Michel Griffin In Brief

"Where words fail, music speaks." - Hans Christian Andersen

mg@michelgriffin.com

(+33) (0)6 86 06 85 83

	With Frenchie with Frenchie Dègre
	Route 66
	Strangers Once Again
	Perfumed Letter Blues
	Hallelujiah
	San Francisco Bay Blues
	To Love Somebody
	Candy Man
	Nobody Knows You
	Deep River Blues
	Another Way of Looking

	With FrenchieWith Anne-Em'
	Jardin d'Hiver
	Parler d'Amour
	Bras Dessous Bras Dessus
	Fragile
	Baiser d'Adieu
	Borborygmes
	While My Guitar Gently Weeps
	Over the Moon
	Dites-Moi
	Imagine

	In the Studio
	New York Kaleidoscope
A driving song that captures the sights, sounds and energy of Manhattan, featuring Alexis Van Eeckhout's soaring saxophone and a blistering guitar-solo from Chieli Minucci (of 'Special EFX' fame). owniTunes spotifyalbum vid Follow the tail-lights into the city Blinded by the love-light in your new love’s eyes New York has never looked so pretty Filigree of diamonds 'gainst a velvet sky ... Tyres screaming down the FDR Feel the pull of the traffic in the hot night air There’s music playing, it's a saxophone The hips that are swaying, you can follow them home Heat rising from the paving stones A song in your head that won't leave you alone; The beat on the street, a sudden spark Hungry hearts chasing hungry hearts ... Follow the tail-lights into the city Blinded by the love-light in your new love’s eyes New York has never looked so pretty Filigree of diamonds 'gainst a velvet sky ... Kaleidoscope colours swirling in the haze Ruby-red kisses in the urban maze The pulse of jazz on the Summer street A halo of light where the lovers meet ... Follow the tail-lights into the city Blinded by the love-light in your new love’s eyes New York has never looked so pretty Filigree of diamonds 'gainst a velvet sky ... Copyright © MGP & M.J.C. Griffin [ASCAP] Return
	Dreams Like Bubbles
I was inspired to write this jazz piece by reading Don Marquis's comment : 'Publishing a volume of verse is like dropping a rose-petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo'. Dreams are like bubbles, blown over cobblestones. With Albert Casas's inventive tenor sax. owniTunes spotifyalbum vid I blow my dreams like bubbles over cobblestones, And watch them float and gently drift into the jaws of the unkown; And when they burst, and fall to dust, I calmly do as dreamers must: I reach into the distance and blow another dream. I reach into the distance and blow another dream; And when it bursts, and falls to dust I calmly do as dreamers must: I watch it float and gently drift into the jaws of the unkown; I blow my dreams like bubbles over cobblestones. A dream is like a bubble: you can look, but you can't touch; And yet, in times of trouble, I love so very much ... To blow my dreams like bubbles over cobblestones, And watch them float and gently drift into the jaws of the unknown; And when they burst, and fall to dust, I calmly do as dreamers must: I reach into the distance and blow another dream. Copyright © M.J.C. Griffin [ASCAP] Return
	Who Whips the Cream?
The song has an almost Samba rhythm, with its delicate Spanish guitar accompaniment. I wrote the song after the breakup of my first marriage. owniTunes spotifyalbum vid Who whips the cream for your morning coffee? Who shares your dreams? Who is combing your hair? What makes you smile? Who is keeping you laughing? Who shares your dreams, now that I’m not there? Oh, there were times, before all the shouting, You’d swell my heart, till I thought it would burst. Yeah, there were times, on the side of the mountain When you were the stream, and I was thirst. The moment we met, one look and I knew We’d be sharing each other before the night was through; You were looking for love, I was offering shelter, And that was enough: we paid passion her due. And now I’m alone, with this guttering candle Which is etching in smoke the ghost of your smile: I’m left wondering how, at the turn of a handle, The warmth of your kisses turned colder than guile. Copyright © M.J.C. Griffin [ASCAP] Return
	Tree Trunks and Rough Stone
I love the simple honesty of old farm-houses, built of local rough-hewn stone and felled tree-trunks. I chose to live in one, and I imagined that I would die there. With the haunting accordion playing of Gérard Lamolère. owniTunes spotifyalbum Half way up the valley, there's a house that I call home It has weathered many seasons - the men who built it are long gone; But sometimes I seem to see them, when the morning light is strong Fashioning a place to live, out of tree-trunks and rough stone. Sometimes I seem to see them, when the morning light is strong, Builders from a bygone age, singing an ancient song; The same sun stained their forearms brown, the same wind chilled their bones: The same earth gave them the wherewithall : the tree-trunks and rough stone. You can keep your golden palaces with their fine-wrought marble walls You can keep your high-rise luxury, it doesn't tempt me at all; You can keep on building houses, but a house don't make a home: Give me the simple honesty of tree-trunks and rough stone. Down there in the valley, there's a place that I'll call home: It 'll be my final resting place, when my last day's work is done; You can keep your ornate monuments, your ashes and your urn: Leave me the quiet dignity of tree-trunk and rough stone. Copyright © M.J.C. Griffin [ASCAP] Return
	Atlantic Avenue
The first self-penned song on the album is a very spare arrangement. A single guitar, and Marcel "Frenchie" Dègre’s plaintive harmonica accompany the song’s poignant narrative. A song that stays with you ... owniTunes spotifyalbum vid The last time I saw Wendy, she had tears in her eyes She was heading for a breakdown, I was heading for the skies; Can’t blame her for trying, she just picked the wrong disguise To take her to Atlantic Avenue. The sun is low, it’s dying, scattering blood across the sky, The wind is up, it’s trying to wrestle teardrops from my eye; To say I’m not conflicted would be to tell a lie But I’m going to Atlantic Avenue. Nobody said it would be easy Sometimes this world will make you blue; But when this world just drives me crazy I turn to you, Atlantic Avenue. From the halo of a streetlight, her pale face haunts me still She is smiling shyly up at me, and I guess she always will; There are partings left unfinished in the heart of every man, I take mine to Atlantic Avenue. Nobody said it would be easy Sometimes this world will make you blue; But when this world just drives me crazy I turn to you, Atlantic Avenue. The last time I saw Wendy, she had tears in her eyes She was heading for a breakdown, I was heading for the skies; Can’t blame her for trying, she just picked the wrong disguise To take her to Atlantic Avenue. Copyright © M.J.C. Griffin [ASCAP] Return