Le Télégramme (Bobital Festival July 5)

[Pablo K]

The Pogues. Tant qu’il y aura du Shane...

http://www.letelegramme.com/gratuit/generales/regions/bretagne/the-pogues-tant-quil-aura-du-shane-20080706-3402447_1386576.php

[mats]

Tranlated with Google

The Pogues. As long as there's Shane ...
All snags outside, Shane MacGowan, the legendary singer of the Pogues, has paid the 30,000 customers of a pub outdoor Bobital, its general tour of Irish songs, so dear to the hearts of Britons. Emouvant, as the good old days ...
As long as there's Shane, there will be fun. Easy, he admits, Mr. MacGowan. But without you, without your voice, the Pogues will lose their soul. And then you want us to tell you, dear old oak, which probably will not live centenary, you made us cry. Crying for joy mixed with infinite tenderness and ineffable sadness. The tears in their eyes squarely in the middle of the crowd in full delirium. No, this was not the dust generated by these thousands of crazy legs jitter. But you see, even stumbling, with your white complexion white, swallowing glass of water on glass of water, you hanging over the microphone, like not to sink into the waves, pitiful in your jean not "too clean on him, "toothless, poor you, you were the most beautiful, the best.
Happy to see you happy
Effaçant with one stroke of your voice magic that takes the guts, mischief and damage of a whore "dirty old life," lived at 100 miles an hour by burning the four ends of the candle, you as we taken to paradise.
Happy, that was happy to see you. To read the happiness in your eyes that, slowly, reluctantly, you have finally opened, égrenant the Rosary of these Irish songs, so dear to our hearts small Bretons. By shyness? Oh, no, not the kind of home, is well known. But, perhaps, for fear of you wake up, you face reality. To tell you that clamors, the cries of friendly audiences who do could not be a bad dream. And then, in one fell swoop, as released by the mild sunshine, sunset, suddenly pointing his small tip of the nose, a huge smile has finally appeared on your face radiant. As a result, the festival has been accelerated. You have even outlined a pas de deux in the direction of the preliminary stage, unfortunately aborted by the fault of a micro over too short. Too short, as life? In any case, especially does not break your pipe too fast. As a "star of the county down, you have much more to give ...

[philipchevron]

Tranlated with Google

The Pogues. As long as there's Shane ...
All snags outside, Shane MacGowan, the legendary singer of the Pogues, has paid the 30,000 customers of a pub outdoor Bobital, its general tour of Irish songs, so dear to the hearts of Britons. Emouvant, as the good old days ...
As long as there's Shane, there will be fun. Easy, he admits, Mr. MacGowan. But without you, without your voice, the Pogues will lose their soul. And then you want us to tell you, dear old oak, which probably will not live centenary, you made us cry. Crying for joy mixed with infinite tenderness and ineffable sadness. The tears in their eyes squarely in the middle of the crowd in full delirium. No, this was not the dust generated by these thousands of crazy legs jitter. But you see, even stumbling, with your white complexion white, swallowing glass of water on glass of water, you hanging over the microphone, like not to sink into the waves, pitiful in your jean not "too clean on him, "toothless, poor you, you were the most beautiful, the best.
Happy to see you happy
Effaçant with one stroke of your voice magic that takes the guts, mischief and damage of a whore "dirty old life," lived at 100 miles an hour by burning the four ends of the candle, you as we taken to paradise.
Happy, that was happy to see you. To read the happiness in your eyes that, slowly, reluctantly, you have finally opened, égrenant the Rosary of these Irish songs, so dear to our hearts small Bretons. By shyness? Oh, no, not the kind of home, is well known. But, perhaps, for fear of you wake up, you face reality. To tell you that clamors, the cries of friendly audiences who do could not be a bad dream. And then, in one fell swoop, as released by the mild sunshine, sunset, suddenly pointing his small tip of the nose, a huge smile has finally appeared on your face radiant. As a result, the festival has been accelerated. You have even outlined a pas de deux in the direction of the preliminary stage, unfortunately aborted by the fault of a micro over too short. Too short, as life? In any case, especially does not break your pipe too fast. As a "star of the county down, you have much more to give ...

The pas de deux on the "preliminary" stage would be the runway extension of the stage, utilised at various points by myself, James, Shane and Spider. Shane's mic lead dictated just how far down the runway he could get (quite far) but the 4 of us made a nice picture genuflecting in the "church" during "Sicked Of Cuchulainn".

And yes, we ascended into heaven at the end. Or Shane did. Or something.................

[territa]

Philip, I'm glad you made it.

[Maldoror]

but the 4 of us made a nice picture genuflecting in the "church" during "Sicked Of Cuchulainn".

Yeah, that was a great moment!
Thank you Mats for the translation. I tried to read it in the newspaper, but my French is so bad, that when I ordered a hamburger with fries, I got a sandwich with bacon instead.