Raven’s Jig – Tournis (The Heart Asks Pleasure First)

We had a go at “The Heart Asks Pleasure First”, from the 1993 film The Piano, and turned it into a vocal arrangement. The topic we had in mind when writing the lyrics was the social construct of carousels (or children’s rides in general). When we tell a kid that he’s supposed to enjoy a carnival ride, what you might be doing is convincing that a carnival ride equals fun. Thus, you make the child believe something that might not actually hold any truth. This is not the place nor time to tell you about what a social construct is. If you no longer enjoy something when you are an adult, does that mean that kids who enjoy it are living out a lie? And what of the children who never did enjoy it but were made to pretend otherwise?

Download Raven’s Jig – Tournis

Lâche la main, on te laisse tout seul
Et pars, et tourne, tournis, malade, casse-toi la gueule
Remonte, souris, force-toi,
En quoi c’est drôle, en quoi, en quoi?

Fais coucou aux grandes personnes
Au milieu des rires et des voix qui résonnent
Tiens bon la rampe, ennui, je peux plus attendre
Faites-moi descendre, faites-moi descendre

Penché sur un cheval en plastique
Qui suit la boucle de la musique
Une musique qui ne ressemble à rien
Toujours le même couplet, toujours le même refrain
Et ça donne la nausée, rien que d’y penser
Un banal rêve d’enfant en préfabriqué
Le cheval ne dit rien, penses-tu, il est mort
Et la foule le tabasse encore et encore
Tous ces bras vers la queue du mickey
Mais qu’est-ce qu’ils espèrent, au fond, quel intérêt?

Penché sur un cheval qui ralentit vers la silhouette qui m’attend

—Tu veux refaire un tour?
—Non, j’ai pas envie.

English translation:
Let go of the hand, and you’re left alone
Then go, and spin, dizzy, sickish, faceplant
Get back on, smile, make yourself smile
Just how is this fun, how, how?

Wave to the grown-ups
Among the laughter and the echoes of voices
Keep your hands on the pole, bored, I can’t wait any longer
Let me off, let me off

Leaning on a plastic horse
Set to the loop of the music
A music that doesn’t sound like anything much
Always the same verse and the same chorus
And it makes me sick just to think about it
A bland, childish, fabricated dream
The horse doesn’t say anything, of course, it’s dead
And the crowd is beating it again and again
All these hands reaching for the brass ring
What are they expecting after all, what’s the point?

Leaning on a horse going slower and slower towards the silhouette waiting for me

—Would you like another ride?
—Nah, I don’t feel like it.


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