Well Ridan is an emigrate. One of those who makes us proud to be french. Because he's immigrated and love our country. And WE love him!
These days in France are special.
I want to say that clearly, i want to affirmate that we are NOT racists!
what the hell are you wondering if you're not aware of what is going on in France?
Well forget the country of the human rights, it's far from us now.
During our last Presidential elections in 2004 the french people played a dangerous game.
For these elections we have two "rounds", we qualify only two candidates for the second, the two who got the highest percentage.
And in 2004 were qualified for the second vote a liberal (Chirac) and... JM Le Pen.... a racist, this word can look old-fashioned to somes. but yes he's surely racist and have disgusting ideas, negationist (the concentration camps WWII....).
A seism happened said we...
A lesson?
Well i doubt.
Now for our next presidential elections (april 22nd) we stilll having this vomit taste in our mouth... Vomitting, disgusting because between the 4 candidates who are about to go to the second vote (remember only two will be qualified), we have two persons who are flirting with racism : JM. Le Pen (again) and N. Sarkozy. This last one is simply a sophist trying to get votes from where he can, so he is trying to attract votes from the extreme-right, having extremist words, as when he was our 'security' minister... Once he said that he will "clean our suburbs (where most emigrates live) with a Karsher" (even the german society that sell the Karshers attacked him in justice because they do not want their name associated with that...).
This man makes me vomit. And you know what he's the one who will probably win our elections and be our next president.
Please no, wake up, listen to this man who males only promises, who have racist and extremist sentences....
No this is not us...

Well to come back to Ridan. He has an emigrate origins, and represents so well France : Love HIS country (yes it's his a country also!!!) and even took in his last album a traditional french poetry from Joachim du Bellay about Ulysses.
This is this song that i will present you under!

Ridan is a French artist launched into the limelight in 2004. He is known for his mixture of rap and urban poetry in French suburbia. One of his most famous and most popular songs is "le quotidien". He uses lots of verlan, a form of modern french, used by youth, which reverses words, with influences from North African languages.





Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage,
Ou comme cestuy-là qui conquit la toison, Et puis est retourné, plein d'usage et raison,
Vivre entre ses parents le reste de son âge !

Quand reverrai-je, hélas, de mon petit village,
Fumer la cheminée et en quelle saison

Mais quand reverrai-je,
de mon petit village,
fumer la cheminée et en quelle saison,
Mais quand reverrai-je ?

Reverrai-je le clos de ma pauvre maison
Qui m'est une province, et beaucoup davantage ?
Plus me plaît le séjour qu'ont bâti mes aïeux,
Que des palais Romains le front audacieux,
Plus que le marbre dur me plaît l'ardoise fine,

Plus mon Loir Gaulois, que le Tibre latin,
Plus mon petit Liré, que le mont Palatin, Et plus que l'air marin la douceur angevine.

Mais quand reverrai-je,
de mon petit village,
fumer la cheminée et en quelle saison,
Mais quand reverrai-je ?

J'ai traversé les mers à la force des bras,
Seul contre les Dieux, perdu dans les marais
Retranché dans une cale, et mes vieux tympans percés,
Pour ne plus jamais entendre les sirènes et leurs voix.

Nos vies sont une guerre où il ne tiens qu'à nous
De nous soucier de nos sorts, de trouver le bon choix,
De nous méfier de nos pas, et de toute cette eau qui dort,
Qui pollue nos chemins, soit disant pavés d'or.

Mais quand reverrai-je,
de mon petit village,
fumer la cheminée et en quelle saison,
mais quand reverrai-je ?

Mais quand reverrai-je ?
Mais quand reverrai-je ?
Mais quand reverrai-je ?
Mais quand reverrai-je ?




Happy the man who's travelled far away,
Like Jason or Ulysses in the past,
Wise and experienced he'Il return one day
Back to his kindred and his home at last.

My little village, O, I wonder when
I'll see its chimneys smoking, and when see
The courtyard of my own poor house again,
More than a province is its worth to me.

But I wonder when I'll see again,
My little village,
Its chimneys smoking and during which season,
And when will I see again...

More pleases me my father's house of old
Than Roman palaces so proud and bold,
And more than marble, slate that's thin and fine,

More Gallic Loire than Tiber, and more too
My little Liré than Mount Palatine,
More than sea winds, the soft air of Anjou.

But I wonder when I'll see again,
My little village,
Its chimneys smoking and during which season,
But when will I see again...

I crossed the seas with the force of the arms,
Alone against the Gods, lost in the marshes
Sheltered in a hold, and my old bored tympanums,
To not hear the sirens and their voices never again.

Our lives are a war where it hold only with us
To care about our fates, to find the good choice,
To be wary of our steps, and all this water which sleeps,
Which pollutes our ways, supposedly paved of gold.

But I wonder when I'll see again,
My little village,
Its chimneys smoking and during which season,
But when will I see again...

But when will I see again?
But when will I see again?
But when will I see again?
But when will I see again?

He's one of these artists of the new french "vague" Generation...
I love those artists.
To listen his music and albums extract, go to :
Disques > Click on the 1st cd's jacket "Reprise des Négociations" > select a song > click on the red player arrow...

Bénabar (Bruno Nicolini, b. June 16, 1969) is a French songwriter and singer, who could be compared to Vincent Delerm and other singers from his generation. As many of them he was influenced by Georges Brassens, Renaud Séchan or Jacques Higelin but also Tom Waits. His songs describe day-to-day life events with humour and a tender cynicism. His songs draw influence from French Chanson and a heavy influence is placed on the accordion in his songs. This is not the kind of music one listens to for the music but rather to listen to, and appreciate the lyrics.

He began his career in the cinema, working as an assistant on Le Brasier (1991) and directed three short subjects Nada Lezard (1991), Sursum corda (1994) et José Jeannette (1992). He then turned himself to the music, working for some time with his friend Patchol who gave him his nickname (Bénabar being the "verlan" of Barnabé, the name he was using on stage). With "Les associés" he sang for several years in small places in France, Belgium, Switzerland before becoming more and more popular after the release of Bénabar (2001) that enabled him to be the opening act for Henri Salvador. He was nominated as a Revelation for the "Victoires de la musique 2003" but did not win it. In 2004 he won the award for "album "chanson/variété" of the year".



Un terrain vague, de vagues clôtures, un couple divague sur la maison future.
On s’endette pour trente ans, ce pavillon sera le nôtre, et celui de nos enfants corrige la femme enceinte.
Les travaux sont finis, du moins le gros œuvre, ça sent le plâtre et l’enduit et la poussière toute neuve.

Le plâtre et l’enduit et la poussière toute neuve.

Des ampoules à nu pendent des murs, du plafond, le bébé est né, il joue dans le salon.
On ajoute à l’étage une chambre de plus, un petit frère est prévu pour l’automne.
Dans le jardin les arbres aussi grandissent, on pourra y faire un jour une cabane.

On pourra y faire un jour une cabane.

Les enfants ont poussé, ils sont trois maintenant, on remplit sans se douter le grenier doucement.
Le grand habite le garage pour être indéendant, la cabane, c’est dommage, est à l’abandon.
Monsieur rêverait de creuser une cave à vins, Madame préfèrerait une deuxième salle de bain.

Ça sera une deuxième salle de bain.

Les enfants vont et viennent chargés de linge sale, ça devient un hôtel la maison familiale.
On a fait un bureau dans la p’tite pièce d’en haut, et des chambres d’amis, les enfants sont partis.
Ils ont quitté le nid sans le savoir vraiment, petit à petit, vêtement par vêtement.

Petit à petit, vêtement par vêtement.

Ils habitent à Paris des apparts sans espace, alors qu’ici il y’a trop de place.
On va poser tu sais des stores électriques, c’est un peu laid c’est vrai, mais c’est plus pratique.
La maison somnole comme un chat fatigué, dans son ventre ronronne la machine à laver.

Dans son ventre ronronne la machine à laver.

Les petits enfants espérés apparaissent, dans le frigo, on remet des glaces.
La cabane du jardin trouve une deuxième jeunesse, c’est le consulat que rouvrent les gosses.
Le grenier sans bataille livre ses trésors, ses panoplies de cow-boys aux petits ambassadeurs, qui colonisent pour la dernière fois la modeste terre promise, quatre murs et un toit.

Cette maison est en vente comme vous le savez, je suis, je me présente, agent immobilier.
Je dois vous prévenir si vous voulez l’acheter, je préfère vous le dire cette maison est hantée.
Ne souriez pas Monsieur, n’ayez crainte Madame, c’est hanté c’est vrai mais de gentils fantômes.
De monstres et de dragons que les gamins savent voir, de pleurs et de bagarres, et de copieux quatre-heures, “finis tes devoirs”, “il est trop lourd mon cartable”, “laisse tranquille ton frère”, “les enfants : à table!”.

Écoutez la musique, est-ce que vous l’entendez ?


A waste ground, vague fences, a couple digresses on the future house.
We're involved in debt for thirty years, this house will be ours & our children, corrects the pregnant woman.
Work is finished, at least the biggest part, it smells plaster and coating and very new dust.

Plaster and coating and very new dust.

Lone electric bulbs hang with the walls, with the ceiling, the baby was born, it plays in the living room.
We adds on the first floor a room moreover, one little brother is planned for the autumn.
In the garden the trees also grow, we will be able to make there a day a hut.

We will be able to make there a day a hut.

The children grew, they are three now, we fill without suspecting the attic step by step.
The elder lives in the garage to be independent, the hut, it is a pity, is abandoned.
Mister would dream to dig a cellar with wines, Madam would prefer a second bathroom.

That will be a second bathroom.

The children go and come charged with dirty linen, that becomes a hotel the family house.
We made an office in the lil last floor room, and the guest rooms, the children left.
They left the nest without the knowledge really, gradually, cloth by cloth.

Gradually, cloth by cloth.

They live in Paris of the apparts without space, whereas here it there's too much place.
We will pose you know electric blinds, it is a little ugly it is true, but it is more practical.
The house drowses like a tired cat, in its belly hums the washing machine.

In its belly hums the washing machine.

The hoped little children appear, in the refrigerator, we put back the icecreams.
The hut of the garden finds the second youth, it is the consulate which the kids reopen.
The attic without battle delivers its treasures, its panoplies of cow-boys to the small ambassadors, who colonize for the last time the modest promised ground, four walls and a roof.

This house is on sale as you know it, I am, I introduce myself, real estate agent.
I must warn you if you want to buy it, I prefer to say it to you this house is haunted.
Do not smile Sir, do not fear Madam, it is haunted it is true but with nice phantoms.
Monsters and dragons which the kids can see, tears and brawls, and copious afternoon snacks, "finished your duties", "my portfolio is too heavy", "leave your brother alone!", "children, come to eat!".

Listen to the music, do you hear it?