Dis-Moi, Am I Lost in Translation?

At the Virgin record store in Nice Airport, I approached the cashier with a hastily chosen CD of French songs for my teenage daughters. I was pretty sure it was going to be full of songs by the French equivalents of Clay Aiken and Neil Diamond. I had tried to get a clue while listening to the radio for the past couple of weeks as we roamed around France, but it was hard to find anything that wasn’t by Michael Jackson.

I reasoned that at least I would be giving my teenage daughters one more reason to think I’m old, and hopeless, and all things mothers are destined to become in their teenage daughters’ eyes. Perhaps they could share the CD with their French class and bond with their classmates by scoffing at their mother’s oldness and hopelessness. As much as I hate the fact that I have long crossed over into the “uncool,” what I detest most, is that I’ve just come to recognize it.

Ignorance truly is bliss sometimes.

As I discussed my choice with the cashier I became aware of a  French teenage girl looking over my shoulder.  So began my final Rosetta Stone moment of the trip.

“Je puis vous aider ?” (can I help you?) she asked.

“Ce serait grand. Pouvez-vous m’aider à choisir une musique pour mes filles adolescente ?” (That would be great! Can  you help me choose some music for my teenage daughters?) This may not have been what I said exactly, but like a newly immigrated NYC taxi cab driver, I only can claim that I  made myself perfectly understood.

The French teen put her hand on my shoulder and guided me towards the merchandise. I got the feeling I reminded her of her grandmother. I didn’t get mad at her assumption because, yeah… we’re talking about my own convoluted projection here.

“Que musique font elles aiment ?” (What kind of music do they like?)

Again, this is kinda what I said. Yeah, I made myself  understood.  If I were in a French language lesson video this would be it EXACTLY:

Elles aiment toutes les sortes de musique, sauf le pan, le club ou la musique de disco. (They like all kinds of music except not pop, club or disco music.) Leurs préférés sont la musique classique et le rock. (They prefer classical music and rock.)

Fortunately “rock” is one of those universal words like “telephone”, “jogging” or “minibar”.  If I had said “la musique de la roche,” (music of the rock) I’m pretty sure I would have at least gotten a good laugh out of her.

After telling her that the long list of my daughters’ favorite bands include “U2″, “Coldplay”,  and “Muse,” she guided me to a CD by the very cute, BB Brunes. Here is one of the songs, Dis-Moi.

One of the lines, “Une légère envie de violence quand elle relace ses bas,” translates via an online translator to “a slight zest for violence when she re-laces up her bottoms”  If “bas” is a typo and is supposed to be “bras” or “arms“, then it could mean “a slight zest for violence as she takes back her arms.” Both are a bit odd, but I’m sure it’s  a colloquialism. Anyone?

Or perhaps girls who have a zest for violence often take back their arms these days? Or this re-lacing up of bottoms is a new trend?

Remember, dans les yeux de mes filles, je suis vieux. Très, très vieux. Et désespéré. (In the eyes of my daughters, I am old. Very, very old. And hopeless.)

I say: Qui se soucie ? (Who cares?)

For more Musical Monday, head over to Jori, Diane’s, and Lady Java.

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