Many thanks to Olli Czoske for translating the cartoon at for me.
You might want to print this page out while looking at the cartoon online, or whatever.


Arranged by the name of the gif-file, Panels are separated by blank lines, I didn't translate the English bits. Included: Some hints as to who Dave is.

The Fall in concert
-- Carriage number five? This way, instead of carriage 14.
-- We'll miss it, we'll miss it.

That morning already...
-- I mustn't go back to sleep or I'll miss it.

-- I won't shave or I'll miss it.

-- Shit, if it [the metro, I think] isn't here by ten I'll miss my train.
-- One...two...two and a half...

Finally I arrived 1h15 early.
-- I mustn't fall asleep or I'm going to miss it.

And still...
-- We'll miss it, we'll miss it.

In the end...
-- We haven't missed it, we haven't missed it.

-- Then we're going to enter the channel tunnel...

-- We're going to die, we're going to die, we're going to die...

-- What madness, going to London at this time! Wh..Why?

2-2.gif: see... THE FALL IN CONCERT
-- A great English group with a singer with a wonderful duck's voice! [coin coin --- nasal, through the nose, the way ducks speak in French]
-- Anyway, I'm crap at imitating.

At the same time, while the "Festival des Inrocks (*)" is sold out in Paris...
-- The band is crap, beer is 30 Francs...but I've seen J. D. Beauvallet (**) on the loo.
-- A great night out, then.
(*) French music (and culture) mag.
(**) I've no idea who he is.

...Christelle, Morlu and I LEAVE THE CAPITOL.

But on the shuttle reality catches up.
-- What a knothead ...
-- Him? That's the guitarist of Pulp!!

It was Morlu introduced me to the Fall. He's really knowledgable about Post-Punk-New-(No)-Wave-Noise.
-- If you find the first Television Personalities, go for it.
-- The spoken word of Mark E Smith
-- [something about the first two albums of the Monochrome Set]
-- That 23 Skidoo produced by Genesis P. Orridge, wonderful.
[The book is "The English Lover" by somebody]

Industrial landscape, Pink Floyd cover art, we're arriving in London.

But before the concert, a tour of the record shops (Soho, Portobello)
-- I'm done with the CD rack and he's still got three vinyl racks to do! Shit!

Morlu's always looking for these incredible groups.

Night falls. Direction our dirty hotel...then oily fish & chips...then a barred-up pub (football time).

We arrive (inflated? blown up? full?) at the venue, Kentish Town, North London.

We missed the two support groups. It already smells of sweat.

An idiot with a mobile phone! Even here!
-- I want you to die of brain cancer, now, on the spot!

20h45, the band of Mark E Smith is on time.

A young and pretty [female] fan who knows all the words by heart...

Shit! I'm really blind...

-- Fuck, I'll never manage to draw.
An explosive rock has the crowd swaying.

Mark E Smith's choreography is just as shocking as Houellebecq's standing in a line at a sex party.
-- 'scuse me, I was next.

Sometimes he leaves, dropping his microphone...

...or he takes a second one...

...or increases (or decreases) the volume of the guitarist's amp...

...who only waits for E. Smith to turn his back to bring it back to level.

It happens that he just leaves and send a roadie to sing in his place...

...a behaviour that enrages some and amuses the others...

...which doesn't stop the crowd from pogoing...

...but pogoing doesn't seem to be allowed at this venue and two bouncers make their way through the crowd to beat up some dancers who calm down very quickly.

Physically, Mark E Smith is a cross between Dave (*) and Popeye.

(*) French disco hero who's recently been dug up from oblivion.

-- Come on, Luz, reducing 25 years and 40 albums of extraordinary minimalist rock and powerful experimentalist punk to that equation, that's really shameful.
-- Sorry.

-- No, Luz... not coincoin.
-- Sorry.

Never mind that a head like that doesn't help to get on MTV, or elsewhere...
-- And now, Mark, you're going to interpret for us "Candle in the Wind", on a choreography of your own. Go for it, Mark, we're listening.

"Two Librans", "The Joke", "Kick the Can", "Bourgeois Town" invigorating dive into the essence of rock-punk-what-you-want-to-move-right-now [or something like that]

After 1h05 the lights go on...
-- Oh, the bastard.

-- Last song: he really starts to go "coin-coin"!!

We end the evening at the pub.
-- He looks older and older.
-- If he's finished by ten, that's because the pubs close at eleven.
-- Pure Rock'n'Roll.
-- Do you think he wears artificial teeth?
-- My best concert since My Bloody Valentine.
-- Still, one hour. That's crap.
-- Yes, but what an hour.
-- Sure.
-- Usually, he wears shinier shoes.
-- Don't you think his guitarist looks like Cantona?
-- Urgh, my beer tastes like cider.
-- That's normal. It is cider.
-- Shit.
With one hour of commenting on the concert, we had 2h05 of the Fall in all. Sufficiently long, in the end.

Then we return to our junkie neighbourhood to sleep with [poules?] on methadone.

The next morning, before the train, we're going ploughing once more.
-- But what's his secret?

-- Look there. And what if I brought back Cadburies for all of my friends...

-- Burgh! I shouldn't have eaten all those chocolates!
-- I'm going to die!

Back in France with a nice loot, pretty worked up ears and a good liver crisis.