The group has orchestrated its separation in front of a fully room. Riffs, glitter and BPM. But there is a life after death. At least in rock.
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“will make you fuck slut … will get fucked, asshole …” It was their first words. The lyrics of a rupture song where a boy and a girl send love insults in the figure. He was Raph ‘, she ade. Their group: Therapie Taxi. “We had been told: but you’re crazy, who will want to sing that? …” It was a tube. And there, this Friday, October 8, at the Zenith of Paris, they are 6,000 people who resume it screaming to get burned the lungs. The last song of the last concert of their last tour. The word of the end.
There are harder burials than others. This one is to put in the annals of the funeral vigils to awaken the dead! “Are you ready to sing, dancing, sweat all the drops of your body to leave in the best possible way?”, Harngue the singer to a crowd that does not require better than walnut his grief from the post-Covid. 6,000 people without masks (“it’s recommended but not mandatory”, explains it) but with sanitary passes that rediscover the pleasure of incendiary BPMs and popular liabilities.
“Welcome to the world before”, Loris, 22 years old, student, post mortem t-shirt of his fetish group on the back. A little further, enlaced, Julie and Lucie, 26 and 34 years old, from Mantes-la-Jolie (Yvelines), make against bad fortune good heart the mourning of a music that they sum up “sexy, hyperinclusive and hyperliberate” .
The first Taxi Therapie album had sold almost 200,000 copies, the second was broken down by the pandemic that pushed back and canceled the tour that was to promote it. Some 30,000 copies only. What will disgust his creators? Another couple – of stage, in this case – whose confinement has cost the loss? It is more complicated than that. Groups are born and groups die. Raphaël Faget-Zaoui and Adelaide Chabannes de Balsac knew, who had made praise from the break, the raw material of their variety Pop beautifully revealed: it would not always last. It was not made to last.
What does not prevent the young woman from swallowing his tears at the last couplet, and the young man to heal his sadness in his lodge while the last aficionados leave The retreading room, shirts and souls soaked by this survitaminated element. “Frankly, to say the truth, I do not realize, I can not realize”, sighs Raph, the tattoos still dripping, the fatigue and the exhaustion of this tour of all its pores, and the milking melancholy Song piece, finding there free short to escape.
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