As I am looking back on the songs of Facettes, I am wondering if I would have written any of them differently. The answer is no. A song is written in the present, at the stage of life where you are when the spark happens. It comes with the feeling, thinking you have in this moment and with the maturity you have at this certain stage of your life.
The themes I would write on today however, might just be the same ones that inspired me back then. Only, i would write of them differently, in my present, at this new stage of my life, with my maturity.
I find it strange, the fear of ageing. What if we did not age, nor mature at all? The same songs would be written again and again and again.. How very boring.
The opening song of Facettes, titled The Strength Of My Hate, is a powerful denunciation of disrespect. I remember writing it with fresh experiences of my jobs in my mind and soul.
The opening lines of the song refer to a kitchen assistant job in a Catholic summer camp I was in for three weeks. The work was hard, i was up between five and six am and back to bed at night. It was not the work itself that bothered me though. It was the attitude of the director of the camp: paternalistic and condescending, asking always more from his little slave-women, while paying as little as the law allowed him.
Right below him in the pyramid was the kitchen chef. She was not any better. I remember a dry woman, uncapable of giving anything else than orders and reproaches. Soon i had created a calendar for myself and, as if i were staying in a prison, i would bar each new day, towards the last one. My rebellious attitude within a catholic camp – by rebellious i mean, not accepting their dynamics of submission and domination, made waves.
The next situation i am referring to in the song, was a job i got in an Irish pub in Montpellier centre. I really liked the place and for months i reminded the boss again and again that i was looking for a job and that i would be willing to work in his establishment. He seemed like a very nice and friendly man to me. This impression changed after i had started working there. Once again, it was not the hard work that bothered me, nor the fact that i would arrive home at four am, exhausted. It was again, the disrespect.
No matter how precisely i followed his instructions to do my job and how much efforts i put into it, the boss would systematically come after me and ask me to redo it or do it differently. I began to feel extremely annoyed at his behaviour with me but i clenched my teeth and I reminded my self of my direct temper, maybe sometimes too direct. I even told myself that maybe, i was being paranoid and that the other employees seemed to be satisfied working with the boss. I was the only woman in the team, but i was careful not to jump into the easy conclusion that he might be sexist.
Things cleared out by themselves after a few weeks, when my co-workers came to me and asked me what was wrong between me and the boss and why he was harassing me this way. Then I knew I had not been imagining the whole thing. As for his relationship to women and power, well: let’s just say that the owner of the place was his mother and that i have rarely seen a more authoritative and colder woman with her son. Ceci might explain cela.. Anyway. One night after my shift, he gave me a final lecture, at four am, in the basement. On the next day, i went to him and told him i quit. I will never forget the expression of surprise on his face. His surprise amazed me.
The last situation i am referring to in the song was of a nanny job, in Montpellier. Once again, it was not the work that bothered me, but the disrespect.
I learned with this job, to see beyond appearances. The mansion, with its marble floors and beautiful pool outside looked good at first sight, so did its owners. But soon i saw the cracks in the walls and in their personalities.
He was a plastic surgery surgeon, a master of fake. She spent most of her days getting tanned by the pool, for their upcoming parties and their weekends in Ibiza. None of them “had time” for their two children. I once saw the five-year-old little girl run towards her father with open arms for a hug, as he came down the stairs from his office. He coldly pushed her away, so that she would not make wrinkles on his shirt. Later that same day, he asked me to come sit next to him on the couch, supposedly to discuss something. Then out of nowhere, he extended his arm and touched my chest, where i am carrying a scar, then told me how he could work the scar to try and erase it, while caressing my skin. After the first look of surprise in my eyes, i believe he read my mind in them: that i knew he was being inappropriate and that he had better not do it again. I most likely upset his ego there, for the young student musician i was, was not in the least impressed by him nor his money.
When his wife soon after that, warned me at the last minute that i should stay after my day because they had decided to go to the cinema and i told her that i could not, that i had plans and an exam in university on the next day, she went to complain about my attitude to her husband. After they had used me on the following evening and came back late at night, the man announced me that they would no longer need my services. The only regret i had then, was that I had not had not had a chance to say goodbye to the children. The last words i had spoken to them were: “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Disrespect is the mother of anger and the other way around, respect is the mother of peace.
From those situations were born the opening song of Facettes The Strength of My Hate and believe me, it came to me very quickly and very naturally. It came from the 💜
—> Listen in Spotify : https://open.spotify.com/track/3lsTzzdhg2TBg8iH1xbbqK?si=tAVoTAcpRTaHy9SPe9DaHA