The absurdity of Boris Vian’s texts combined with the nonsense of Eugène Ionesco’s plays, the sadness of Baudelaire — something that would make notorious depressives seem like great jokers.
A meeting point between despair and a uniquely third- or fourth-degree sense of humor.
Built on minimalist instrumental structures, Cochon Double keeps telling more or less the same things.
But he does so in his own way: with an anarchic flow, a gentle voice masking frustrated anger, and lyrics that can’t help but provoke smiles and even laughter, even as they speak of breakups, weariness, and solitude.
In fact, yes, it’s poetry — a biting, awkward, raw, skin-deep kind of poetry.
