Today is a glorious day for all birds! Cagesan the Bicheno finch, is having his debut album I love machine out! The design looks splendid, thanks to Elizabeth Creseveur, Florence Manlik and Rémi Gérard-Marchand's helpful hand. The website is online, thanks to Antoine Bédard (the génial Montag). It's already possible to order the record. It's great music, thanks to Cagesan and his 15 exceptional producers. You can check some songs of the bird's debut album on his myspace page.

It is the first time in music history that a bird is considered as a real artist, individually named and thus, able to release an album of his own. It is the first time in fashion history that a bird is opening his wardrobe (more about this on the beaubrun.net press page - Vogue Uccellini). Each song on Cagesan's debut album has been named after one fashion outfit from his collection, designed by Florence Manlik.

I let you with this Cagesan's thought:

"We're regarded as 'outsider musicians', because humans don't speak our language. But truly, it's human music that is 'outsider language', as it imitates the fusion of music and language that we songbirds perfected millions of years ago…"

Cagesan

Yesterday I went to the concert of Benoît Delbecq, the pianist @ Fondation Cartier (soirée nomade). It was a nice concert. I really loved when he played simultaneously prepared and regular piano keys together. I went to see how the sound was produced: sharpened sticks of wood, that was all. I also saw an old Casio CZ 101 hidden in the piano, a cult synth from 1985. I saw the same at Momus place in London, years ago. The first time I heard Delbecq's piano was in a Katerine concert at La Cigale (in 2001?). I was very impressed by his playing, much better and innovative than the usual pop pianism.

I'm working on my next album Goto. Since we were very happy with the sounds added by Fashion Flesh on the Woodie Guthrie's cover (check myspace), it looks like John Talaga (the same man) will contribute to many different songs. Songs that fit with the Goto spirit are: Ebréché, Traffic jam, La chambre noire, Où va la vie, This land is your land, My house, Transports, Are visages electric, Alabama gay, Les monstres, I love you, Goto. That makes 12 tracks. The Goto album sounds like a post vintage Dodge because I try to create music with my 1966 orange soul. My dodgy* soul is not a motherboard's soul. Not yet!

* I don't know what dodgy means. I don't know what does post vintage mean, and it's really not important at all. I also don't know what means "motherboarded soul".

The Mobium Bus is such a great idea! Mobile museum. Unlike Starbucks* or Ikea*, this is a concept that should spread all around the world. I would love to see the show in Nagoya, with O.lamm, Digiki and friends. Have a nice tour!

* I like exotism. Paris is exotic for american people; but there is no exotism if they go to Starbucks or Mac Donald's near Opera. It makes me sad to think about going somewhere in the world and seeing the french idestroyyourlandscapebutit'sforyourowngood hypermarket Carrefour.

I don't even know her face, I only know her left shoulder when she's doing her homework. She's the elder daughter of the baker. The other daughter is younger, she wears glasses; she's really fat and she's always sneaking around in her parents bakery. Not the elder one, who's serious sexy. It must be really hard to not become fat when you're living in a patisserie world. Vivre parmi les gateaux rend gros. (I'm waiting for an english translation with rhyme).

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Not far from Tree, there is a bush of wild roses. Wild roses jam is my favorite jam; it's a specialty from Alsace (near Alsace, in Jura, they say it's a specialty from Jura). The confiture d'églantine Beyer is the best one... When I think about it, it's possible that the artist called Tree is trying to attract me as a label manager, with a bush of wild roses. I should try to think of him from an other angle, less partial. Nothing but his art, not his surroundings. Beaubrun doesn't sign an artist because he's having beautiful friends; even if these friends are what wild roses jam is made of.

Here is Tree, an artist I might sign on the Beaubrun record label. Maybe in 2008. His foliage music sounds very good. I might ask some producers to work on his music, as I did for the Cagesan debut album (which should be ready in a very short time). Cagesan could also make a duet with Tree.

La valeur n'attend pas le nombre des années: when did your artistic life start? I remember to have published my first poems when I was 10. My grandmother had them published in the parish bulletin. One was about a bum. It was a very catholic poem; my grand mother was very religious, in a good sense. She was my only reader. I remember the last verses of this poem:

Et Dieu sur sa liste inscrira son nom
Car cet homme était bon.

I think that I wrote my first song at the age of 15, on our Lowrey organ. I was living with my father in a big house, he was sick (tuberculosis) and I was often alone. The organ became a close friend. I still have a BASF tape from 1982. Then there were bands: Jetboys (a few months) and Antispasmodique (one year). My home city was full of good bands; one was called Ersatz. My favorite one was called Pavillon 26, the insane pavillon in our local hospital. We also had the german/swiss border very close (20 kilometers), with an other scene, venues like Cräsh (Freiburg, GE) and Totentanz (Basel). I was scared to go to Cräsh because it was filled with drunk punks.

I decided that I would never been in a band anymore after Antispasmodique, because this stupid penis called guitar pissed me off. I was thinking: there must be other ways to express you're a man musician than a fucking guitar with a disto.

Here at the rue des martyrs (n°3 if you want to taste uglicious with us), we really love the work of Nicolas Moulin. A few years ago, he created this city locked in concrete based on Paris streets. Big photos; it was so strong. And now, he's spreading incredible buildings under construction (in Korea) in desertic landscapes in Iceland. Sure that Matthew Barney and family will buy an appartment up there.

She calls it: un hérisson. In fact, it looks like a hérisson. Petit Suisse hedgehogged with bits of milk chocolade. After a few seconds, it starts to collapse. Delicious, ugly delicious, uglicious...

Oh yes, as our friend Joseph Whitt said in his comment, our "This Land is your land" cover (myspace link) can be listened to as a french hommage to the elections result. Thanks for this vote! We need peace and air.

This photo of Florence (who sings the WG song) was taken when we arrived in Tucson after a long day, driving from the Petrified forest. You can see some of her recent drawings by a simple click on the right.

I have seen a photo of a party at Warhol's factory recently. Now I feel like I have seen a couch wrapped in plastic. Is it possible?

What is a couch? Could we live without them? Could we live with only chairs? And if there was no chair at all, if chairs had not been created yet, could we live with stools? Chairs, tables, doors are very important for me. This is why I love the swiss artist Roman Signer so much. He's able to turn a dull wooden stool into a minimal Superhero.

Quelques nouvelles poétiques: un poème intitulé Penser riche sur le site de poésie Les Cahiers de Benjy. L'éditeur Le Quartanier me confirme qu'il y aura bien un premier livre de poésie de Toog chez eux, à l'automne 2007. Dans la collection Phacophère, un joli nom pour une collection de poésie. Petit livre de 32 pages, qui contient 4 années de poésie. The very heart of my po/éthique, écrit entre 1994-1998.

One click on myspace to the right and you'll be able to hear the Woodie Guthrie song 'This land is your land' in a Toog version sung by Florence Manlik, post-produced by John Talaga ( Fashion Flesh), one of the Super Madrigal Brothers, the super genius who remixed Cornelius, worked on the Momus last records, opens Cagesan the owl finch's debut album I LOVE MACHINE. We love you John!

We went back to our hotel at Bab al Yaman in Sanaa with a lot of qat to chew. My companion Jeannot, was a blind man who asked me to become his guide in Yemen. After a while, Jeannot started to sweat like a fountain in the desert. I asked him: do you feel something? He said NO, absolutely nothing. We went on chewing qat. Jeannot was as wet as a man who would have taken a shower with his clothes on. I was feeling the acceleration of my thoughts, which was spectacular, especially if you consider my slowness. I was becoming more intellectual, which is hard to imagine because I'm already so much inside. Then we went out, Jeannot the living swimming pool and me, the fastest slowman of Sanaa, for a chicken, sweat, and blabla dinner.

(Souvenir of Sanaa, august 1989)