Je ne t'aime pas - Kurt Weill, Bremner sings

Kurt Weill
Je ne t'aime pas
lyrics Maurice Magre

http://www.bremnersings.com
My version of Kurt Weill's song 'Je ne t'aime pas'. All the romantic angst, wild drama and tragic broken hearts that you might need to start your day...

the amazing Stan Cramer on the piano. Recorded at Edward Auslender's studio in Paris

Kurt Weill left Germany after the Nazis seized control of the German government in 1933. He was cut off from Germany, his audience and his bank accounts, Finding himself in Paris in 1934, Weill was at aesthetically and financially loose ends. Fortunately, cabaret singer Lys Gauty commissioned him to compose a song for her and Weill responded with Complainte de la Seine (Lament of the Seine). It was one of the big hits in France in 1934 and Gauty, hired Weill to write another song for her, Je ne l'aime pas, on a text by Maurice Magre, Je ne l'aime pas and it's contrast of a minor-keyed verse with a major-keyed chorus has less to do with Weill's favorite alternation of major and minor and more to do with the French cabaret tradition. But the dramatic climax of the work distinctly recalls the dramatic climax of Weill's Surabaya-Johnny as the parlando coda distinctly recalls the heartbroken codas of so many of Weill's Berlin songs.


lyrics to Kurt Weill's Je ne t'aime pas
Retire ta main, je ne t'aime pas
Car tu l'as voulu, tu n'es qu'un ami.
Pour d'autres sont faits le creux de tes bras
Et ton cher baiser, ta tête endormie.

Ne me parle pas, lorsque c'est le soir
Trop intimement, à voix basse même
Ne me donne pas surtout ton mouchoir :
Il renferme trop le parfum que j'aime.

Dis-moi tes amours, je ne t'aime pas
Quelle heure te fut la plus enivrante ?
Et si elle t'aimait bien, et si elle fut ingrate
En me le disant, ne sois pas charmant.

Je n'ai pas pleuré, je n'ai pas souffert
Ce n'était qu'un rêve et qu'une folie.
Il me suffira que tes yeux soient clairs
Sans regret du soir, ni mélancolie.

Il me suffira de voir ton bonheur
Il me suffira de voir ton sourire.
Conte-moi comment elle a pris ton cœur
Et même dis-moi ce qu'on ne peut dire.

Non, tais-toi plutôt... Je suis à genoux
Le feu s'est éteint, la porte est fermée
Ne demande rien, je pleure... C'est tout.
Je ne t'aime pas, ô mon bien-aimé.

Take away your hand -- for I don't love you;
Because you have wished it, you are only a friend.
Your embrace is for other people,
Your dear kiss, your slumbering head.

Don't talk to me when it is evening
In that very low voice, for it is too intimate;
And especially don't give me your handkerchief:
It holds too much of the scent I love.

Tell me of your loves -- for I don't love you,
Tell me of your most intoxicating moment.
And if she loved you well, or if she was ungrateful,
In telling me, don't be charming --

I haven't cried, I haven't suffered,
It was only a dream -- a kind of madness.
It is enough to see your clear eyes,
With neither the regret of evening nor melancholy.

It is enough to see your joy,
It is enough to see your smile.
Tell me how she stole your heart,
And tell me especially what shouldn't be told.

No, rather be silent... I am on my knees.
The fire has gone out, the door is closed.
Don't ask me anything, I'm crying... that's all.
I don't love you, oh my beloved!