicity
Have I the right to tarnish the honour of this lady?
En criant sur les toits, et sur l'air des lampions:
By shouting from the rooftops and chanting the catchphrase : “Madame la Marquise has given me her crabs!”?
Heaven indeed be praised, I live on the best of terms,
With le père Duval, the singing skullcap,
He the catechumen, I the non-conforming man,
He lets me say “Shit!”, I let him say “Amen”,
With his approval, must I write then in the press
That one evening I surprised him at the knees of my mistress,
Singing a murmured chant in a slushing voice,
The while she searched for him the fleas in his bald patch ?
So with whom, ventrebleu ! Must I go to bed
To provoke a bit the goddess with hundred mouths ?
Must a woman who is a celebrity, a star
Come to take in my arms the place of my guitar?
To excite the people and the gutter press.
Who is willing to lend me her much fancied butt?
Who is willing to let me, not wearing a stitch,
Have a bit of a scramble on her mount of Venus
Would these trumpets of the Gods ring out more loud
If, like each and everyone, I was a bit that way,
If I swayed my hips more like a young woman
And suddenly took on a gazelle like grace
But I’m not aware that these jokers gain at all,
From playing the game of love by inverting the roles,
That this would add one ounce more merit to my name.
The crime of same sex love, today, no longer pays.
After this review of the thousand and one smart tricks
Which are certain to earn the honours of the press
I prefer to keep to my first way of doing things
And scratch my stomach, as ever, while singing songs
If the public wants, I bring them out quick time.
If not, I put them all back into my guitar,
Refusing to hand over the ransom asked for fame.
On my laurel sprig, I rest, sleeping like a dormouse.
Guerouah Bachir
Une nouvelle fois un grand merci. Sincères amitiés et salutations respectueuses.
Jean Pierre Zutter
Un brillant plaidoyer pour la protection de la vie privée avec des mots forts et sincères !!
Dereck Lunar
Un vrai auteur subversif qui n'avait peur de rien. Son nom devrait être à côté de sagesse et liberté d'expression dans le dictionnaire :P
Oliver Cassin
Chanson plus que jamais d'actualité , je n'en dirai pas plus
Kee
MAGISTRALE. Comme certaines autres