A song from our new French album YAY! // POMPLAMOOSE

Опубликовано 14 июля 2021, 15:42

Happy 14th of July!!! In honor of this great day of French Independence we are releasing a French album! Hoorah!!! Pre-order yours at pomplamoose.com

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A cover of Charles Trenet's "Que reste-t-il de nos amours?" by Pomplamoose.

MUSICIAN CREDITS
Lead Vocals: Nataly Dawn
Keys: Jack Conte
Clarinet: John Tegmeyer
Piano: Ross Garren
Backing Vocals: Sarah Dugas
Upright bass: Eliana Athayde
Acoustic Guitar: John Schroeder
Acoustic Guitar/Trumpet: Erik Miron
Drums: Ben Rose

AUDIO CREDITS
Engineer: Tim Sonnefeld
Assistant Engineer: Branko Presley
Mixing/Mastering: Caleb Parker
Producer: John Schroeder

VIDEO CREDITS
Director: George Sloan
DP: Ricky Chavez
Camera Operators: Merlin Showalter, Sammy Rothman, Dijon Herron, Brad Davis
Art Design: Brad Davis, Susannah Honey
Editor: Dominic Mercurio
Colorist / Vlog Editor: Charlene Gibbs

Recorded at The Village in Los Angeles.

LYRICS (French)

Ce soir le vent qui frappe à ma porte
Me parle des amours mortes
Devant le feu qui s'éteint
Ce soir c'est une chanson d'automne
Dans la maison qui frissonne
Et je pense aux jours lointains

Que reste-t-il de nos amours
Que reste-t-il de ces beaux jours
Une photo, vieille photo
De ma jeunesse
Que reste-t-il des billets doux
Des mois d'avril, des rendez-vous
Un souvenir qui me poursuit
Sans cesse
Bonheur fané, cheveux au vent
Baisers volés, rêves mouvants
Que reste-t-il de tout cela
Dites-le-moi

Un petit village, un vieux clocher
Un paysage si bien caché
Et dans un nuage le cher visage
De mon passé

Bonheur fané, cheveux au vent
Baisers volés, rêves mouvants
Que reste-t-il de tout cela
Dites-le-moi

Un petit village, un vieux clocher
Un paysage si bien caché
Et dans un nuage le cher visage
De mon passé

LYRICS (English)

Tonight the wind that knocks upon my door
Speaks to me of lost love
In front of the fire that dies out
Tonight there’s an autumn song
Shivering through the house
And I think of days long past

What is left of our love
What is left of those lovely days
A photograph, an old photograph
Of my youth
What is left of those love notes
Of months of April, of trysts
A memory that chases me
Endlessly
Faded happiness, hair in the wind
Stolen kisses, moving dreams
What remains of all this
Tell me

A tiny village, an old steeple
A well-hidden landscape
And in a cloud the beloved face
Of my past

Faded happiness, hair in the wind
Stolen kisses, moving dreams
What remains of all this
Tell me

A tiny village, an old steeple
A well-hidden landscape
And in a cloud the beloved face
Of my past