We’ve all experienced that on a blues night in Paris when the rain hits the windows of shops and bistros in big drops, when we’re hanging out his spleen in the greyness with long strides in the puddles as Michel Fugain sings in “Paris sous larain”.
1992, Michel Fugain has the blues, it’s raining in Paris but above all it looks like it’s raining in his eyes, a woman left himher name is Guérine, Caroline, Charline, we don’t really know but there are days like that, bad weather for fragile hearts when Paris is a defeat.
“Paris under the rain” by Michel Fugain is not “a beautiful novel, nor a beautiful story”, certainly not “the party” and even less “the spring”.
Last barrier before sink into despairthe blues has something saving, there will be other love stories, other tendernesses and other songs.
For artists like Michel Fugain, there is different ways to honor in the capital, from the bottom of the waterlogged gutters to the twinkling sun of the Eiffel Tower, from the place de l’étoile to the rue de la solitude. But tomorrow morning in Paris, the weather forecast predicts a clearing.