Rue Laurier
Before the hidden tune, the legendary album Union break ends with the poignant ballad Rue Laurier, the text of which is one of the rare ones written by Karl Tremblay. Drawing inspiration from the difficult childhood of a guy he worked with in a video store, the singer takes his most visceral voice to do what Les Cowboys Fringants does best: tell human stories as if they were was theirs. With a melody of burning fire.
Émilie Côté, The Press
Nothing
I know, I know… In the aftermath of Karl Tremblay’s death, we should talk about love – not the end of the world. But I will defend Nothing in any circumstances. I remember, at 8 or 9 years old, listening to the piece on repeat, both terrified and amazed by the desolate scenes it depicted: cities swallowed up by the ocean, destructive hurricanes, men dressed in head to toe in a virus-resistant suit… Twenty years later, Nothing has not aged. Even though it looks more and more like a prophecy.
Léa Carrier, The Press
At half-mast
The album Union break was the soundtrack of the summer when I was 12. A choice that was not mine, but rather that of my best friend (and especially her big sister). In full disclosure, I was no longer able to hear it! When my mother bought the double album in concert Tie on your hat!, my opinion has changed. I listened to it then re-listened so many times that I still know it by heart today, transitions between pieces included. With their committed songs, like At half-mast (whose version live gives you shivers), Les Cowboys Fringants gave birth to a great interest in politics in the teenager that I was and nourished the hope that it could be done differently.
Véronique Larocque, The Press
A little tour
I’m 40 years old and this strange impression that Les Cowboys Fringants and I experienced the same things, at the same time. When I discovered the group, I was 19 years old and I was studying at the Cégep du Vieux Montréal. The song A little tour (Motel Capri, 2000) transports me to my first apartment, rue de Normanville. It’s a song that evokes precariousness, but above all first loves and an exhilarating freedom. “Come and take a little walk in my apartment fret / We’re freezing our ass off but it doesn’t matter, we’ll stick together under the covers. »
Catherine Handfield, The Press
The demonstration
Here, Les Cowboys Fringants are at the height of their irony and a form of disillusionment. To a catchy rhythm, Jean-François Pauzé paints in detail a ferociously mocking scene where the demonstrators “coming mainly from the Cégep du Vieux-Montréal” “freeze their asses off […] in the cold rain of March. “It’s going to take a lot of sunshine / Otherwise it’s not tomorrow the day before / We’re going to make the revolution,” concludes Karl Tremblay with great discernment. Ten years later, in 2012, the temperature was particularly mild from the end of February. And spring was… maple.
Alexandre Vigneault, The Press
On my shoulder
You don’t need to be a soothsayer to predict that this song won’t be a shooting star. Jean-François Pauzé is at the top of his art here: he anchors the emotional charge of his piece in a very Quebecois expression, orchestrates a dramatic progression in the chorus, plays subtly with the levels of language and all that without getting lost. On my shoulder is a very simple song, easy to strum on the guitar, of infinite tenderness. Something like a great love song, which tightens the throat and makes the eyes water.
Alexandre Vigneault, The Press
Head to Papineau
The live version of this song appeared on Tie on your hat! made me vibrate in many ways… Firstly because I was working in a TV station at the time – the text of Head to Papineau was singularly appropriate. Its rock energy also takes me back to the heart of the frenzied crowd at the Spectrum, where the album was recorded in December 2002. But above all, it takes me back to a time when I had the chance to share the microphone with Karl, on the stage of a karaoke bar on rue Masson… An unforgettable memory, you say?
Pierre-Marc Durivage, The Press
8 seconds
8 seconds encapsulates what Les Cowboys Fringants does wonderfully well: tackling serious, difficult, even apocalyptic subjects, with festive tunes. This song, which precedes on the album High Mass the least cheerful Nothingaccompanied the beginning of my awakening to the environmental crisis. 8 seconds, it’s four minutes of frenzied indignation, a fierce denunciation of the privatization of water, free from fatalism. There may soon be only 8 seconds left, but, “citizens, the future begins now.”
Valérie Simard, The Press
America cries
I knew a few Cowboys songs, Shooting Stars touched me, but they generally left me indifferent. Then there was America cries in 2019, which got into me. Literally. For the sensitive relevance of its text, for the painful melancholy of its melody. But it is the inhabited interpretation of Karl Tremblay, his power, his crack, his tragic appeal – “The question I ask myself all the time / But how do these poor people / To get through the whole course / D a life without love? » – which still moves me today. And God knows we listened to this song: my three teenage children appropriated the album The Antipodes in full, which is part of our family history forever. Time passes, two of my children have now become young adults, and that’s probably why (also) I cry during America cries.
Josée Lapointe, The Press
Shooting Stars
At the turn of the millennium, two members in good standing of the Cowboys arrived at the offices of the local newspaper in Repentigny – hello, The Artisan ! – to tell me, then a young journalist without a beard, that the group would become “big” and that I had to follow its career “carefully” so as “not to miss it”. Their confidence struck me. Their music then? Less. But that was before hearing this song, released in 2004, and which confirmed their prophecy. JF Pauzé’s text on this piece takes a lucid look at life, while “the dreams of simpletons fade away or are repressed” and in the end, we can only “hope to be happy a little before to die “. A difficult song to listen to since last Wednesday…
Philippe Beauchemin, The Press
Impala Blues
At the time, circa 2000, I believed that “vermouth” was a state. I had no idea what a big Impala looked like, but I was beginning to know what life was like, with its highways and cul-de-sacs. In this dark song with a cathartic chorus, Karl sits in the passenger seat of all the accident victims to yell with them. Pity? No ! Empathy. Because this pathetic crescendo, thanks to the interpretation of the singing cowboy, results in collective and jubilant catharsis. This was especially true in performance. “But this evening, I realize that my life is like an old tank / No matter how much I cringe, but I never leave.” He left, but he forgot to turn off the headlights.
Charles-Éric Blais-Poulin, The Press