CALLIRHOE RAOUZEOU
~ Σειρήν ~
If I needed to smuggle anything - drugs, precious stones, under-age white slaves - past a rigorous customs post - fierce guards, brutal commandant, man-munching sniffer dogs - I wouldn't bother with the usual fake panels on the fried-out combie. As we neared Checkpoint Charlie I'd casually murmur, Which of course she will, hitting those notes that match her voice and timbre so sublimely F# - F# - G - A - G - F# - G - A. I will of course have timed it perfectly: La Raouzeou will be in full songbird siren-issima croon as the Customs Commandante steps out. He is the terror of all smugglers * No one has evaded him * Even when they have, their expensive vehicles lie stripped and vandalised. What have we here? A costly limo, a fop in finery ... a beautiful woman. Yes, indeed, punk - I feel most lucky. But what are these heavenly notes that meet his ears? That voice ... he is swooning. He raises his hand and the car comes to a halt. I joke but not entirely. Miss Callirhoe Raouzeou (the spelling of whose name seems to be in random dispute, depending if you believe her albums, 'Emails to Emily' and 'Neuromantics' or her own MySpace profile page) Even there confusion reigns ~ the lady really doesn't want to be pinned down ~ in the the URL, 'kaliroe'; on the page itself, 'Callirhoe'. So-o Greek. I love it. Loipon, the customs officer is too hypnotised to move. I slide the 'Neuromantics' album into the car stereo and flick it to track 6, the haunting 'Mme Marchadier', at which even the minions start to lose interest in searching every nook and cranny. 'Wait!' I cry. 'I see I have met my match - here, in full view on the back seat, CDs of Mademoiselle Raouzeou nestling in a bed of used notes. I had hoped to smuggle them through but you're too good for me, it's a fair cop.' The officer snatches them up with a triumphant gleam: "These are singings by madame? How wise of you to confess. It is a capital offence to smuggle beautiful songs ... but you have confessed so you may go free - but the CDs stay here. One last formality - I need a signature for the confiscation ... perhaps madame would oblige ... acknowledgement of this most grave offence ... thank you madame ... and a final touch .... here above the signature, if you'd be so kind? 'To Capitaine Ronaldo, love and affection to my most devoted fan.' Perfect." It's around now that Jimmy-Joe Potts' Byronic Phrase book slips from his disbelieving fingers: Yo! What about my review? Ya know ...?? Dude! Talk about talking a good game. Every time we meet, Holmes is all 'Ooh, yes, naughty me, I simply must get on with reviewing your blues.' It's not even as if I don't give him the get-out - I tell him, you won't like them - but he's all yes yes I will, soon as I get home, three barrés full, Jim, and then he kicks off with all this promising stuff - and now this. Don't get me wrong - lovely lady that Kaliroe, couldn't happen to a nicer songstress." Jimmy-Joe is right. I had every intention of wrapping up 'Memphis' and 'Death Valley' and was even putting in deep research by listening round the subject to 'Neuromantics - Explorations of Love' for which Jim wrote the lyrics. Big mistake. One note from those golden Callirhoned vocal folds and I was lost. Seriously - and I am never so serious when writing about music as when I'm horsing around - this is a woman with an astonishing voice and a matching feel for a lyric. Here, let me save you 12 minutes finding her photo album. It's here but you'd never have found it. Everything is against this talented woman getting the recognition and listenership she deserves, and no, it's not just 'Greek', it's plain incompetence. When I bumped into Jim Potts in town - going over in my mind my purple praising prose for his review - he told me that Calli' had been over for the launch of Neuromantics and had been better live than on the disc. Hard to believe. Since most people who visit are of no earthly interest to me and of dubious tastes, I refuse to let slip the sacred name of Raouzeou (which they wouldn't get their tongue around anyway, let alone the Calliwag moniker) Libretto will be good: Especially for Eurydice at the 01:01 mark when I currently sing the misheard lines, 'Look a breeze makes me down'. I can't wait to find out what the real lyrics are. OK, wanna know what La C is actually singing there? "You look at me, it makes me die". Hmm, how did I get 'down' there, but I still like 'look a breeze' and will continue to do so until glared at by some Salonikan tottie. I coulda asked Jimmy Joe but he'd've retorted snorted 'Ain't telling ya til you done that thar review' In which case, from that man's fingers alone ripple melodies of such beauty I can only urge you to do yourselves a favour and get hold of these albums. I'm not talking pretty frou-frou tunes such as that Mr McCartney from Liverpool has trotted out over the years; I mean serious melodiosity where even the hooks have hooks. Phwoar! No wonder the Fruiterine of my Loins feareth to passenger with me when Mme Marchadier plays: My kinda lyrics, my kinda woman's voice delivering them. Et voilà, I knew I'd get my Potts review in somewhere."Alors, Callirhoe cherie ... that marvelous  line at 01:49 in 'Emails to Emily' - 'Then fit our vision to the dark' - do remind me how it goes"
"No, not you, madame, don't you halt ... please, keep singing ...."
"Back to work, you dogs!" bellows the capitaine, "Whatever it is, it's got to be somewhere. Tear the car apart!"
"WTF?
2 comments :
You've got your priorities right!
coming up, old boy - i'll get to you in the end.
soon as i get over this Calli' crush.
just picked up 4 more albums from raul at the triklino gig (not really my kinda music) and already one has gone.
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