Listening to Ferland | The Press

One Saturday morning when I was 7, everyone in the house was asleep. I’m in the living room. My mother doesn’t want me to watch television. Not before noon. So I turn on the stereo.


I’m going through my parents’ record collection. Frank Sinatra, Claude Léveillée, Glenn Miller, Félix… Oh! There’s a new one. I take it out of its pouch, place it gently on the plate, and press the button…

It snowed in Port-au-Prince
It’s still raining in Chamonix
We ford the Garonne
The sky is full of blue in Paris

This is how I discovered Jean-Pierre Ferland. I find this beautiful. I don’t understand all the places named, but here comes the chorus…

Make a fire in the fireplace I’ll come home

I know the fire in the fireplace. The fireplace is right next to the stereo, and my dad makes a fire every night. I don’t know what it’s like to come back home, I’ve never left our home, but I’m so comfortable there that I imagine it must be sweet.

Two years later, I’m in the basement, digging through my 16-year-old older brother’s records. Nothing to do with those of my parents: The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Santana, the Woodstock double album and an all yellow cover. Where is the singer’s name? I am looking on the back: Jean-Pierre Ferland. My parents’ singer became my teenage brother’s singer. In two years, Ferland has become 16 years younger. He went from 36 to 20 years old. He will be 20 years old all his life, when you love, you are always 20 years old.

From YELLOW, my memories of Ferland are overwhelming, because he is everywhere. It is national glory. So much so that in 1975, on Saint-Jean’s Day, we not only celebrated Quebec, we celebrated Jean-Pierre, born on June 24. On the Mountain, the little king is surrounded by princesses: Emmanuëlle, Renée Claude, France Castel… Arrives the conquering queen, Ginette 1Dwho catapults his song A little further in the transcendental universe.


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