In 2023, the Ludwig von 88 will celebrate their 40th anniversary. That’s pretty amazing!

Yes, they had sworn to commit hara-kiri at 25, because rock music after 25 is just a bourgeois thing; they did everything to end up in the dungeon and didn’t care about anything or anybody; they don’t talk to each other since 1979 (they only communicate by musicals) and compose their new songs by lawyer’s letters and bailiffs’ throws in their faces; the press and the media have conspired against them to derail their career (in 40 years, not a cover of Paris Match or Demeures et Châteaux, not a line in Nous Deux, Modes & Travaux or Terre Plate Magazine); all the drummers of France and Navarre want their skin; all the butchers of France and Navarre want their skin; all the moustachioed policemen of France and Navarre want their skin; not a single dictator has ever offered them to make the official anthem of their coup d’état, nor of their special military operation, nor of their world cup; even the Olympic committee refused their bribes; they dare to put semicolons in their press releases; they are so old that even Michel Drucker calls them papys.

But let’s face it: they are indestructible.