The Broken Bridges
This album was recorded in Montréal, in an apartment with wooden floors, on which Ludwig, the sound engineer’s son, loved to run when coming back from Parc Jarry, cheeks all pinked up by the cold.
We raised the bed on the wall so we could unroll the drum carpet, I would sit on the family couch to record my soft songs and drank too much tea. It was a pleasure to invite musicians I had met there to sing and play with me, and discover the pleasure of recording mainly live and avoid « overdubs » to the max. This album is still available with its original booklets of lyrics and poetry in both French and English.
All songs written, composed and produced by Boris Paillard ★ Guest musicians : Martin Landry, Charlotte Cornfield, Valérie Khayat, Chloé Sondervorst, Fabrice Bihain, Emmanuel Dumoulin, Johann Burkhardt ★ Recording, mixing, mastering : Johann Burkhardt ★Drawings/cover design : Claire Pawlowski ★ Silk screen for the CD : Nicomix
TREES CAN GROW RUINS
i was digging for beauty in this mountain of mud
i was searching for water in this puddle of blood
i flew with the birds
and i came back with words
i also tried to produce and create
(that’s right)
even with your despise and hate
i’ve been so broken but i grew back again
i used to be a cloud but now i am the rain
i know i’m the fork among the spoons
i like to eat pork while you eat your shrooms
it’s like i’m the New York in Saskatoon
i am the nightmare in your bedrooms
now that i know that trees can grow on ruins
i was digging for beauty in this mountain of mud
i’m just building this boat before the flood
now that i know that trees can grow on ruins
i am the stranger in the saloon
i am the bee on your balloon
now i can be your plush toy raccoon
i’ll be back soon
A ROCK IN THIS MOUNTAIN
leaves aren’t falling from the trees
trees are falling from the earth
cities drowned by seven seas
seems like our Mother needs another birth
but i am singing in this choir ?
am i burning in this fire ?
together is not a word that makes me reassured
i fly over the traffic jams and don’t wait for my turn
i should feel concerned about all these things
and hold on to this collective string
it should make me feel so strong
much more than writing songs
but i feel so lost in this list
am i even a finger in this fist ?
you say i should stay with the others
but any group always bothers me
if you threaten me with a plastic run
be sure that i will run
there are enough bullets on my belt
and i don’t need your help
i know i can do without
never suffer from self-doubt
but i’m a tree in this forest ?
is society the best ?
people say that “we’re just one”
but there’s no such contract that i signed
the sound of love
boris paillard : vocals, classical guitar
johann burkhardt : bass
charlotte cornfield : backing vocals
martin landry : drums percussions
the eyes of a truck woke me up bad
and i saw that your face was sad
and i asked you “are you mad, where are you taking me, lad ?”
you were driving through Wyoming wanting only to be leaving
“your house, car, wife, your whole fuckin’ life”
you said, turning the head towards me
and i said “sorry, please stop here, there’s a gas station coming near,
we can have a cup of coffee, you’re my friend and i’ll be ready
to hear about your troubles, but don’t do crazy, don’t do horrible things, don’t do terrible things”
you stopped the car and pushed me out
and gave a shout
and now you’re far, gone
when you’re down, you know
the pain is buried in your heart
and it pulls your mind apart
and now, you grow
slower than a flower
you suffer from a lack of power
(you stumble from the top of the tower
you think you can’t feel any lower
one day seems to last like an hour
just tired of feeling this sour)
rolling on the ground
you kept asking for the sun to be around
with the sound
of love
ooh, you should drive back
she’s waiting for you now
she doesn’t want to dress in black
THE INVISIBLE CHAIN
blue birds in the spring
children on swings
spreading small wings
giving hugs to trees
watching bugs
crawling on their knees
the wind is blowing trough your brain
there’s so much to remember
it’s like an invisible chain
this body’s gone but your mind still lingers on
circling stars with tiny fingers
you used to jump wooden fences
sit on tree stumps and taste first kisses
you travelled without moving
you dreamt without sleeping
but now you move without travelling
and sleep without dreaming
and sleep without dreaming
and sleep without dreaming
red birds in the spring
children on swings
spreading small wings
speaking to the wind
swimming in streams
sleeping on a green
bed
THE PASSIONATE DESTROYER
he has a passion for destroying
what we likes what he loves
what he cares about
what he wins
failure is his favourite theme
he’s bored with neutrality but happy in extreme
his brown eyes used to glow
he’s let the distance grow
between the darkness and the light
he prevents himself from feeling alright
if it’s too close, then he wants to leave
according to his mind, a dream is something that you can’t achieve
if it’s too easy, then he’s gonna quit
he’s never too lazy to find the exit
if it’s too warm, then he wants to freeze
he smiles under the storm but hates the cool summer breeze
his brown eyes used to glow
he lets the distance grow
between the morning and the night
he prevents himself for feeling alright
when he smiles, he thinks he likes to weep
a good mood is something he just can’t keep
he burns every comfortable couch
he wants to fall and crawl, he wants to sink and suffer
he wants to crouch, he wants to crouch
STILL THIS PEARL
she never talks about her feelings and desires
she never says what she wants to discover
she never thought she had a gift or a power
but she dances like a crazy flower
who’s gonna save this girl
who’s gona make her fine ?
who’s gonna steal this pearl
so she can walk the line
she’s working for a jerk who wants to be called “mister”
she’s complaining about the weight of the hours
she’s always sleeping with the same rock’n roll
it’s hard to live with someone who’s never sober
she’s never tried to get away from this city
from this stinky sticky bottle of whisky
it’s been a while since she talked to her mother
“she’s a bitch, i wish to never see her again”
and i can tell you it’s gonna last forever
if no one takes her to a place a bit better
where there’s beauty, music, sunlight and fever
alright
MISS ADVENTURE
my girlfriend used to talk me ‘bout seeking gold
where the sun is red and the wind is cold
my girlfriend used to say “it’s not the place for growing old,
your flat and you car should already been sold”
my girlfriend used to sing me some rock’n roll
moving, dancing all over without the fear to fall
my girlfriend used to say “don’t you hear the call
of nature, adventure, you should leave this all”
my girlfriend used to say :
“i’ll be your guide
by your side, be kind
baby and change your mind
she never understood
why i did’nt find good
i like to be home
happy, safe and warm
i never learned to sing
and i alway preferred spring to winter
and now i miss her
i miss adventure
my “miss adventure”
BLOODSTAINS ON YOUR THEETH
i’d like to lift my glass
to the big boredom of the youth
there’s too much cement on your grass
there should not be lies in your truth
there should be bloodstains on your tooth
there’s only perfume on your boobs
there should be mud on your boots
there’s only dust on your suits
there’s a disease on your root
and a needle in your foot
now your eyes droop
you can’t jump through the hoops
you have been duped
and you sink in your own soup
there’s whisky in your glass
and wrinkles on your ass
a cigar in your mouth
and a tv in your house
FLOWERS ON THE TABLE
you said it was my turn
to suffer and to burn
actually it’s worse I said you were the first
who deserved to be burst
i wonder if you’re able
to put flowers on the table
but you’re never kind and available
if i look sad or feeble
whoo hoo be quiet
nasty things are easily thought
but nice things are hard to say
yesterday you just fought
but I wanted to play
you can shout at who you hate
you can throw glasses and plates
but you can’t whisper in my ear
oh I love you my dear
(alright, here we go again)
i reject this opportunity
for my emotional security
it’s better to hide what i feel
than be sincere or real
you’re someone i can’t trust
our love’s begun to rust
why would i give this gift ?
i’d only start a rift
i’ll do it with remorse
i’ll ask for a divorce
let’s get divorced
footsteps on the stairs
THE END IS OVER
thick smoke in the valley
plains painted grey
lost in the smog
i came out of this blind alley
and found my way
out of the fog
i came out from under the covers
the end is over
now i can start
i know that the end now is over
now i can start
to cure my old heart
i’m tired of wars
covered with scars
i need something new
i put away all my bombs
and cleaned up my tombs
and come closer to you
bridges, they used to be broken
now bright suns will rise
on restored landscapes
born again, peaceful and wise
my hands and eyes
will start to shape me again
shadows are leaving the meadows
this palm tree grows out of the stone
i blow the ashes and go
now that i know
i can be alone
no more ruins in dust
i’ll never rust
but surely die
life soon will be fine
bliss will be mine
i just need time
time
FROM THE RIDGE
linking all the feelings
and the people and the things
it’s
a stream you cannot cross
it’s
a dream a pain a loss
it’s
a place you cannot
reach
its
a face a bird a peach
it’s too late or it’s too far
it’s the way my feelings are
it’s normal or it is strange
it’s the way your thoughts have changed
you get a sad view
from this ridge
you stand on a broken bridge
Delusions Of Adequacy (Us)
http://www.adequacy.net/2008/08/the-keys-broken-bridges/
Sometimes it’s just nice to hear a fairly simple, well executed album from a decent songwriter. Granted, we here at DOA get tons of albums from guys who think they can do what one man band The Keys does, but Quebecois Boris Paillard has his own identity, even if you’ve heard his style a million times.
The one theme of Broken Bridges seems to be imperfection. It has a Microphones type of feel, but where Phil Elvrum plans every sound, every blemish, this album is off the cuff and haphazard. Paillard can’t quite sing, the guitar isn’t always played perfectly, and the harmonies are a little awkward, but that’s what makes it special.
There’s not really many places Paillard can go from here, but for now, the upbeat acoustic pop songs in this album are enjoyable if you appreciate the imperfections of a musician who is just laying it out there and doing what he loves without pretense and in an interesting way.
Matthew Kalogerakis – August 11th 2008
A Découvrir Absolument (Fr)
http://www.adecouvrirabsolument.com/keys.htm
Boris Paillard ne fera pas illusion longtemps en se cachant derrière The Keys, car cet essoufflé en s’occupant de tout, accélère ses chansons comme si elles ne devaient pas excéder un temps donné. Adepte du folk Boris ne cherche pas le calme, au contraire, il emmène cette musique comme dans une valise qui connaitrait le chaos d’un voyage en soute.
Il en résulte des chansons énervées et rageuses comme les Trees Can Grow On Ruins, The Sound Of Love, Steal This Pearl qui contrastent avec des chansons plus traditionnelles. Jouant indifféremment de la guitare acoustique ou électrique, Boris souffle aussi dans un harmonica qui sursaute, comme si le repos était une denrée rare qu’il fallait savoir préserver. Comme pour nous remettre de nos émotions la seconde partie du disque sera plus reposante jonglant entre chanson de veillée et conte folk sous une lune qui ne fera pas illusion, elle non plus, le temps d’une éclipse. Magique.
Gérald De Oliveira – June 2008
Foutraque (Fr)
http://www.foutraque.com/chronique_disque.php?id=3110
Artiste au pluriel pour personnalité singulière. Voici l’une des définitions que l’on pourrait apposer à The Keys, artiste atypique de la ville rose. Atypique par sa personnalité chaleureuse, son charme, son charisme, par son flot de paroles toujours volubiles et passionnées, par cette insatiable envie de rencontres en tous genres, par sa musique, aussi, essentiellement habitée d’une guitare, d’un harmonica et d’une voix. Comme vous l’aurez compris, The Keys c’est le retour en avant de la folk terrienne et de ses voyageurs troubadours. Rien de péjoratif en ces termes (tout au contraire), juste l’envie de poursuivre les voies tracée par ses pairs, Bob Dylan ou David-Ivar Herman Dune. Deux influences prégnantes dont The Keys a su tirer le meilleur au profit d’une folk personnelle, traditionnelle mais malicieusement moderne.
The Broken Bridges est le titre de son dernier album, sorti l’année dernière en autoproduit. Un album enregistré à Montréal où douze titres dévoilent une voix perchée, à l’accent américanisé, légèrement nasillarde sur les côtés. Une voix, belle et solitaire, qui sait parfois s’accompagner de celle de Charlotte Cornfield (artiste folk canadienne), en choeurs (The Invisible Chain) ou même en duo sur le très beau Bloodstains On Your Tooth. Une voix puissante au service de textes finement écrits et auréolés d’accords de guitare acoustique, d’harmonica (Flowers On The Table), d’une flûte (A Rock In The Mountains), d’un duo guitare électrique/batterie (Steal This Pearl) et même d’un piano mélodique (From The Ridge).
C’est au coeur de ses chansons que The Keys façonne son originalité par ses petits touches très sobres et par ses écarts toujours assumés englobant tout autant le Bob Dylan des années soixante que celui des années quatre-vingt. Au final The Broken Bridges sonne la pluralité et avec elle The Keys affiche sa singularité.
Cédric Boulade – March 10th 2008