For me, the radio it was him. I am indebted Jacques Bertrand. Aura lasted twelve years the legendary Macadam tribes, I have been there eleven seasons as a columnist, not to mention occasional collaborations with other projects supported by his deadpan humor and deliciously laugh behind. I am always amazed that pays me more to be at his side.
In less than a year, I saw Jacques Bertrand die twice. Once when the Radio-Canada has resigned herself to show him the door. Then a second, last week, when a laconic word of his two daughters he confirmed his unexpected death. I have not slept all night, making me hard to the idea that the resurrection of microphones now he was living his single word would not even be possible.
In June, forced to explain his departure to his listeners, he had recorded, true to his style, short message cryptic. "To explain my long absence, let's say I was floored by a nasty virus. [...] I tried to fight with an impressive barrage of medications. It did not work. So I tried another approach: the virus bored watching hours of TV platform, which is not hard to find, by the way. Except that it did not work either and it's more than that floored me. [...] While I was ready for my return to work, I learned that I retired. I was not aware, but now it's done. [...] I am working on one project for now, is my autobiography which I have only the title: Well well, that. [...] I hope you talk one day, but it seems that it is not possible at the moment. "
In private, like many, it hardly contained his rage towards the direction of the station. It seemed that, tossed from one issue to another, his fate was unfairly subjected to the will of a series of confused usurpers of a collective project increasingly disfigured. Emissions, like those of his comrades, he looked like trees being felled for no reason. In fact, everything seemed to weigh on him more and more. He isolated himself, let himself be desired, without manifest with the same enthusiasm as before.
He had let himself sink slowly into some of the many black holes that line our fragile existences. Light like no, this monument waves had come to regard her solitude alone oasis worthy of his confidence. He felt so strongly the feeling that he was trying to saw the legs that nailed him to the ground. Apparently did not know the person recover.
Sometimes my son with me to the studio of the show. Installed governed by the window that overlooks the guests and the host, son laughing or become severe, depending on what the moment. It was a long time ago already. Grown up, he still speaks, because of a truth that seems undeniable: the voice of Jacques Bertrand knew anyone to grow. She embodied not only a new way of looking at radio, but mostly open on behalf of the intelligence space.
Who else Jacques Bertrand could talk for fifteen minutes a newspaper Indonesia or Mali that does not even exist, but nevertheless offered if accurate portraits of the world that mystified by some listeners? Macadam tribes was a vast laboratory open to young people. What other brand could have been heard stories both whimsical and informed as he had spent Catherine Pépin to a breeder of earthworms? So where Philippe Lague could he become a master of the sound cartoon?
This flagship program had come to be a unique nursery for many new voices before being put through the mill, according to the ridiculous premise that novelty must hunt each other, no matter which.
Going back to Jacques Bertrand. I insisted that it was not only funny and sarcastic. He was especially brilliant. Incredibly bright and crisp. On the radio, to this day, I have known people like it. We say that I push the line a little strong on the occasion of his death. Not. I live here in the exact measure of truth. Those who knew me as you say.
In 2009, even if I was invited, I did not attend the finale of Macadam tribes. I never liked these funerals that it tries to make up with a festive air. I was so content to go greet the day before or the day before, I do not know to express my sadness.
In sum, this is many times that I attend funerals Jacques Bertrand. But at age 61, he was off for real. I will miss it more than ever, as he already lost his wide audience.
I cry today Jacques Bertrand incarnation audacity was capable radio our taxes. I mourn this great master of our hotel waves. I mourn his tragic agony sad reflection of the public network, the one he loved, without which, I sincerely believe he could not have anyway to live much longer.
In less than a year, I saw Jacques Bertrand die twice. Once when the Radio-Canada has resigned herself to show him the door. Then a second, last week, when a laconic word of his two daughters he confirmed his unexpected death. I have not slept all night, making me hard to the idea that the resurrection of microphones now he was living his single word would not even be possible.
In June, forced to explain his departure to his listeners, he had recorded, true to his style, short message cryptic. "To explain my long absence, let's say I was floored by a nasty virus. [...] I tried to fight with an impressive barrage of medications. It did not work. So I tried another approach: the virus bored watching hours of TV platform, which is not hard to find, by the way. Except that it did not work either and it's more than that floored me. [...] While I was ready for my return to work, I learned that I retired. I was not aware, but now it's done. [...] I am working on one project for now, is my autobiography which I have only the title: Well well, that. [...] I hope you talk one day, but it seems that it is not possible at the moment. "
In private, like many, it hardly contained his rage towards the direction of the station. It seemed that, tossed from one issue to another, his fate was unfairly subjected to the will of a series of confused usurpers of a collective project increasingly disfigured. Emissions, like those of his comrades, he looked like trees being felled for no reason. In fact, everything seemed to weigh on him more and more. He isolated himself, let himself be desired, without manifest with the same enthusiasm as before.
He had let himself sink slowly into some of the many black holes that line our fragile existences. Light like no, this monument waves had come to regard her solitude alone oasis worthy of his confidence. He felt so strongly the feeling that he was trying to saw the legs that nailed him to the ground. Apparently did not know the person recover.
Sometimes my son with me to the studio of the show. Installed governed by the window that overlooks the guests and the host, son laughing or become severe, depending on what the moment. It was a long time ago already. Grown up, he still speaks, because of a truth that seems undeniable: the voice of Jacques Bertrand knew anyone to grow. She embodied not only a new way of looking at radio, but mostly open on behalf of the intelligence space.
Who else Jacques Bertrand could talk for fifteen minutes a newspaper Indonesia or Mali that does not even exist, but nevertheless offered if accurate portraits of the world that mystified by some listeners? Macadam tribes was a vast laboratory open to young people. What other brand could have been heard stories both whimsical and informed as he had spent Catherine Pépin to a breeder of earthworms? So where Philippe Lague could he become a master of the sound cartoon?
This flagship program had come to be a unique nursery for many new voices before being put through the mill, according to the ridiculous premise that novelty must hunt each other, no matter which.
Going back to Jacques Bertrand. I insisted that it was not only funny and sarcastic. He was especially brilliant. Incredibly bright and crisp. On the radio, to this day, I have known people like it. We say that I push the line a little strong on the occasion of his death. Not. I live here in the exact measure of truth. Those who knew me as you say.
In 2009, even if I was invited, I did not attend the finale of Macadam tribes. I never liked these funerals that it tries to make up with a festive air. I was so content to go greet the day before or the day before, I do not know to express my sadness.
In sum, this is many times that I attend funerals Jacques Bertrand. But at age 61, he was off for real. I will miss it more than ever, as he already lost his wide audience.
I cry today Jacques Bertrand incarnation audacity was capable radio our taxes. I mourn this great master of our hotel waves. I mourn his tragic agony sad reflection of the public network, the one he loved, without which, I sincerely believe he could not have anyway to live much longer.
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