Today is the birthday of Jacques Brel, the Belgian singer
and songwriter who had a hugely successful career in the late Fifties and into
the Sixties. I first heard his music with the stage show Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris, which was made
into a film around 1974. Alive and well he may have been but he only lived
three or four years after the film was released, dying in 1978.
I had heard of him before the film because he was often
mentioned in conjunction with Dylan and Leonard Cohen. Both are comparable to
him in some ways, not least because of the extreme positions their lyrics can
take. Because he writes in French, Brel
can be even more elliptical than either of those worthies. He was also a big
influence on David Bowie, who recorded a version of Brel’s “Amsterdam” (in the
translation from Alive and Well) and
also performed “My Death” often on his Spiders from Mars tour. Several of Brel’s
songs, in the Alive and Well translations, were also recorded by Scott Walker.
I have to say though, that when it comes to English versions, I still prefer
the performances in Alive and Well
because they are given the theatricality that came naturally to Brel and which
even a showman of Bowie’s caliber doesn’t quite get across.
Today’s song, “Ne me quitte pas,” is the only song that Brel
performs in Alive and Well, and so it’s the only one sung in the original
French. The translation, “If You Go Away,” by Rod McKuen, was recorded by Walker
and also by the likes of Frank Sinatra, and many others. The English version
doesn’t really do justice to the original (as is the case with most of the
translations, though the Alive and Well versions create at times satisfying
songs in their own right—such as “Amsterdam,” “Next,” “Jackie,” and “The Middle
Class”).
When I was in high school, a huge radio hit was the
super-insipid cover of Brel’s “Le mourant” (“the dying man”) called “Seasons in
the Sun” by Terry Jacks. I always held
Rod McKuen, its translator, and the author of many books of “poetry” to be
found in fine reading establishments such as drugstores and Hallmark stores,
responsible for how awful that version was. But come to find out that McKuen’s
lyrics did try to match the acid bite of Brel’s; it was Jacks, apparently, who
changed them into the cretinous nonsense that became the bane of the airwaves.
Anyway, Brel has a great way with a phrase and he has a way
of singing that is bodily, involving every bit of him. It’s a very passionate
approach to performing. In this song, there’s a powerful tension between
longing and regret and the pleading that takes the lyrics into some interesting
imagery. I’ve linked to a video of Brel singing in French with the English
subtitles, and also to a recording with the subtitles in both English and
French. I like seeing Brel sing it but I also like seeing the French words.
“Ne me quitte pas” is a haunting song with that airy viol
and the droplets of piano notes. It feels misty with time right from the opening. Some
favorite moments, for me: “Oublier le temps / Des malentendus / Et le temps
perdu” (Forget the times / Of misunderstandings / And the time lost), and this
great verse (listen to how he sings it, even if you don’t know French):
Moi, je t’offirai
Des perles de pluie
Venues de pays
Ou il ne pleut pas.
Je creuserai la terre
Jusqu’après
ma mort
Pour couvrir ton corps
D’or et de lumière.
Je ferai un domaine
Où l’amour sera roi
Où l’amour sera loi
Où tu seras reine.
(Me [yes], I’ll offer you / Pearls of rain / Taken from a
land / Where it never rains. / I’ll dig up the earth / Until after my death /
To cover your body / In gold and bright light. / I’ll create a domain / Where
love will be king / Where love will be law / Where you shall be queen.)
Only in French can you get that wonderful sound effect of “l’amour
sera roi” “l’amour sera loi.” Brel
exploits those sound effects quite effectively and the recurring phrase “ne me
quitte pas” can’t find any substitute that is so well expressed: “Don’t leave
me,” “don’t desert me,” “don’t quit me,” etc.
The part about the fire erupting “de l’ancien volcan” is
also nice and the idea of “le rouge and le noir” marrying one another in the
burning, like those lovers who have seen their hearts twice catch fire. These
are all figures for the return of passion to the romance, and the idea of
becoming “the shadow of your shadow” (l’ombre de ton ombre) has a wonderful
feel of blending, and swallowing all difference.
For English listeners, here’s Scott Walker’s version. As you
can see, “If You Go Away” is a very different sentiment, and a very different
song.
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