Free flowin’ . . .
I have been seduced. Big time. I’ve had my proverbial stockings knocked off. I am gobsmacked. I am in love . . . with the music of someone’s soul.
Yes, Serge, you’ve “fucked me up like you’ve never seen” (to quote your song, Crampe au cerveau) . . . and it feels so good. I don’t think I’ve felt this way since Zep released their first album, which changed my life so long ago. Yeah, that album set the tone of my whole life. And Zep will always rule, make no mistake about that.
But it’s 1:55 in the morning. I’ve had a couple of glasses of full-bodied red wine — mentioned in my review of Serge’s album (in my Gazette blog) — and now I’m drinking coffee — because I gotta come down — and listening to Serge’s new album . . . and I feel so damn good.
God . . . I’m not sure what this is all about. I mean, I’m a rocker. “I come from the land of the ice and snow . . .” How is it that I am melting to the music of Monsieur Fiori?
Sigh . . .
I know I’m not the only one feeling this way. Serge’s Facebook page has messages of love and adoration from dozens upon dozens of people. I harbour no illusions about the prince and the princess. . . I won’t be camping outside of Serge’s house, or screaming my lungs out at his concert (if he gives one). But I feel like such a teeny bopper . . . And I am so in love with his soul . . .
Yes, I have been seduced.
Perhaps Serge should have called his album La grande séduction . . .