Jean René Désiré Françaix (French: [fʁɑ̃sɛ]; 23 May 1912 in Le Mans – 25 September 1997 in Paris) was a French neoclassical composer, pianist, and orchestrator, known for his prolific output and vibrant style.
Françaix's natural gifts were encouraged from an early age by his family. His father, Director of the Conservatoire of Le Mans, was a musicologist, composer, and pianist, and his mother was a teacher of singing. Jean Françaix studied at the Conservatoire of Le Mans and then at the Paris Conservatory, and was only six when he took up composing with a style heavily influenced by Ravel. Françaix's first publication, in 1922, caught the attention of a composer working for the publishing house who steered the gifted boy toward a gifted teacher, Nadia Boulanger (who, after her sister's death in 1918, devoted her life to conducting, playing the organ and teaching). Boulanger soon became among the most celebrated teachers of musical composition in the 20th century with a list of students whose names include Aaron Copland, Leonard Bernstein, Elliott Carter and many more. Boulanger encouraged Françaix's career, considering the young composer to be one of the best, if not the best, of her students. Noted pianist and pedagogue Isidor Philipp also taught him. Françaix himself often played his own works, to public acclaim; notably in the premiere of his Concertino for Piano and Orchestra at the festival of Baden-Baden in 1932.
Frank was a contractor, who got up every morning.
Skinn'n cats and fix'n cars, his day was far from boring.
Souped up Ford, V-8 289, running down those punks was always on his mind.
Frank was a contractor. Is he after you?
Frank was a contractor. Is he after you?
Ford was wired for nitro. Canister sat in the back.
Ten inch slicks, ratchet shift, smoke, rubber layed in his tracks.
Frank didn't like us, just wanted to have some fun.
So we played our music, and he put us on the run.
Frank was a contractor. Is he after you?
Frank was a contractor. Is he after you?
Frank started the beast. Smoke spewed from the trunk.
Oil sprayed from the hood, that can of nitro junk.
The car swelled then exploded, flying across the street.
Frank slowly stepped out, staggering to his feet.
Frank was a contractor. Is he after you?
Frank was a contractor. Is he after you?
So our story ends, with the psycho contractor guy.
Moral of the story is "if Franks around, turn the music down, or you better
learn how to run fast." Frank was a contractor. Is he after you?