Eurockéennes : Sextasien Tellier

Now you may think that my first posts are a tad harsh, that I am a spoilt whining cow with a press pass who is spitting on every artist that dares strum a false note. Well if thats what you think then you are absolutely right. I have no pity whatsoever this weekend. I have camped for three days in rudimentary conditions just to be able to sit at the back of rubbish concerts, listening to pseudo- political despressed artists such as Ben Harper and Camille, so when I actually go and see a concert of an artist who I really do admire, I only expect the best.

"The best" was unsuprisingly coined by Tellier himself. As the sun sank and the mosquitos started to fizz around my ear, I awaited my cave man with anticipation to appear, and did he make an appearance or what. Dressed in a pink shirt, a bottle of vino in his hand and his 40th Gitane cigarette of the day delicately dangling out of his mouth, he gave us a full fourty minute sensation of what it was like to have your first orgasm. As he lustfully sang "Roche", I imagine that, apart from the drunken fools, most of the people there where dreaming about the first time they got popped and how life was so much easier back then when they were 14 years old secretly fondling the holiday neighbours son or daughter.

Even when Tellier made several crude jokes about his fat mother working at the festival chip counter and the state of the portable loos, he didn't manage " malgré lui" too break the ambiance that his concert had set, an ambiance of sex after the kebab, sex against a tree in the dark, sex in the tent, and humid sex at sunrise. Call me cheesy but few singers at a beer guzzlers festival are liable of procuring a sexual urge that usually only a litre of Vodka and an ecstacy pill can provide, Merci Chabal.

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