I make ‘underground’ music for a few random spectators and God knows how soul-destroying it is when you’re doe-eyed and dressed to the nines in sequins and no-one comes to see you perform in a grotty little room on ‘Boulevard Cichy’, where the beer sticks to the soles of your shoes. And to think that the previous day I was handing out flyers for 7 euros an hour dressed as a hamburger in the very same boulevard packed with would-be bohemians. I looked ridiculous, but funnily enough, one’s got to eat.
Do you really think I have the luxury of being a rebel whilst telling the men in suits to piss off? Yet that’s precisely what I did do. As a result I made no progress for the next two years and ended up weighing 38 kilos. But I wrote some lovely songs; so all-in-all it was worth it.
But I couldn’t just carry on losing weight indefinitely. It doesn’t help one’s creativity either. You reach a certain stage when you don’t even have the strength to sing anymore. The body needs nourishment. So now I’m less of a smart-ass. I’ve gone back to the hamburger costume; I’m gradually regaining weight and going back to my writing. It means compromising one’s art. But what can I do? Everyone is turning me away. ‘Sorry Miss, you’re really cute but what you’ve got to do is write lyrics that are less crazy, less obscure, less tawdry; and much blander, you see? Blandness is what people want. It means no-one feels uncomfortable, everyone is happy’.

And to think that all it would take for people to start listening to good music is for the Government to stop rubbish being broadcast. Think of Léo Ferré who was recognised so late in his career. Think about Vincent Van Gogh, who only achieved fame after his death, having struggled all his life whilst those who sold his work lined their pockets.

I’m grandiose enough to believe that artists are here to change the world and that by turning their creative art into something gentler and more conformist, in order to make it more accessible, they taint, what should always remain pure. Always. It should never become perverted by the desire for recognition, nor the desire for money. Being an artist is not a profession it’s a state of mind. If this brings with it recognition or wealth, so much the better, but the artist should in no way chase after these. Artists must continue to stay absolutely true to their art; they must remain single-minded; ensuring that their creations will appeal to the perfect admirer of their work, even if that someone may only exist in their own mind.


And to think that all it would take for people to start listening to good music is for the Government to stop rubbish being broadcast. Think of Léo Ferré who was recognised so late in his career. Think about Vincent Van Gogh, who only achieved fame after his death, having struggled all his life whilst those who sold his work lined their pockets.

And what if the world was full of similar artists, who were never discovered? How many thwarted dreamers are there in the world? How many masterpieces have been aborted because they’ve landed on the desk of an Artistic Director with a diploma in business studies? How many artistic murders have there been? How many?