French Pop History

  As soon as cinema began the shift from silent movies to "the talkies",  music and song became part of the staple cinematic diet. From the early jukebox musicals to the extravaganzas of the golden age of the Hollywood musical, singers (and musicians) flocked to film studios to become singer-actors, forging dual careers that kept them in constant work, on film sets, stages and studios, for many a long year. There would also be a slow but steady trickle of actors making the same journey in the other direction, drifiting into recording studios in a (sometimes successful) attempt to forge a parallel singing career. This was (and is) common enough in America, but it was really in France that this tradition truly established itself. The trend began, as one might expect, in the thirties. Tino Rossi made the jump from chanson  and operetta to cinema in Marinella , with its deathless title track generating one of his biggest hits. However, Rossi had made the journey in the traditiona

  One of the unforseen joys of researching my book was stumbling across the original versions of songs that I had known for years without ever realising that they owed their start to French singers, songwriters and musicians. This week's post highlights a handful of French songs that became international pop classics... Everyone knows Little Peggy March's 1963 American chart topper, "I WIll Follow Him", right? A monster hit at the height of the "girl group" era. Or maybe, depending on where you grew up, you might know the version by Rosemary Clooney, or perhaps by Dee Dee Sharp, or even the disco version by Claudja Barry. But how many people know it started life as an intsrumental called "Chariot", penned by two behemoths of French easy listening, bandleaders Paul Mauriat and Franck Pourcel and first recorded by Pourcel's orchestra in 1962? Or that the first vocal version was in French, with lyrics by Jacques Plante? Yep. It's a yé-yé  clas

When Édith Piaf died in 1963, aged only 47, she left a huge hole at the heart of the French music industry. The previous three years had seen the chanson gradually eclipsed by the oncoming horde of  yé-yé  singers, at least as far as the media were concerned, although there would always be room on the airwaves and in the country's leading music halls and theatres for the stars of a more traditional form of French popular music. Piaf had been in ill health for several years but her sudden passing was still a shock that left the country reeling. Forty thousand people turned up to attend her burial in P ère Lachaise; many thousands more flocked to the shops to pick up one of her many classic recordings. Piaf may, to paraphrase her most famous song, have had nothing to regret, but her fellow citizens very much regretted that she was no longer alongside them. Perhaps inevitably, Piaf's departure from the stage engendered any amount of debate as to who might possibly replace her. Wit