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Pierre Englebert
PierreEnglebert
Claremont, CA, USA
4.00
CTR
A professor of Comparative Politics by day, Pierre Englebert makes music by, huh..., later in the day. His six albums, released since 2019, combine pop-rock, classical and singer-songwriter influences. His lyrics are humorous, touching, and thoughtful. The Claremont Courier describes his music as "elegantly arranged pop music full of sophisticated chord changes and voicings... sinewy vocal melodies, complex arrangements and interestingly layered production choices." (1/28/21).
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Pierre Englebert
@PierreEnglebert
Claremont, CA, USA
11 tracks
·
453 plays
·
23 followers
A professor of Comparative Politics by day, Pierre Englebert makes music by, huh..., later in the day. His six albums, released since 2019, combine pop-rock, classical and singer-songwriter influences. His lyrics are humorous, touching, and thoughtful. The Claremont Courier describes his music as "elegantly arranged pop music full of sophisticated chord changes and voicings... sinewy vocal melodies, complex arrangements and interestingly layered production choices." (1/28/21).
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Surrounded by Idiots
“Hilarious, provocative, emotional, and supremely well-executed… The perfect example of an artist cut with a real point of view.” (NSAI evaluator) ------------- Words and Music by Pierre Englebert (c) 2025 ------------- Lyrics: Lyrics We are surrounded by idiots, cornered by morons Suffocated by bigots, governed by charlatans If it were not for your big brown eyes, your hundred-dollar smile, and the promise of our life… We are bombarded with bombast, bamboozled and bullied Harassed by bad asses, indoctrinated from the pulpit If it were not for your curly black hair, life wouldn’t be fair, I would, I would, I swear, … I would go mad, I would go batshit, even bonkers, I would lose it I’d need Xanax, lots of it, I’d go coo-coo I’m telling you I’d be depressed, I would regress, I’d be a mess, that I confess I’d call my Mommy, be all weepy, hurry, hurry, come and get me We are wronged by the righteous, persecuted by the pious Minimized by the pompous, dehumanized by the gorgeous If it were not for the world that you dream, your empathic instinct, my little pumpkin, I’m not kidding, … I would surrender, cave in, go on a bender, play Queen I’d stay in bed, bury my head under the pillow, you know Or I’d walk deep into the forest and find a cave where I could rest Sit on a rock and start to sob I swear to God I wouldn’t stop But I’ve got you and I don’t care about aggravations e-ve-ry-where Yes, I’ve got you and I don’t care more
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Pneumonia
A piano ballad with catastrophic scenario, an inner life, exposed bare in the setting of the rain and phone booth. Even made for a Greek chorus to come in and take over the lines of ‘can’t you see’ to turn the question onto the protagonist himself, propelling the story forwards as the accusatory storyteller is forced to take a long hard look at himself. Sigh! ------------- “fascinating lyric. I love your stream-of-consciousness sort of delivery and the creative/unexpected language. … solid melodic approach. The mood honors the lyric and your phrasing feels natural. I love all the dynamics between the sections. It reminds me of Queen at moments. … a really great statement of your unique perspective as an artist.” (Nashville Songwriters Association International Song Evaluator) ------------------- Lyrics: Well, here I am calling you From the pay phone Outside your window in the rain Like I always knew I would Make it an iPhone if you want, It’s all the same Look at him, putting away the dishes While I’m probably catching pneumonia Far along on his devilish mission To numb you with domestic euphoria You talk to me like I’m insane Like I’m a child who could hurt himself but But you’re the one who’s lost her mind Who’s baking cookies, Taking selfies with that man Look at him smiling at the camera While I’m definitely catching pneumonia Pursuing his selfish chimera To erase me from inside you Can't you see, can't you see, can't you see? Can’t you see if he were me, The rain a distant memory (Can't you see? can't you see?) As I tidy up the kitchen Can't you see, can't you see, can't you see? My suffering as evidentiary Of the mistaken identity of your infatuation Well, here I am reaching out From a plastic chair at urgent care, What a pain With all the Wretched strewn about Call it an ER if you want it’s all the same Look at me, shivering and moaning With symptoms of pneumonia Far along on my suicidal mission To save you from matrimonial coma You talk to me like you’re my mom Like I’ve been lost and should go home but But I’m the one who made you laugh Whom you called “my sunshine, my lifeline” Look at us, no longer us now Broken apart like the Soviet Union Me, my life but a shitshow You a Stepford wife in training Can't you see, can't you see, can't you see? Can’t you see if he were me, Urgent care a distant memory (Can't you see? can't you see?) As we smile at the camera Can't you see, can't you see, can't you see? My suffering as evidentiary Of the misguided trajectory of Cupid’s arrow Well, here you are sitting down On a wooden bench A little hunched, in a church You might have feared it all along Maybe the third pew, A little closer and we could merge Look at me, such peaceful position Finally free from pain and pneumonia Accomplished, my beautiful mission To not live another day without youmore
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Yves Montand et Catherine Deneuve se séparent
A melancholy instrumental, with a soundtrack feelmore
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