Gainsbourg percussionsREV
Gainsbourg percussionsREV
Gainsbourg percussionsREV
Gainsbourg
percussions
1
Joanna Joanna
Joanna est aussi grosse qu’un éléphant. Joanna’s as fat as an elephant.
C’est la plus grosse de toute la Nouvelle Orléans It’s the fattest elephant in all of New Orleans
Et pourtant — And yet —
Joanna a un faible pour les tabourets. Joanna has a weak spot for barstools.
Elle en consomme deux ou trois dans la soirée She goes through two or three of them in the evening
Et pourtant — And yet —
C’est une idée qui m’vient, There’s an idea that comes to me,
Je ne sais pas d’où. I don’t know from where,
Rien qu’un vertige, Nothing but a dizzyness,
J’aimerais tant I’d like so much
Comme ça pour rire — To be able to laugh like that —
Pan! pan! Pop! pop!
Quand mon 6, 35 me fait les yeux doux When my 6.35 gives me the doe-eyes
C’est un vertige There’s a lightheadedness
Que j’ai souvent That I often get
Pour en finir — In setting it off —
Pan! pan! Pop! pop!
C’est une idée qui me vient, There’s an idea that comes to me,
Je ne sais pas d’où, I don’t know from where,
Rien qu’un vertige, Nothing but a dizzyness,
J’aimerais tant I’d like so much
Comme ça pour rire — To be able to laugh like that —
Pan! pan! Pop! pop!
Y’a pas le feu pour s’faire casser la gueule — There’s no gunfire for opening your mouth —
Y’a pas le feu quand le ciel est bleu — There’s no gunfire when the sky is blue —
Mieux vaut danser, s’amuser — More worthwhile dancing, having fun —
S’amuser! Having fun!
Les sambassadeurs sont venus en dansant — The sambassadors have arrived dancing —
Les sambassadeurs sont venus en dansant — The sambassadors have arrived dancing —
Armés de tubas jusqu’aux dents! Armed to the teeth with tubas!
(Les sambassadeurs sont venus en dansant —) (The sambassadors have arrived dancing —)
(Les sambassadeurs sont venus en dansant —) (The sambassadors have arrived dancing —)
(Armés de tubas jusqu’aux dents!) (Armed to the teeth with tubas!)
7
*** “se tasse” = “pack (oneself) up”; a small pun rests here on the fact that “tasse”
* “L’effet” = “The impression”; the “impresion” here being in all likelihood one
J’aime ta couleur café, I love your coffee color,
Tes cheveux café, Your coffee hair,
C’est quand même fou, l’effet, It’s really crazy, the impression,
L’effet que ça fait The impression* it creates
De te voir rouler To see you rolling
Ainsi des yeux et des hanches. Your eyes and hips like that.
Si tu fais comme le café If, like coffee, you do
Rien qu’à m’énerver, Nothing but rile me up,
Rien qu’à m’exciter, Nothing but excite me,
Ce soir la nuit sera blanche. This evening the night will be white.**
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marabout — There’s a marabout among us —
Y en a marabout — There’s a marabout among us —
Y en a marabout — There’s a marabout among us —
Y en a marabout — There’s a marabout among us —
Marabout, Marabout,
Marabout, Marabout,
Marabout, Marabout,
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marre, Is fed up with it here,
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marre, Is fed up with it here,
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marre, Is fed up with it here,
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marre, Is fed up with it here,
Marabout, Marabout,
Bout d’ficelle, End of his rope,
C’est la vie, That’s life,
Vie de chien, A dog’s life,
Chien de temps, Dogs up time,
Tant qu’à faire, Too much to do,
Faire les cons, Doing idiotic things
Qu’on se marre, You get sick of,
Marabout, Marabout,
Bout d’ficelle, End of his rope,
C’est la vie, That’s life,
Vie de chien, A dog’s life,
Chien de temps, Dogs up time
T’en fais pas You’re not spending with
Paméla... Paméla...
Un de One of
Ses compatriotes His compatriots
Au pia......no* On the pia......no
C’ui qui pianote — The one who’s turning pink —
Comme lui c’est la coco. With him, it’s coke.
Coco and Co... Coco and Co....
A la On the
Basse, Bass,
C’ui qui croqu’note The one who’s crunched up —
C’est l’éther It’s ether
Lui qui lui botte That he’s on,
T’as pas You didn’t
Vu, il est K.O. Notice, he’s K.O.’d.
Coco and Co... Coco and Co....
With this album, Gainsbourg replicates his era. One might find him at the service
of trends — as though he should produce, in the mid-sixties, an album from 1985.
With ‘Gainsbourg percussions,’ le beau Serge leaves his artist’s workshop, takes
his oeuvre back into the dark of night. He revisits “le grand air” with familiarity,
he latches onto buildings, he expresses himself in salvos. The sun comes up. The
hot brass spits out one last burst from its guts. Love, here, could be joyous, after
two or three Bloody Marys, and the shadowy tenant of the preceding albums, that
Nosferatu of Saint-Germain-des-caves, struck by the sunlight, suddenly crumbles
into dust.
The first “world” album of the French chanson, ‘Gainsbourg percussions’ comes
forth, in 1964, as part of the famous series launched by Jacques Canetti’s successor
at Philips: Claude Dejacques. The collection was entitled “Les grands auteurs-
compositeurs-interprètes.” In a year-and-a-half ’s time, the series occasioned
a memorable succession of rare works, among the most accomplished of their
authors’ oeuvres. It is projects such as these, borne by an epoch, which retain grace.
Claude Nougaro, Barbara, Félix Leclerc, Francis Lemarque, Pierre Louki, Ricet-
Barrier and, as we know well enough, Serge Gainsbourg, would all profit from this
dynamic.
In Gainsbourg, love — in the same way as art, alcohol or cigarettes — is, in any
case, only an ephemeral variation on the idea of suicide. At the time when Serge
concocted this love-at-33-rpms, his personal lovelife had run one time too many down
a dead-end street. The sense of divorce, and of a strong relationship, is in the air.
Man crosses over to the bad side of thirty. He gets older, he’s not an unknown, he’s
not a celebrity, he hasn’t found the woman of his life. And when he walks into the
studio in October to record twelve cuts for ‘Percussions,’ he is visibly immersed in
the scansions, the taps of the foot on the Charleston-pedal and the drum-rolls on
the toms — he’s caught up in his own head. ‘Gainsbourg percussions’ is a drunken
pact, a bender with tiny shocks, a smash-up with bings and bangs, an urge to jump
out the window only to escape into panther-claws in the jungle of the street. It’s
also an homage to João Gilberto’s girl from Ipanema, to James Brown’s over-sexed
vibrations, and to the wilfully obscene distortions of free-jazz in its infancy.
Skin, the epidermis, is the main business of this album with its orange-rind
color. Cowhide, the skin of toms and tablas, the coffee-tinted skin of the “petites
gainsbouriennes,” the tattooed arms of Jérémie;
With ‘Percussions’ and most especially with “Couleur café,” Gainsbourg finally
gets onto the radio. With “New York - U.S.A.,” he elbows his way in, between
“Pénitencier” sung by Hallyday and The Beatles’ “A Hard Day’s Night,” to the ears
of... close friends. In a moment when the wind blows from London, it’s the American
East Coast that interests him. Another flop! The SLC generation doesn’t keep him
in their attention, and works his “Oh, c’est haut!” gimmick into their recess games
without going so far as to buy his albums.
A current runs between Gainsbourg and youth-culture, but the voltage is a bit too
strong for the little “mecs” and their little “boudins.” Gainsbourg touches upon sex,
with two years still to go before the liberalization brought about by the pill, and
four years before May ‘68’s immense schism. This cocktail with its strong flavor,
bubbling over with caffeine, puts its author in the “danger” category, alongside
Ferré, Aznavour, those piss-drunk men who make their way from the dancefloor to
the bedroom — and who make like they’re none the wiser.
Gainsbourg, then, has an impact upon a bit more than the French chanson with
this new LP. For the album’s sensuality, its extremely tactile quality, its dialectic
of the caress, of contact between epidermises over rhythms that themselves inter-
penetrate, prepare the Presley generation for the shock that will be “Satisfaction”
by the Stones. Satisfaction, or the encouragement upon boys to make it with girls
and incorporate certain delicate games that are no longer child’s-play.
Is it that strategy of survival that we find again in his work with France Gall,
in that desperate way in which he had to shove until the doors which never open
finally give way?
Let us risk the hypothesis. In any event, let us certify that this premeditated entry
starts to pay off, right in that year 1964 when consumption-rock begins taking
a back seat to the profits in a sort of small-claims rock, which will only grow
and become further embellished. France Gall is the surprise invite at Serge’s
‘Percussions.’ Her laugh underscores the contradictions in which “Pauvre Lola”
is enmeshed. And her voice carries, in tandem and across three occasions, on
three 45s, Gainsbourg’s opening couplets to the top of the charts where Adamo,
Claude François and Richard Anthony all triumph. “N’écoute pas les idoles,”
“Laisse tomber les filles,” and “Attend ou va-t-en” are three pop treats that stroll
cheerfully between “Vous les copains je n’vous oubliera jamais” and “Biche oh ma
biche.” A lovely result. Since the good people ignore Mister Gainsbourg, Doctor
Serge, hidden behind the blonde visage of Madame Charlemagne, found the way
to disseminate the subjects he had no inclination to renounce: desire, disgust,
seduction, and the sublimation of bodies.
The ‘Percussions’ album has no other subjects. Isn’t banging (in the new sense of
the word) a slightly rude way to penetrate someone by means of a certain rhythm
which, under the delicious guise of a certain euphoria, can really do quite a lot of
damage...?
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