Artist: France Gall
Album: Baby Pop
Release: 1966
Label: Philips
Tracklist:
1. Baby Pop
2. Faut-Il Que Je T'Aime
3. Le Temps De La Rentrée
4. Attends Ou Va-T'En
5. Mon Bateau De Nuit
6. L'Amérique
7. Cet Air Là
8. C'Est Pas Facile D'Être Une Fille
9. Nous Ne Sommes Pas Des Anges
10. On Se Ressemble Toi Et Moi
11. Deux Oiseaux
12. Et Des Baisers
Hello. My name is Aesop Dekker. I am the curator of the Cosmic Hearse blog, so right away you know that I am a paragon of taste and distinction. I was asked by the good lads of I Should Diet Tomorrow to contribute a post on some record or artist of note. I opted to use this rare opportunity to explore my obsession with France's favorite chanteuse, France Gall, an obsession that has many of my most dour and kvlt friends a bit concerned and confused. All of Ms. Gall's work in the '60s is absolutely infectious, but her 1966 album Baby Pop stands out as her best. Perhaps it is the genius songsmithing of one Alain "Fantastic Fucking Planet" Goraguer and his Orchestra, but the real appeal here is Gall's versatility, her ability to swing from cutesy pablum children's songs to totally boner-inducing chanson. France Gall has made me fall in love with her. I imagine that it is 1966, and we are walking through rain-soaked Paris streets. She is wearing a beige coat over the velvet Mary Quant mini-dress that I bought her the day before. I am wearing a mustard colored turtleneck under a brown leather Ragazzi coat that I bought in Rome the year before. We stop before the window display of high end jewelery store on the Avenue Montaigne. France spots a Marcel Boucher pin in the window. I think it's tacky but I don't tell her, I walk into the store and buy it for her without hesitation. Next we have lunch at Lasserre, I have the Breton Lobster, she has the silky pike quenelles. However, this perfect day is tainted with a vague sadness, for I know the relationship is doomed. She comes from a different world. She, the younger Parisian chanteuse, toast of Paris, privileged and naive. And then there is me, a world-weary cad from America with big, rough hands, and an even bigger, rougher past. I know it can't be, but I say nothing. We walk along the Seine, hand in hand, her rendition of "C'est Pas Facile D'être Une Fille" plays in my head. I walk her to her fashionable apartment in Montparnasse and kiss her goodbye. She utters the words "appelez moi," but I know that I won't call her. I have to catch a jet bound for Singapore, where I will kill a man with a piano wire. As I tighten the tourniquet around the neck of this rat-faced fuck, France Gall's "Nous Ne Sommes Pas Des Anges" plays in my head. It is a sweetly perfect flourish to a moment of brutal, blinding violence. I know it isn't right, but this is often the case with my fantasy life. You have to take the good with the bad, the sweet AND the sour. Here is some sweet good for your life. France Gall. Good night.
Download Here
-Aesop
Album: Baby Pop
Release: 1966
Label: Philips
Tracklist:
1. Baby Pop
2. Faut-Il Que Je T'Aime
3. Le Temps De La Rentrée
4. Attends Ou Va-T'En
5. Mon Bateau De Nuit
6. L'Amérique
7. Cet Air Là
8. C'Est Pas Facile D'Être Une Fille
9. Nous Ne Sommes Pas Des Anges
10. On Se Ressemble Toi Et Moi
11. Deux Oiseaux
12. Et Des Baisers
Hello. My name is Aesop Dekker. I am the curator of the Cosmic Hearse blog, so right away you know that I am a paragon of taste and distinction. I was asked by the good lads of I Should Diet Tomorrow to contribute a post on some record or artist of note. I opted to use this rare opportunity to explore my obsession with France's favorite chanteuse, France Gall, an obsession that has many of my most dour and kvlt friends a bit concerned and confused. All of Ms. Gall's work in the '60s is absolutely infectious, but her 1966 album Baby Pop stands out as her best. Perhaps it is the genius songsmithing of one Alain "Fantastic Fucking Planet" Goraguer and his Orchestra, but the real appeal here is Gall's versatility, her ability to swing from cutesy pablum children's songs to totally boner-inducing chanson. France Gall has made me fall in love with her. I imagine that it is 1966, and we are walking through rain-soaked Paris streets. She is wearing a beige coat over the velvet Mary Quant mini-dress that I bought her the day before. I am wearing a mustard colored turtleneck under a brown leather Ragazzi coat that I bought in Rome the year before. We stop before the window display of high end jewelery store on the Avenue Montaigne. France spots a Marcel Boucher pin in the window. I think it's tacky but I don't tell her, I walk into the store and buy it for her without hesitation. Next we have lunch at Lasserre, I have the Breton Lobster, she has the silky pike quenelles. However, this perfect day is tainted with a vague sadness, for I know the relationship is doomed. She comes from a different world. She, the younger Parisian chanteuse, toast of Paris, privileged and naive. And then there is me, a world-weary cad from America with big, rough hands, and an even bigger, rougher past. I know it can't be, but I say nothing. We walk along the Seine, hand in hand, her rendition of "C'est Pas Facile D'être Une Fille" plays in my head. I walk her to her fashionable apartment in Montparnasse and kiss her goodbye. She utters the words "appelez moi," but I know that I won't call her. I have to catch a jet bound for Singapore, where I will kill a man with a piano wire. As I tighten the tourniquet around the neck of this rat-faced fuck, France Gall's "Nous Ne Sommes Pas Des Anges" plays in my head. It is a sweetly perfect flourish to a moment of brutal, blinding violence. I know it isn't right, but this is often the case with my fantasy life. You have to take the good with the bad, the sweet AND the sour. Here is some sweet good for your life. France Gall. Good night.
Download Here
-Aesop
12 comments:
aesop graces us w/ his illustrious presence on icdt, best album lead up i've read in a while... long live the hearse!
ever since you posted one one these songs over on FB, i havent been able to get these snazzy tuines outa my head.
that was a great write up.
this is the best album review of ever
I have JO'd to the thought of France Gall many times. And yeah right, 1968 is her best record.
Hail Aesop, mighty Aesop. Cut off one Aesop and another will grow in its place.
that review was cool enough that i might actually listen to what looks to be a pretty lame album ;)
I don't want to further contribute to the massive amount of adoration for Aesop, but I can't contain myself anymore. This write-up rules so hard! You are welcome back anytime, good sir.
-Adam
DER COMPUTER
"J'aime beaucoup Françoise et Sylvie qui me rendent heureuse...
Même France Gall a fait de si merveilleuses avant d'être mariée...
Mais Chantal Goya est spéciale pour moi"*
* extract from "Mickey et Chantal" by April March
"I like a lot Françoise and Sylvie that render happy me...
Same France Gall did so wonderful before being gotten married...
But Chantal Goya is special for me"
*shitty translation from freetranslation.com of "Mickey Et Chantal" by April March
-Adam
Baby Pop is def probably the best ye-ye record, but I would totally rather hook up with 1960s Francoise Hardy over France Gall. I think i might die if it were 1967 and Francoise sang me "Voila" or "Tous les garçons et les filles" in person, fuck.
The link is dead. Could it be reposted?
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