Supermodel Anja Rubik as a coun­cil estate prin­cess and Maciej Nowak, Polish theatre and culinary critic, dres­sed as a woman – those two scored leading parts in Mister D.’s new video clip for the song ‘Chleb’ (Bread), direc­ted by Krzysz­tof Skonieczny (głębokiOFF). In case you don’t recognize her: Dorota Maslow­ska – the leader of Mister D. project – appears in the video as well, with her face covered in (too) many layers of bron­zing powder. This unnusual meeting of three unique charac­ters takes place in a lo-​fi, retro scenery of coun­cil housing, where the melody of a stir­ring love story about a bread machine plays in the backgroud. 

 

 

 

For those who wonder what the song is about:

That was the day,

I had to take down the Christ­mas tree but said to my mum

That first I’ll go get some bread for lunch,

So I skip the cor­ner­shop, where there’s never a queue,

It might be a long walk, but they have prizes just for you, like

 

Send five hun­dred labels, we’ll send a plushy today.

As far as I go I think they’re sweeter than FA.

I’m on my way out, he’s on the bench like always,

Suc­king on a can of Pussy and tur­ning my way, he’s

 

Staring.

As I’m wal­king h’s just staring.

As I’m wal­king h’s just staring.

As I’m wal­king h’s just staring.

 

All motion on the street slows to a drag

When he stops me and asks what I’ve got in the bag. I say,

I don’t know, so what’s it to you, I mean

My tongue gets all tied, my legs slip out from under me. He

Says his mum won’t buy bread for her son

She prefers to stay home and bake her own.

She used to get shit-​faced, now her face is always smiling.

With bread in the oven she no longer dreams of

 

Dying.

She no longer dreams of dying.

His hand reaches out for mine.

And all the time he’s staring.

 

He comes up so very close to me.

He runs his fin­gers down my cheek.

He squeezes my hand, it wrings out the sweat,

And his breath it reeks.

 

So it turns out that today his mum is in a bad way and in the ICU,

Looks like that’s where she’s going to stay.

She’s had all her scans and it’s looking pretty ugly.

At home the bread machine is get­ting really dusty.

It wouldn’t be a big deal, I could give it to you cheap,

And he threw in a cover and a recipe book and said,

You could bake your bread your­self and all that,

wouldn’t have to go down to the store and deal with that crap.

 

From that day on all I do is bake and bake more,

Loaves are piled to the ceiling and back down to the floor.

My walls, my chairs, my pic­tures baked and lovely,

No longer wet with tears, my face is rather

 

Crusty.

My face is rather crusty.

My face is rather crusty.

I no longer dream of dying.

 

(English lyrics by Ben­jamin Paloff)