Here's a new song to swirl around the crisis like it was a ball room ! Please note the pretty contribution of Kid*Icarus, my musical buddy.I hope you haven't lost enough money to hate the lyrics ! watch out ! watch out ! watch them fall ! figures are peeling off the wall ! ava

Sometimes, the day after a gig, when I have a few eurobucks in my pocket, I marvel at how wonderful it is to exchange money for food.

probably if i was a bankrupted american citizen i would feel different about it but i'm not.

Cinnamon Nippard - To someone who’s never heard of you or your music before, how would you describe what it is you do....and who is the Hawkline Monster?

Ava Petit René - I think I would describe my music as a musicoclast. That’s a neologism I made up to name the kind of music someone who’s never ever touched an instrument would make and perform. What I do is half-way between pop and performance. I try to always stay on the verge of genres. My work is self-mocking but it’s also sincere. The fact that I play fake instruments is a joke, but my music isn’t a joke, I try to convey lots of different feelings despite the farcical equipment. The Hawkline Monster is a wicked beast that lies inside everything that twinkles. Its mischief aims at destroying conversations. I found it inside an eponym book by Richard Brautigan. But the Hawkline Monster left ! It still sticks around sometimes but it’s not performing with me anymore, I changed my name last week. I did it on stage in front of the audience. Now I’m Ava Petit René. I believe the Monster decided I was ready to stand on my own feet. It’s a pity because I used to blame everything on the Hawkline Monster. Maybe that’s why it left. Too much pressure…

C. N. - What programs do you use to make music?

A. P. R. - I only work with Garage Band, the simplest music program ever. I use prefab loops and sometimes compose the arrangements with my laptop keyboard (the one with the letters, not an external musical keyboard). It’s funny because since i play music this way, I often feel like a pianist while writing an email. Letters and music mingle in the same gesture. On stage, I perform with fake instruments, I pretend to play guitar, bass and double bass. Oh, and I have an air piano too. But I do sing live. Sometimes I introduce my songs in playback, just to confuse the audience a little, so that they might fear I’m going to fake everything. Then I start singing live and they’re relieved. They only feel half-tricked !

C. N. Where do you get your samples?

A. P. R. - They are all stacked in Garage Band, anyone can use them. Actually, I would love to make a compilation of the best songs made with the same doublebass or guitar line.

C. N. - Your lyrics are quite observational, sometimes cutting (Folker), sometimes charming or funny (Parentslauerberg) - what kinds of themes do you write about?

A. P. R. - Before I started writing songs I listened to a lot of songwriters and I used to get a little annoyed by their obsession with love. I wished they would sing about tsunamis, grammar rules or turkish coffee… Now that I know how songwriting works, I have to admit it’s much easier to write about love then anything else. Writing a song is a very intense process and you feel all the more stimulated when you’re feeling something very strongly. I hate to say it, but love must be one of the strongest feelings. Then again, I do write about other stuff, like demography, my mother or Swiss cantons. Everything I sing is true, I don’t make anything up, I just exaggerate a little. It’s always a reaction to something, it’s directed towards somebody or something. A song has a very peculiar format, shape, it’s like saying something to someone, something that stays, that can be repeated and to which other people can relate. What I love with songs is you don’t need to say much. Sometimes I start with an idea and I start developing it and then I realise I don’t need to, you just throw a few words together, find the proper rythm to assemble them it creates an atmosphere.


C. N. How has your background in art influenced how you make music?

A. P. R. - I guess it mostly gave me the guts and the urge to get on stage and sing my songs all by own despite my musical ignorance. It taught me that if you have a good formal idea and a few things to say, you can do anything.

C. N. - What kinds of themes do you explore in your artwork?

A. P. R. - Well, that’s a hard question to answer to… Because since I started music, I sort of left my artwork aside. Then again, I often feel like playing music and trying to become a popstar is a life-long performance that could be part of my artwork. I don’t feel like a proper musician but I’m not only a visual artist anymore either. Performer would be the right word I guess. The themes I explore(d) in my artwork are communication, misunderstandings, relationships between individuals, language… It sounds pretty vague. But let’s say I was obsessed by the extreme sophistication of our communication apparel – I mean, if you come to think about it, any conversation is a constant improvisation and it very often works out pretty well ! Sometimes it collapses. Sometimes it stands between meaning and absurdity. That’s what my artwork was about. Now I do much simpler things. I sing with fingerpuppets.

C. N. - Stylistically you explore different genres - some acapella, a melancholy ballad (Folker), folk or anti-folk, dub - who are your influences? (or what inspires you?)
A. P. R. - I listen to very different types of music, going from Joanna Newsom to Bach, Alva Noto, Kid Koala or Bob Dylan. But mostly singer-songwriters, I always payed a lot of attention to the words. I used to think it was silly and a minor approach to music but now I realise it’s a choice, I’m very sensitive to the voice as an instrument and I like it all the more when it conveys interesting lyrics. I read a book last year that comforted me a great deal, it’s called « Songs In The Key of Z », by Irwin Chusid. It’s about wacky musicians like The Shaggs, Tiny Tim or Wild Man Fischer. I could relate to these people who made music because they had to, regardless to their ignorance, just to let it out in a « naive art » kind of way. Also, my flatmate introduced me to the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band last year and I was aw-stricken. I still am. I felt like these guys had been my greatest inspiration all along without me even knowing them ! I love the way they all are very talented musicians but still perform in such a silly way. And their stage accessories drive me wild with jealousy… I heard they still perform, I would love to see them one day. Or maybe open for them ! That would be a dream…


C. N. - Can you tell me about the process of writing music? (do you start with a lyric? a sample, beat, or a melody?)

A. P. R. - I always start with the lyrics, because that’s the most important thing to me. Of course, later the tune and the music are also very important but if I don’t have anything to say, I can’t find how to say it ! In the beginning, the process was very simple, I wrote a few sentences, searched for a good sample (bass, guitar or drums) and improvised while recording, all my first songs only have one loop playing in the background. Now the process is a little more elaborate, I write the song, then find a loop and then arrange with different isntruments, using the keyboard interface. But it quickly gets very messy, since I have no idea what I’m doing. In a way it’s nice to be on my own because I can do absolutely what I want but sometimes I wish I had a few musicians to enlarge my possibilities.

C. N. - What’s your favourite Ava Petit René track right now?
Ooh, that’s a hard one. But usually my favorite is the last one I made because I don’t know it so well. At the moment, it’s a track called « I’m Not What I Do »

C. N. - What’s it about?

A. P. R. - I’m not so sure… (laughs) Maybe it’s about irresponsability, or happy regrets. Maybe it’s my goodbye song to the Hawkline Monster, telling him that if he’s not to blame for my mischieves, well I ain’t either ! Hhhm… that’s doesn’t sound very mature, does it ?

C. N. - How did you make it? what does it sounds like?

A. P. R. - I made it in twenty minutes, like all the others. But then something was missing so I rerecorded it. I like to go very fast, I make the song and I listen to it once and then I post it on myspace. Then I listen to it again and I have to delete it and remix it. I’m very impatient with poor organizational skills… But I’m having fun !

C. N. - Seeing your show isn’t like seeing an average musician - you have a sense of fun and playfulness. It’s also theatrical, and draws on performance art - how and why do you use props in your performance?

A. P. R. - For a very simple reason : I discovered I could write songs the minute I discovered Garage Band. I just needed a bit of music to babble along to. So I wrote one or two songs a day every day and ended up with a repertoire that I wanted to play live. For my first gig, in September 2006, I sang with the music in playback but I felt silly standing behind the microphone and doing nothing. For the next show I had the idea to use props, cardboard instruments but I couldn’t figure if it was really too stupid or not. So I called my friend Sibsi and asked him if he thought it would be too stupid or not. He said go ahead. So I did, and I’ve been playing over a hundred gigs with fake instruments. It gives me something to do with my hands while I sing, and I ended up believing I’m playing these instruments. I get really into pretending. Some people also told me they ended up believing the instruments were real too ! I like this kind of cheap but efficient magic.

C. N. - What are you trying to express in your live shows?

A. P. R. - I try to be as intense as possible, whether in humour or despair, I play with the audience and I hope they play with me, I try to offer something unheard of, to surprise the audience, to always be where they expect me the least.

C. N. - How does the audience respond to these instruments? (do they get it?)

A. P. R. - In a funny way, the experienced musicians are the most instantly amused and excited by my fake instruments. For the non-musician audience, it depends, the artsy crowd gets it pretty fast because they’re used to extravagance, but the regular people often start off with a suspicious attitude, they’re afraid I’m making fun of them. But after they give me a chance and realise I do want to offer them something, they get into it and end up enjoying themselves. Sometimes it’s hard in the beginning because in order to play my instruments properly, I have to believe in them, and in order to believe in them, I need the audience to trust me too. But after a little juggling we manage !

C. N. - You sing in English and French and have lived in Berlin, Greece and Paris, what’s it like for you playing to different audiences ?

A. P. R. - The French people are horrid snobs. But not so much the audience as the organizers. I started playing in Berlin and I never had to ask anyone for anything, the gig offers kept marching in. In Paris, I’m struggling. People are more serious and they don’t want to take any risks. In Berlin no one even thinks in terms of risks… But let’s not talk about that it makes me sour.

C. N. - Because you speak English, French, German, Italian and Greek, with these possibilities of expressing yourself, how do you choose which language you write in? or is it just organic?

A. P. R. - It is organic in a way. But I do have a different personality whether I speak/sing in French or English. French is good for ranting and moaning, English is better for seducing, although it’s not as clear really. What I like best is to mix languages in my songs like I do in real life, it’s a much easier way to get words to rhyme !

C. N. - You’ve also just started to write and sell songs for people, how did that come about?

A. P. R. - Oh ! Right ! I forgot about that ! (laughs). Yes, I offer a songwriting service. For a price that goes bewteen 50 to 100 euros, I write and record a song about anything you like, your girlfriend, your hamster or World War Two… I sold three of them, it was real fun, I love to get orders… I wrote one about Switzerland and another one about a couple of friends of mine, Yann and Delphine, I also have an order for a song about Peter Sloterdijk, the philosopher.

C. N. - How’s it going?

A. P. R. - Well, I’m a bit all over the place at the moment so I didn’t advertise it so much, but you just reminded me of it so I’ll go ahead and make an ad as soon as we finish the interview !

C. N. - What’s next for Ava Petit René ?

A. P. R. - I should be going on a southern French tour in April, then to Berlin for a month, from June on, the future is pretty hazy, many offers happen at the last minute. And I hope someone will help me release a decent version of my album pretty soon. Also, I’m starting some interesting collaborations with very talented musicians (Plateau Repas, Charles Baptiste, Ray Bartok, Chronik), although I swear I will keep on rocking my cardboard doublebass ! My next step is getting myself into New York City (where my mother is originally from) and play my head off. Oh, I’m also starting a series of paintings of all my musician friends. And a book in Frenglish about music.



audiozimt is the myspace page of freelance Australian radio journalist, Cinnamon Nippard. Currently based in Berlin, she produces radio features for Deutsche Welle Radio’s English Language Service (Germany), ABC Triple J’s current affairs program Hack (Australia), Free Speech Radio News (USA) daily current affairs program, and ABC Radio National’s arts program Artworks (Australia).

En 2004, j’ai eu la chance de traîner mes guêtres en Chine. En Chine, il est très difficile de se déplacer. Tous les panneaux sont écrits en chinois et quand vous indiquez une destination à un chauffeur de taxi sur une carte, il devient fou. Il la tourne, la retourne dans tous les sens et s’énerve fort. Il veut juste le nom de la rue, la carte, il l’a dans la tête. Sa carte, c’est le territoire, la projection, la représentation de l’espace ne l’intéressent pas. Je me sens très proche des chauffeurs de taxi qui pestent contre les cartes. J’aime pas bien ça, moi non plus, les projections, et dès que je vois un plan je ressens un violent mal de crâne, le sol se dérobe sous mes pieds et les larmes me montent aux yeux. Messieurs, inutile de sortir votre sourire narquois, je sais que l’absence de sens de l’orientation est un mal très répandu chez la gent féminine, mais croyez-moi, mon absence d’espace dépasse la question des genres. Je suis dénuée d’hémisphère droit.

Non contente d’être mono-hémisphérique, j’aggrave mon cas en affichant une solide nullitude en géographie (sûrement due au fait que, dans ma boîte crânienne, y a pas de tiroir prévu pour stocker ce genre d’informations). Vendredi dernier, quand le train qui me menait de Châteauroux à Paris a fait une halte à Limoges, je ne me suis pas posée de questions. Tiens, il passe par Limoges, cette fois, ok, pourquoi pas. Et je me suis replongée dans l’excellent bouquin que j’étais en train de lire (Suicides Exemplaires de Enrique Vila-Matas).
Un gros type est monté et s’est installé pas très loin de moi. Plongée dans ma lecture, il m’a fallu un moment pour remarquer un mouvement louche et répétitif du côté du gros type. En tournant la tête j’ai pu m’assurer qu’il était bel et bien en train de se caresser le pelvis avec entrain. Un peu écoeurée, j’ai changé de place en me disant que ça serait une anecdote marrante à raconter aux copains.
Après deux heures de route, comme prévu, le train s’arrête au terminus, Paris Austerlitz. Sauf que le type qui parle dans les haut-parleurs, lui, il dit qu’on est à Brive La Gaillarde… Brive La Gaillarde ? Mon ventre fait un petit bond ..é. C’est où, Brive La Gaillarde ? J’espère mollement que c’est une ville cousine de Mantes La Jolie, en bordure de Paris, peut-être que le chauffeur de train a eu la flemme de pousser jusqu’à Paris, auquel cas, c’est pas grave, je prendrai le RER… Mais la façon dont mon estomac se serre me prévient que c’est très peu probable. Au guichet d’information on éclaircit ma lanterne, confirme mes craintes et m’annonce avec un accent chantant que Briveuh La Gaillardeuh, c’est pas loing de Toulouseuh… ’Fant de pute, me dis-je (j’ai toujours eu l’acclimatation facile). Je suis atterrée. Il est vingt heures, il fait un froid de canard, le prochain train de Paris ne part qu’à deux heures du matin… Et le trajet jusqu’à Paris dure quatre heures trente. Ça va me prendre douze heures trente pour arriver à Paname, le temps d’un aller-retour en Chine, presque. J’ai du mal à le croire, je suis ahurie, épuisée d’avance, mais surtout, je suis épatée. À Paris je me plante régulèrièrement de direction dans le métro. Je perds un quart d’heure, vingt minutes, je suis habituée, et quand j’ai un rendez-vous, je prévois une marge d’erreur. Mais là, j’ai fait très très très fort. Heureusement qu’il est impossible de se tromper d’avion, sinon je suis sûre que je ferais une escale à Tahiti pour aller à Berlin. Cette histoire commence à me plaire. Je m’asseois, sonnée, entre le rire et les larmes et j’observe les passagers qui vont et viennent. Ils ont tous une bonne raison d’être là. Je me sens comme un extraterrestre, un cheveu sur la soupe. Dans ma tête tourne en boucle la seule chose que je connaisse de Brive La Gaillarde, à savoir les bribes d’une chanson de Georges Brassens : « Au marché de Brive La Gaillarde… pom pom pom… se crêpaient un jour le chignon… pom pom pom » Je regrette de ne pas connaître la chanson entière, c’est un peu court comme bande-son pour une attente de dix heures trente.

« La formule pour renverser le monde, nous ne l’avons pas cherchée dans les livres, mais en errant. C’était une dérive à grandes journées, où rien ne ressemblait à la veille; et qui ne s’arrêtait jamais. »
Guy Debord, In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni, édition critique, p. 40

la preuve :

I don’t believe in premonitory dreams. I wish I did, and sometimes I do, but most of the time, I don’t. A few days ago, I dreamt that I was in a really nice party with all my dear friends. When we ran out of alcohol, I offered to go get some more at the store. I took the subway to get back to the party but then I realised I was in a train and that train was taking me across the country. I was distressed, frustrated, wanting to continue the party, feeling silly with my pointless bottles of vodka and gin. As I woke up I was so relieved to be where I ought to be, lying on a bed inside my friends’ country house. Everything was back in order. Later that day, I took the train, a real train, to go back to Paris. It takes two hours from Châteauroux to Paris. At some point we stopped in Limoges, and since I’m an ass in Geography, I didn’t take much notice. A fat guy sat near me and started reading the paper. I didn’t take much notice either until my peripherical vision spotted a peculiar motion. Something was going back and forth in a stubborn rythm. I turned my head towards the man and realised he was stroking his penis while reading the news. I felt a little amused and a little disgusted. At first the gesture was sort of discreet, almost unnoticeable but then it became obvious and gross. I changed seats and thought that would be a funny story to tell my friends. At eight o’clock the train stopped at its terminal station – Paris, I thought, happy to get there. But a voice announced « Terminus, Mesdames et Messieurs, Dernier arrêt, Brive La Gaillarde. »
Brive La Gaillarde. My stomach started jolting. I had no clue where Brive La Gaillarde was located. I vaguely hoped we had stopped somewhere in the suburbs of Paris, although the void in my stomach warned me against wishful thinking. I asked the information clerks and they enlightened me with the knowledge that Brive La Gaillarde was in fact very close to Toulouse, that is to say not very far from Spain, that is to say very, very far from Paris indeed. I was stunned. I had taken the wrong train. Just like in my dream, yet I was very unlikely to wake up a second time. The next train was at two in the morning. So I gathered my thoughts and let the news sink in. Six hours to wait in the cold station, then four hours and-a-half to get back to Paris. All in all, I would be traveling for over twelve hours. I could have gone to China and returned in that laps of time. I sat down, a little shocked, but also a little proud for having done one of the most psycho geographical mistake. I looked at the passengers, coming and going, and felt like an alien. I was the only one with absolutely no reason to be there. No reason apart from my delirious lack of directions sense. By midnight, I was the only one left in the station apart from a couple of drunk people arguing and later fighting. Everything felt unreal, I felt so far away, probably because I really ought to be far away. I arrived in Paris early morning feeling happy, in a gaze, a little bit like when you’ve just fallen in love. I had fallen in psychogeogr aphy.
I still don’t believe in premonitory dreams, maybe a little more than before, but not that much more, really. What I do believe in are the beneficial effects of psychogeography.



Psychogeography was defined in 1955 by Guy Debord as the "the study of the precise laws and specific effects of the geographical environment, consciously organized or not, on the emotions and behavior of individuals."[1] A more straightforward definition is "a slightly stuffy term that’s been applied to a whole toy box full of playful, inventive strategies for exploring cities. Psychogeography includes just about anything that takes pedestrians off their predictable paths and jolts them into a new awareness of the urban landscape."[2] The most important of these strategies is the dérive.