And the beat goes on...

This year's Fête de la Musique saw me huddled desperately over the piano, practising hymns for Sunday, Les Dawson style.

Meanwhile, my daughter was doing her thing in Chambéry.

Hmmmm. Maybe she doesn't take after me at all...

Oh Happy Day!

There are so many things to celebrate today that I’ve copped out and decided to spend this sunny afternoon lolling on the sofa. There’s only so much merry-making I can stomach before I get a panic attack.

First off is La Fête des Pères. We’ve spent the past week at school making Father’s Day cards from cunningly-folded sheets of paper. I was designated to instruct the children on the proper way to do this. The last time I was designated to do crafts with the children, I pyrographed my own arm so I wasn’t hopeful.

Every single child managed to produce a delightful shirt-shape, with a collar and sleeves and everything. I produced a wrinkly sea monster with one leg and an atrophied head. Well, I didn’t put origami on my CV so what do they expect?

Here’s my own lovely dad whom I miss every day. I bet he couldn’t do origami either…

Of course, it's also La Fête de la Musique. I’ve already participated in this: our church gave a Gospel concert on Friday evening in front of the Centre Loisirs et Culture during a mini-hurricane. I was OK with that as I could blame my eerie howling on the wind.

Anyway, I’ve consulted the programme for Grenoble today and nothing takes my fancy so I’m posting a few musical family clips instead.

Here’s Abi rehearsing with her new group:

Here’s Hannah singing at the Celebration of Life for her uncle Ian:

And here’s my dear brother himself, playing one of his own compositions. We all miss you very much, you know…

Finally, it’s Le Solstice d'été - Midsummer’s Day. How does one celebrate that? Well, if pagans are to be believed, I should bathe skyclad beneath the sun, pick a few herbs, drink mead and bathe skyclad (again) beneath the honey moon. If I tried doing that on my balcony, they’d set fire to my car (although I could dance pagan-like around it, I suppose).


Nah. I’ll just enjoy the longest day of the year from my sofa, nightie-clad and drinking tea.

Have a Happy Happy Day!

Faites de la musique!

 

In honour of the fête de la musique, our CLIS decided to surprise the rest of the school with a batucada. I don't know whether the awe on their faces was provoked by our rythmical prowess or the sight of my jiggling bingo wings but anyway - we had great fun...




Hannah, my eldest daughter, writes and sings her own songs:

And Abigail, my youngest, also tends to break into song at the slightest provocation, whilst wearing her mum's checked shirt...








My middle daughter, Rachel, is quite content to simply sit and listen...

 

 

...and very prettily, I'm sure you'll agree.

 

 

Bonne fête de la musique!

 

 

 



 

 

The Sound of Musique

The 21st June is the summer solstice and people all over France will be dancing in the streets, singing and playing instruments until late into the evening. It may seem like an unbridled pagan celebration but it is just la fête de la musique – the annual music festival.

It was launched in 1982 by the Minister of Culture, Jack Lang, after it had been pointed out to him that over five million people – half of whom were young people - played an instrument but did not have the opportunity to show off their skills. He chose the longest day of the year and encouraged everybody to go out into the street from 8:30 to 9pm and play a tune. It was a great success – and as half an hour is barely enough time to tune your fiddle, never mind play a whole jig, the music went on all night. These days, the accordions, the harmonicas and the combs and tissue paper still come out but there are also free concerts in every musical genre imaginable: classical, hip-hop, rock n’ roll, jazz… Unfortunately, I live in the centre of town and although a little Chopin drifting through my windows would not go amiss, I’ll invariably end up with Mad Momo and his Electro-house-techno right outside my door.

French music had its hey-day in the Middle Ages and the earliest form of polyphony originated here as did the first motets. Secular music became popular with the poet-musicians – called troubadours in the south of France and trouvères in the north – who wandered from castle to castle playing their ballades or their lais to the court. Far from being a sort of mediaeval busker, they were usually of noble blood themselves – Guillaume IX, the grandfather of Eleanor of Aquitaine, is the most well-known example. He was a colourful character and was excommunicated more than once, not for bad poetry – his was excellent if sometimes ribald - but for rampant womanising. A typical rock star, in other words.

From the fifteenth century onwards, French music faded into the background and would never again have the influence it had enjoyed in the Age of Chivalry. And while the French gave us Bizet, Debussy and Ravel, they could not compete with the likes of Bach, Beethoven or Mozart. However, music has always been important to the French and musical accomplishment is encouraged. Every major city has a Conservatoire National de Région where children can study musical theory and learn an instrument with excellent teachers. Children can either go to school there, having normal lessons in the morning and studying music in the afternoon, or they can have music lessons once or twice a week in their spare time. The fee is very reasonable (it is related to your income) and they will provide the instrument, as long as it’s not a grand piano. For families like ours, it is a wonderful opportunity - although try telling that to my youngest daughter, who hadn’t realised that Vanessa Mae actually had to practise to get that good and didn’t just scrape her way through “Twinkle, twinkle little star” a couple of times before becoming mega-famous overnight…

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 else. 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 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. 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 Légion d'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. I find it rather odd that by law, forty percent of a radio station’s output should 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.

Now, where’s my guitar? I know it’s around here somewhere and I want to brush up my ‘Stairway to Heaven’ in time for tomorrow…