B-Side Guys

Sometimes the quietest songs carry the heaviest stories. On “Ève V. (battre des records),” Meimuna crafts a delicate eulogy for Ève Vallois – better known as Lolo Ferrari – that strips away the sensationalism of 90s tabloids to reveal the fragile humanity beneath. Through whispered French poetry and sparse folk arrangements, the Swiss artist transforms a tragic cultural footnote into a tender meditation on identity and belonging.

The song opens with an observation that cuts to the heart of Vallois’s story: “Tous les garçons te disent/Que tu ressembles à/Brigitte ou Marilyn” (“All the boys tell you/That you look like/Brigitte or Marilyn”). Meimuna’s gentle delivery turns what could be a compliment into a prison sentence, highlighting how such comparisons can shape and distort one’s self-image. The mention of these iconic beauties isn’t just biographical detail – it’s the beginning of an erasure.

Cyrielle Formaz’s guitar work provides a ghostly scaffold for the narrative, each note falling like dust on an abandoned grave. The production maintains an intimate closeness that makes listeners feel as if they’re being trusted with a secret, or perhaps sitting beside that neglected tombstone in Grasse that inspired this elegy.

The chorus “Toi qui voulais cacher tes blessures/Toujours nous plaire” (“You who wanted to hide your wounds/Always please us”) carries devastating weight in its simplicity. Meimuna avoids judgment or sensationalism, instead finding the universal in the specific – the desire to be loved, the desperate measures taken to hide our wounds, the way we can sometimes lose ourselves in trying to become what others want.

In the verse about Vallois’s mother, “Ta maman a le cœur/Froid comme les glaçons/Qu’il y a dans les liqueurs” (“Your mother’s heart is/Cold like the ice cubes/In the liquor”), Meimuna paints a picture of emotional abandonment with devastating economy. The image serves double duty, suggesting both emotional coldness and the environment of the bars where Vallois worked, each detail carefully chosen to deepen our understanding of her subject’s world.

The song’s bridge, “Tu veux tromper la mort/Trouver du réconfort” (“You want to cheat death/Find comfort”), provides its most haunting insight – how the pursuit of physical transformation can represent a bid for immortality, a desperate attempt to outrun both death and pain. The phrase “battre des records” (“breaking records”) takes on a grim double meaning in this context, referring both to Vallois’s infamous physical alterations and the futility of trying to break free from one’s own humanity.

Formaz’s arrangement grows more sparse as the song progresses, mirroring how Vallois’s identity was gradually stripped away by the very transformations meant to create it. The recurring image of “encore une idole/Qui s’en est allée/Toute seule” (“another idol/Who has gone away/All alone”) serves as both chorus and prophecy, reminding us how many similar stories have ended in isolation.

Through Meimuna’s compassionate lens, Vallois emerges not as a cautionary tale or tabloid curiosity, but as a mirror reflecting society’s contradictory demands on women. The song’s power lies in its refusal to sensationalize or moralize, instead offering dignity through simple recognition of shared humanity.

This advance single from “c’est demain que je meurs” (“I die tomorrow”) suggests an album unafraid to look unflinchingly at difficult subjects while maintaining its artistic integrity. Meimuna has created something rare: a tribute that neither exploits nor judges its subject, but simply bears witness with grace and understanding.