In Provocante, there is me, but there is also Gabrielle, a very nice, very pretty prostitute, whom I met after a show and with whom I became friends. She must have been 19, 20 years old and we went all out together. I went to see her pole dancing, and wow! I found it beautiful, I found it provocative.

Where are these words, the last of As long as there will be children, because it is sensitive. The words are very personal, they do me a lot of good: “Lend me faith and courage / Leave me a corner of blue sky / Let us be happy”. It’s a very beautiful song, which doesn’t play anywhere.

Bohemian, it took 10 minutes, bing, bang, bang! Murray Head is one of Jean’s good friends [Millaire, his creative partner and former lover]. And when Murray is in town, they go out. That evening, they were at the old Club Soda and I was working from a series of chords that Jean had given me. The song appeared on its own. I called Jean at Club Soda and played him the song on the phone and he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be on my way. »

Murray thought it was pretty good too.

Impoesia. It’s an invented word which, for me, speaks of death, from the other side of poetry, where it’s sad. Impoesia is not something we desire, it is something we endure. Sometimes, in shows, I say: “I’m going to do Impoesie for you, but I don’t yet know, a hundred years later, what that means exactly. » But it stirs something in me. Because I realize that it’s always about myself that I talk about in my songs.

In Jonquière in music, in 2007. My foot still hurts.

But with Corbeau, I often threw myself at the bottom of the sound boxes. One evening at the Spectrum, I went on Willie’s [Michel Lamothe, bassist] amp, which was quite high. I wore ballet flats. Someone was doing a solo, and the solos in Corbeau were long, because there were always two. I was studying my landing strip.

And when I decided to jump, I broke my ankle. I was no longer able to walk, but I still had to change for the encore, because I had brought myself a beautiful little summer dress and I wanted it. Jean helped me change and I sat on the drum riser for the last few songs. The pain is gone, thanks to the adrenaline. But after the show, I felt PAIN.

[She smiles.] I still liked it, doing that.

It’s Bohemian [1995]. It’s dark, not happy, because of the dope. When you have money, the sellers know it and they turn their attention to you. I’m not proud of that.

My photographer friend Linda Boucher brought this to me. I was afraid of being asked a hundred million questions. I wore it to please him, but what was written on it was obviously a lie [huge laughter].

During my first solo show, I just wore a transparent swimsuit and I put over a fuchsia scarf that Gilles Gagné [late costume designer] had given me. It was sickening. But the scarf always ended up getting caught somewhere and my breasts ended up coming out of my swimsuit. There is a journalist from Radio-Canada who talked about it in his report. It was so funny.

[The host of Téléjournal, Charles Tisseyre, actually spoke in March 1987 of the “sexiest rock show in town”. As for the journalist François Harvey, he explains that “Marjo decided that the story of her first show would be that of her state as a woman and, in fact, in the frenzy of the moment or in a burst of generosity, well, a breast unfolds. » On screen, one of Marjo’s breasts appears.]

I always thought I had a beautiful body. Why hide it?

In spare parts [1979] by Corbeau, with the piano of Charles Barbeau, it’s beautiful. Or Solitaire [1981], even if I didn’t write it. It’s a text by Jean Genet that Pierre [Harel] had found. There is also Slow-Motion [1982], another Corbeau song. There are lots, lots, lots that I love, but which have been lost in the mist.

Some mornings ago, that was the title of a column by Pierre Foglia. It took place in a cemetery, at 5 a.m., with the mist rising. I called him to ask if I could use the title and he said, “Marjo, you can take the whole text if you want. »

I love him, this gentleman. He was always putting his finger on something.

The one who goes. Gilbert Langevin [cursed poet, also author of Offenbach’s The Voice I Have] comes to see me one evening at Bistro à Jojo, which was like our office. He presents me with seven or eight sheets of paper and says: “Here, Marjo, this is a gift. » I didn’t know what to do with it, it was too much. I entrusted the pages to Pascal [Mailloux, his pianist] and he made a song out of them, finding the essential lines.

Jean always gave me the facts. When I went to see him with a song and he thought it wasn’t up to par, he would tell me. “Go back to work. » I listened to him, because I trusted him. He often asked me, pointing to a sentence: “In life, would you speak like that? » For him, everything had to be both natural and well stated.

It is still and always if necessary. For the public, she means many things, but she was speaking to Jean.

When I left Musi-Art, Michel Sabourin’s company, who was my agent, I bought all my things [its master tapes and publishing rights, which made the creation of this compilation less tedious] .

I saw him again recently and the first thing he asked me was: “And have you got your money back? »And the answer is yes. If I didn’t want to sing anymore, I could just make a living from this. It fits comfortably.