Showing posts with label French. Show all posts
Showing posts with label French. Show all posts

Saturday, December 09, 2006

Music


My eldest daughter’s band played their first gig last night – with great success, I’m told. I don’t even know the full name of the band – just that it’s got ‘wobbly wabbit’ somewhere in the title. I do know that their songs are influenced by Jim Morrison and Jefferson Airplane – and sung in English (she rehearses in the shower...)

French popular music does not export well. Most British people have heard of Edith Piaf, Maurice Chevalier and Charles Aznavour but they rarely make Top of the Pops these days. Singer-songwriters like Léo Ferré, Georges Brassens and Jacques Brel (who was Belgian) are unknown in Britain because, like the troubadours of old, they were poets above all. Serge Gainsbourg- a brilliant and irreverent poet-musician - did have a hit with Jane Birkin in 1969, but DJs weren’t allowed to play it on the radio because it was too rude. Even though these singers are now dead, their work is still much-loved and has influenced contemporary musicians like Jean-Jacques Goldman and my hero, Renaud.

Another French icon is the ageing Johnny Hallyday, who is actually half-Belgian and definitely not a poet. 'Johnny', as he is known to young and old alike, brought rock n’ roll to France and is, in his own words, ‘a survivor’. In his early sixties, he still wears tight leather trousers, rides a Harley Davidson and dyes his hair and his current wife is a lissom blonde thirty-something. Johnny sings mainly cover versions of American songs or French songs that sound like cover versions and is such a national treasure that he has been awarded the Legion of Honour by the President. Despite having an American name (not his real name) hardly anyone outside of France knows who he is.

Now and again, a French song will cross the channel but it will be sung in English. Two of Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits were French: My Way (originally sung by Claude François) and Autumn Leaves (Yves Montand), but generally speaking, the French are chauvinistic and keep their music for themselves, as they believe it is too good to be wasted on the uncivilised bunch that make up the rest of the world. Unless, of course, they are just insecure. Why else would French law demand that forty percent of a radio station’s output be by French artists and sung in French? On the other hand, as most young people these days find it easier to listen to moronic monosyllabic rap than songs where they need to have at least a basic grasp of their mother tongue, perhaps the government is right...

Saturday, November 25, 2006

Chocolate

I never thought I'd say this but I am sick of chocolate. Only a month ago I was having to navigate my way around Monoprix's garish displays of chocolate pumpkins, chocolate witches and chocolate poltergeists (OK, I made that one up) just to get to the deodorant - and now there are chocolate snowmen and Father Christmases blocking my path. It's in the muesli, in the All Bran, in the candles - it's even in the shower gel, for goodness' sake.

The French do take their chocolate very seriously and for those of us who are not true connoisseurs and whose idea of chocolate heaven is a tube of Smarties and a couple of Walnut Whips, French chocolate can come as a shock. It is strong and bitter and tastes like something the doctor might prescribe for a sport’s injury. However, once you realise it is a delicacy to be savoured and that you should let it dissolve slowly on your tongue rather than ripping off the wrapper and shoving it into your mouth half a bar at a time while waiting for the bus, you may just grow to appreciate it.

Training to be a chocolate maker - a chocolatier - is a real career option here and there is even a Université de la Confiserie (University of Confectionary) where you can study for diplomas and take courses with titles like “Making Easter a success” and “Chocolate and personal fulfilment”. Slightly more worrying is the existence of a “Brotherhood” of chocolate makers, with all the trappings of a Masonic Lodge complete with robes, Grand Master and initiation ceremonies. New recruits have to swear to “remain faithful to the Brotherhood of the Chocolate Makers of France and to eat chocolate regularly” whereupon they are solemnly dubbed a “commander of the Brotherhood” with a Ceremonial Spatula. Perhaps they even greet each other with a secret sticky handshake – who knows?

I did buy some chocolate euros in Monoprix today, though. I mean, you can't have a Christmas stocking without squished chocolate money in the bottom, can you? Well, my girls say you can and that iPods are probably a better option - but what do they know? When I was young, I was happy to find crayons and an orange in the bottom of mine. And it wasn't even a chocolate orange...