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
Trompe La Mort
Georges Brassens Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
Qui coiffe, coiffe ma toison
On peut me croire à vue de nez
Blanchi sous le harnais
Eh bien, Mesdames et Messieurs
C'est rien que de la poudre aux yeux
C'est rien que de la comédie
Que de la parodie
C'est pour tenter de couper court
A l'avance du temps qui court
De persuader ce vieux goujat
Que tout le mal est fait déjà
Mais dessous la perruque j'ai
Mes vrais cheveux couleur de jais
C'est pas demain la veille, bon Dieu
De mes adieux
Et si j'ai l'air moins guilleret
Moins solide sur mes jarrets
Si je chemine avec lenteur
D'un train de sénateur
N'allez pas dire "Il est perclus"
N'allez pas dire "Il n'en peut plus"
C'est rien que de la comédie
Que de la parodie
Histoire d'endormir le temps
Calculateur impénitent
De tout brouiller, tout embrouiller
Dans le fatidique sablier
En fait, à l'envers du décor
Comme à vingt ans, je trotte encore
C'est pas demain la veille, bon Dieu
De mes adieux
Et si mon cœur bat moins souvent
Et moins vite qu'auparavant
Si je chasse avec moins de zèle
Les gentes demoiselles
Pensez pas que je sois blasé
De leurs caresses, leurs baisers
C'est rien que de la comédie
Que de la parodie
Pour convaincre le temps berné
Qu'mes fêtes galantes sont terminées
Que je me retire en coulisse
Que je n'entrerai plus en lice
Mais je reste un sacré gaillard
Toujours actif, toujours paillard
C'est pas demain la veille, bon Dieu
De mes adieux
Et si jamais au cimetière
Un de ces quatre, on porte en terre
Me ressemblant à s'y tromper
Un genre de macchabée
N'allez pas noyer le souffleur
En lâchant la bonde à vos pleurs
Ce sera rien que comédie
Rien que fausse sortie
Et puis, coup de théâtre, quand
Le temps aura levé le camp
Estimant que la farce est jouée
Moi tout heureux, tout enjoué
J'm'exhumerai du caveau
Pour saluer sous les bravos
C'est pas demain la veille, bon Dieu
De mes adieux
The song "Trompe La Mort" by Georges Brassens is about aging and the desire to defy time. The first stanza talks about how the singer's hair has turned white from the snow, but it's all just an illusion. He's trying to convince himself and others that he's not as old as he looks, that it's just a facade to try and keep up with time, to make time slow down. The second stanza continues this theme, as the singer admits that he may not move as quickly as he used to, and that his heart may not beat as fast, but it doesn't mean he's given up on life. It's all part of the act, a way of fooling time into thinking he's ready to leave when in reality, he's not.
The last stanza is somewhat morbid, as the singer talks about how one day, he'll be buried in the ground, and people will mourn him. But he reassures himself that even then, it's all just a performance, a way of tricking time into thinking that he's gone for good. He promises to come back to life, to rise from the grave and take his final bow. The song ultimately celebrates the idea that even in old age, there's still life left to live, and that death is not something to be feared.
Line by Line Meaning
Avec cette neige à foison
Qui coiffe, coiffe ma toison
On peut me croire à vue de nez
Blanchi sous le harnais
With this thick snow covering
That coats, coats my mane
One might think at first glance
That I'm white-haired under the harness
Eh bien, Mesdames et Messieurs
C'est rien que de la poudre aux yeux
C'est rien que de la comédie
Que de la parodie
Well, Ladies and Gentlemen
It's just smoke and mirrors
It's nothing but comedy
And parody
C'est pour tenter de couper court
A l'avance du temps qui court
De persuader ce vieux goujat
Que tout le mal est fait déjà
It's an attempt to cut short
The advance of time that's running
To persuade that old goat
That all the harm has already been done
Mais dessous la perruque j'ai
Mes vrais cheveux couleur de jais
C'est pas demain la veille, bon Dieu
De mes adieux
But beneath my wig I have
My true jet black hair
It's not tomorrow, by God
That I bid farewell
Et si j'ai l'air moins guilleret
Moins solide sur mes jarrets
Si je chemine avec lenteur
D'un train de sénateur
And if I seem less lively
Less solid on my legs
If I walk slowly
At a senator's pace
N'allez pas dire "Il est perclus"
N'allez pas dire "Il n'en peut plus"
C'est rien que de la comédie
Que de la parodie
Don't go saying "He's crippled"
Don't go saying "He can't do it anymore"
It's just comedy
And parody
Histoire d'endormir le temps
Calculateur impénitent
De tout brouiller, tout embrouiller
Dans le fatidique sablier
Just to lull time to sleep
The relentless calculator
To mix everything up, confuse everything
In the fateful hourglass
En fait, à l'envers du décor
Comme à vingt ans, je trotte encore
C'est pas demain la veille, bon Dieu
De mes adieux
In fact, behind the scenes
Like at twenty, I still trot
It's not tomorrow, by God
That I bid farewell
Et si mon cœur bat moins souvent
Et moins vite qu'auparavant
Si je chasse avec moins de zèle
Les gentes demoiselles
And if my heart beats less often
And less quickly than before
If I hunt with less zeal
After the fair maidens
Pensez pas que je sois blasé
De leurs caresses, leurs baisers
C'est rien que de la comédie
Que de la parodie
Don't think that I'm jaded
By their caresses, their kisses
It's just comedy
And parody
Pour convaincre le temps berné
Qu'mes fêtes galantes sont terminées
Que je me retire en coulisse
Que je n'entrerai plus en lice
To convince time, the gullible
That my gallant parties are over
That I retire backstage
And won't enter the race anymore
Mais je reste un sacré gaillard
Toujours actif, toujours paillard
C'est pas demain la veille, bon Dieu
De mes adieux
But I'm still quite the fellow
Always active, always ribald
It's not tomorrow, by God
That I bid farewell
Et si jamais au cimetière
Un de ces quatre, on porte en terre
Me ressemblant à s'y tromper
Un genre de macchabée
And if ever at the cemetery
One of these days, I'm carried to the grave
Looking so much like me
A kind of corpse
N'allez pas noyer le souffleur
En lâchant la bonde à vos pleurs
Ce sera rien que comédie
Rien que fausse sortie
Don't go drowning the prompter
By letting your tears flow
It will just be comedy
Just a false exit
Et puis, coup de théâtre, quand
Le temps aura levé le camp
Estimant que la farce est jouée
Moi tout heureux, tout enjoué
J'm'exhumerai du caveau
Pour saluer sous les bravos
And then, the twist, when
Time will have packed up
Thinking that the play is over
I, all happy, all cheerful
Will dig myself out of the vault
To bow to the cheers
C'est pas demain la veille, bon Dieu
De mes adieux
It's not tomorrow, by God
That I bid farewell
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Written by: GEORGES CHARLES BRASSENS
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind