Bonne nouvelle : Je suis de retour à mon premier amour, la radio! (avec tout mon respect, cher blogue)
Dès le mercredi 8 juin, sur les ondes de CIBL, 101,5 FM à Montréal!
Tous les mercredis de 19 h à 20 h, c’est avec grand bonheur que j’animerai l’émission MONDO P.Q. avec mon ami Sébastien Desrosiers, auteur de l’EXCELLENT blogue Patrimoine P.Q.
Mondo P.Q. sera une émission consacrée aux chefs d’oeuvres oubliés et aux illustres méconnus du psychédélisme, pop, rock et folk québécois. Vous y entendrez aussi des trames sonores groovy et jazzées, du funk, de la soul, du garage, de l’électro, etc.
Première : mercredi le 8 juin, à 19 h (heure de Montréal). Disponible en version Podcast sur le site de CIBL et prochainement, sur notre site mondopq.com .
Vous pouvez également nous “aimer” (euh…) sur Facebook!
Great news! I will soon be back on the radio, my first love (no offense, blog).
Starting Wednesday, June 8, I will be hosting “MONDO P.Q.” on Montréal’s CIBL 101.5 FM, with Sébastien Desrosiers, author of the AMAZING blog Patrimoine P.Q.
MONDO P.Q. will be entirely devoted to unknown, obscure, and/or just plain good Quebecois psych, groovy jazz, sunshine pop, library, folk, etc.
Want an example? Click on the above MP3!
MONDO P.Q. will be broadcast (in French) every Wednesday, from 7 to 8 p.m. (E.S.T.) and will be archived on both CIBL’s website and our own: mondopq.com .
*translated from French – Originally posted May 19, 2011
On July 8, 2009, I wrote about Bernard Chabert, a French musician of whom I knew little about, but whose music I thought deserved to be heard and shared. I praised his very British and Beatles influences, a rather rare sound for French artists at the time. I wondered who was this Bernard Chabert, and why didn’t anybody – even the biggest French 60s pop nuts – know who he was? I also wondered why he had stopped releasing records after 4 amazing EPs that included two of the finest French psych singles of the time: “Helga Selzer” and “Une plage bordée de cocotiers.” Internet searches always pointed me to a certain “Bernard Chabbert”, journalist and pilot. I mistakenly assumed these were two separate people.
Nearly 2 years passed, until Bernard Chabert himself left a comment on my blog post (you can read it by clicking on the above link.) After exchanging a few emails with him, I asked if he wouldn’t mind doing an interview, to which he agreed. Below are excerpts from our email exchanges.
Many thanks to Bernard Chab(b)ert for his generosity and kindness in sharing these amazing memories.
***
“In 1968, I was training at an institute called OCORA – affiliated with the ORTF – a luxurious school/studio in Maison-Laffitte that trained radio/television journalists. There, I befriended a sound engineer called Patrice Blanc-Francard, who already enjoyed a bit of notoriety thanks to his unique style and rock and roll background. I left the institute to start my career in journalism. Patrice got canned by the ORTF after May 1968 and was recruited by EMI as head of their rock and roll catalogue. He remembered that we used to play together during our lunch breaks in the OCORA studios and that I knew how to write songs, and so invited me to come to EMI-Pathé Marconi for an audition. We recorded a few demos in a Pont-de-Sèvres studio. They were reviewed by a committee and soon enough I was offered a contract.
I was assigned an artistic director, Jacques Sclingand, who worked with his two young assistants, Claude-Michel Schonberg and Michel Berger, and his musical advisor, the wonderful Hubert Rostaing, incidentally one of France’s greatest clarinet players (his version of Rhapsody in Blue remains famous.)
We all got to work, and released my first single, Tramway 7B:
Tramway 7B entered the charts, so we quickly released a 2nd single: “Une plage bordée de cocotiers.” Semi-flop: the song was censored by the RTL, among others, because I sang about being bored sh***less (FR: “je m’emmerde”) on this beach, and in those days you couldn’t say these things. (I grew up in Madagascar and on Maurice Island, and I really *was* bored sh**less on these beaches. They were indeed beautiful, with white sand and palm trees, but deserted of any pretty girls or rock and roll…)
“L’ascension sociale de Francis F.” was about climbing social ladders, a phenomenon that hadn’t yet reached the then very politically correct world of French show business, in spite of May 68. Not even on a technical level: when I was in the studio listening to a track we’d just recorded, looking at the vu meters staying so far behind the red line, I’d protest. I wanted my songs to sound saturated and wanted the maximum possible amount of volume on that tape, not guitar plucking noises. In those days, sound engineers were knights of the ultra-clean take: as far as they were concerned, if a take sounded saturated, it was good for the dumps.
So as you can imagine when I recorded “Helga Selzer”(inspired by two girl friends: one was a star model for Chanel and sober, the other a childhood friend who was completely crazy. She even did a few triple X movies later on) and announced that I wanted part of the song to be sung through a telephone line, the sound engineers almost threw a fit. We worked it out in the end, but that’s the only track that has the guitar sound I wanted. (I played with a Rickenbacker that I borrowed from a shop in Bastille, because I couldn’t afford one of my own.)
Between 69 and 72, I was making a living from my music and enjoyed some great moments, including a few days recording a Jean-Christophe Averty TV show with Led Zeppelin. We spent hours playing with them just to pass the time. There was also my friendship with Isabelle de Funès, who at the time sang songs by her friend Véronique Sanson, with whom we ate croissants in the morning.
But I started getting bored with Parisian show-biz, too bourgeois and void of any interest as far as I was concerned. I was a rock and roll guy and loved to play live, but I didn’t have a band, just mates. EMI wants to make money, not rock and roll. Around that time Apollo was sending space ships to the moon, and I dreamed of being a part of it. I’ve always been a pilot – runs in the family – and always wanted to be a journalist – also runs in the family, so I took advantage of my notoriety at Europe 1 thanks to my chart-topping singles and managed to get an interview with the editor in chief. I was hired, and in early 1972 I left show business and headed to Houston to report on Apollo 14. A new life began…”
*The English version of this interview will be posted shortly. Stay tuned. (It’s just a lot to translate!)*
Le 8 juillet 2009, je partageais sur ce blogue mes EPs de Bernard Chabert, un artiste que je ne connaissais pas, mais qui, selon moi, méritait une écoute attentive. Je louangeais ses sonorités beatlesques et britanniques, un son que peu d’artistes français abordaient à l’époque, du moins pas avec tant de finesse. Très honnêtement, ces maxis figurent parmi mes préférés de l’époque et je m’étais toujours demandé qui était ce Bernard Chabert, pourquoi était-il si méconnu? Pourquoi avait-il mis un frein à sa carrière de musicien, sûrement très prometteuse si l’on se fie à ces quelques enregistrements? Surtout à l’écoute de Helga Selzer et Une plage bordée de cocottiers, deux méga-bombes rock/psychés!
Des recherches internet me pointaient toujours vers un certain Bernard Chabbert, journaliste et aviateur français, mais ma logique me disait que ce ne devait pas être la même personne. Erreur!
Après plusieurs mois, voire années, c’est la surprise : Bernard Chabert lui-même me laisse un commentaire, en réponse à mon billet (vous pouvez le lire en cliquant sur le lien plus haut). Bernard Chabert, musicien et Bernard Chabbert, journaliste / aviateur étaient bel et bien la même personne!
Après quelques échanges de courriels, je lui proposai une entrevue.
M’sieur Chab(b)ert a été d’une générosité sans bornes dans le partage de ses souvenirs, qui sont pour le moins fascinants. Je lui envoie mes remerciements et le salue!
Voici avec grand plaisir son histoire, dans ses mots :
***
“En 68, je fais une période de training dans un institut nommé OCORA qui appartient alors à l’ORTF, et qui forme des journalistes et techniciens radio et télé dans un studio-école de grand luxe à Maisons-Laffitte. J’y rencontre un ingé-son, déjà célèbre de par son style et sa culture rock and rolleuse, Patrice Blanc-Francard, et on devient copains comme cul et chemise. Puis je pars faire le journaliste, et Patrice après Mai 68 se fait virer de l’ORTF et entre comme patron du catalogue rock and roll chez EMI France. Comme lorsque nous étions ensemble à l’OCORA on avait passé les pauses-déjeuner à faire de la musique dans l’un des studios équipés d’un piano, et qu’il savait que j’écrivais un peu, il me fait un jour convoquer chez EMI-Pathé Marconi pour une audition. J’y vais, on se met en studio au Pont de Sèvres, et on en sort un souple d’essai. Ça passe en comité, et ils me proposent un contrat.
Je signe, je me retrouve avec un directeur artistique (Jacques Sclingand) qui a dans son équipe deux jeunes assistants, Claude-Michel Schonberg et Michel Berger, et un conseiller musical, l’extraordinaire Hubert Rostaing, un des plus grands clarinettistes français (sa version de la Rhapsodie in Blue est restée célèbre).
Là-dessus, on se met au travail, et on sort le premier 45 tours EP, “Tramway 7B” :
Le Tramway entre dans les charts, on enchaîne sur le second disque, un simple celui-là : “Une plage bordée de cocotiers“. Là, semi-bide: comme je dis sur ce titre que je m’emmerde sur cette plage, et qu’à l’époque on ne dit pas ces choses-là, le disque est boycotté entre autres sur RTL. (J’ai grandi à Madagascar et à l’île Maurice, et je me suis vraiment emmerdé sur ces plages magnifiques, sable blanc et cocotiers, mais désertes et sans trop de filles ni de rock and roll…).
“L’ascension sociale de Francis F.” parlait justement de ça, d’ascension sociale, et malgré Mai 68, ça n’avait pas encore filtré jusqu’au show-biz alors politiquement très correct. Et même techniquement, lorsque je débarquais en cabine, regardais les vumètres alors qu’on rejouait la dernière prise, et que je constatais qu’entre les pointes de volume et le trait rouge il y avait de quoi glisser un piano à queue, je m’insurgeais: je voulais que ça sature, je voulais un maxi de son sur la bande, pas des plics-plics. Et ça allait contre la culture des ingénieurs du son d’alors, chevaliers de la prise ultrapropre pour qui si ça saturait, c’était à jeter…
Alors vous imaginez: quand j’ai enregistré “Helga Selzer” (inspirée par deux copines: l’une sobre comme un chameau, était mannequin vedette chez Chanel, l’autre, copine d’enfance, était totalement déjantée et est même ensuite partie tourner dans des triples X…), et que j’ai annoncé que je voulais chanter la voix dans un téléphone, ça a fait une quasi-révolte du côté des ingésons. Mais bon, on y est arrivé, et c’est le seul morceau où j’ai obtenu la couleur de guitare que je voulais (je jouais sur une Rickenbacker empruntée à un magasin de la Bastille, j’avais pas les moyens de m’en acheter une à moi).
J’avais fait, pour l’anecdote, “Dear Jean” pour Jean Seberg que j’avais connu par un bon copain. Elle était étrange, et on avait passé quelques moments assez étranges ensemble…
La musique m’a fait vivre entre 69 et début 72, donc, et j’y ai passé des moments géniaux. Par exemple, une paire de journées pour enregistrer une émission TV de Jean Christophe Averty avec Led Zep, avec qui nous avions passé des heures à jouer pour faire passer le temps… Ou une amitié avec Isabelle de Funés, qui alors chantait les compositions de sa copine Véronique Sanson, avec qui on mangeait un croissant le matin…
Seulement voilà, pour ma part je m’emmerde un peu dans le monde d’un show-biz parisien où il ne se passe pas grand’chose de mon point de vue. Je viens du rock and roll, j’aime jouer en live, mais je n’ai pas de groupe, juste des potes, et la politique d’EMI est de faire du commerce, pas du rock and roll.
Comme à cette époque se déroulent les missions Apollo vers la Lune, et que ça me fait complètement rêver (j’ai toujours piloté, c’est de famille, et j’ai toujours voulu être reporter, c’est aussi de famille), je finis par laisser tomber le show-biz un peu trop embourgeoisé, et me servant de la notoriété acquise chez Europe No. 1 grâce aux disques dans leurs charts, je rencontre le boss de la rédaction et je me fais embaucher.
Direction Houston, pour couvrir Apollo 14, début 72, et je n’en sortirai plus…”
This is – at least to me – an amazingly intense, mysterious and beautiful record : the Janko Nilovic produced 1968 Epta single.
Janko Nilovic is today considered a genius composer and poet, and is very much sought after by record collectors, especially his Library music. Yugoslavian, Janko Nilovic moved to France in the 1960s where he wrote and composed night and day in his apartment. He experimented with instruments and with fellow musicians, friends and artists. This is one of many, many records that resulted from those recording sessions. Many of his recordings have never been released, although a lot have been reissued as part of Library Music compilations or various reissues. If you are not familiar with him I strongly suggest you search for more of his material.
Not much is out there on “who” Epta actually was, in fact there’s nothing on this guy, so I am very tempted to believe Janko Nilovic *is* Epta…(Epta’s accent also kind of gives it away).
The single not only boasts Nilovic as a producer and songwriter (althought here spelled “Yanco”) but also has two major French names as composers: Serge Franklin for “Bye Bye Brighton” and – shocker – Michel Jonasz for (my favorite) “Les nuits sans lune”. (If you’d grown up hearing 1980′s Michel Jonasz “pop jazz” like I did, you’d be shocked too).
(I don’t have a cover for this record, so the photo you see here was taken from the site 45 Tours de Rock Français)
Henri Salvador, the last true survivor of the French “chanson”, has passed away last week at the age of 90. He was active until his last breath, and did a farewell tour only last December in France. He laughed and smiled through life and through his career.
Here is my favorite song of his for your listening pleasure: the delicious, mother effing weird and brilliant “Beta Gamma l’ordinateur”, in which he describes the world in 2000 through the eyes of a typical (albeit brainwashed) man. For the first time since I started this blog, I feel I should translate lyrics to a song. “I am a man from the year 2000, I don’t have any problems I lead a simple life, I don’t think anymore We have a King who thinks for us, his name is Beta Gamma, the Computer. I am a man who is never hungry I don’t understand why generations before us Took pleasure in eating We just eat pills made by Beta Gamma, the Computer
When I go for a ride in my car I never drive leisurely I have a digital map That plans ahead for me
As for girls, no problem I don’t waste time telling them I love them Every night I must get A girl that was pre-selected by Beta Gamma, the Computer
When I think of all those before us Who couldn’t live without love I tell you we are happier today For the man of the year 2000, happiness is Beta Gamma, the Computer
I don’t know about you, but this sums up the so-called new Millenium to a tee. Wouldn’t you think?
I know, I had such high hopes for this blog, and then *poof*, I disappeared! Or so it seems. Actually, I moved to a new appartment in October and before Otis and I could get our little music studio back in order, our turn table broke! Now we have a cheap but cute little thing hooked up and here I am.
What better way to make a grand comeback than by posting about the lovely Victoire Scott? This beautiful lady is such a mystery, even her (non official, of course) Myspace invites people to write in if anybody has any info on her.
Baroque Pop never really catched on in France in the late 60s, but as far as the genre goes, Victoire Scott has recorded some of the finest and most beautiful sweet Baroque Pop sounds I have ever heard.
When I bought this record some time in the mid 90s, I didn’t know who Victoire Scott was. I took it home, listened to it, and had chills all over from the absolute beauty of what I was hearing. “4ème Dimension” is a stunning piece of work, describing drug-induced psychedelic hallucinations of angelic proportions.
Strangely enough, it was re-recorded 10 years later by Al Turban, (brother of Christian Turban, who originally wrote the song). I’d love to hear it!
All songs from this Decca EP are beautifully orchestrated by JD Mercier and will just warm your heart with awe and fuzzy goodness.
Les Costa are 2 brothers, George and Michel, who started writing music together at a young age, strongly influenced by The Beatles and the British pop sounds of the time. They were only 16-17 when they released this first single on Gemini and it is just sublime, with beautiful melodies and harmonies. The song “Ce soir je veux rester chez moi” (Tonight I want to stay home) is just so wonderfully poppy and sweet that I can’t help but feel good every gosh darned time I hear it.
Their harmonious brotherly vocals led Les Costa to a successful career as back up singers for big names like Michel Sardou and Johnny Hallyday, and in the late 80s they started their own company specialising in commercial jingles. They are also employed by Disney in France as musical directors for the dubbing of songs to French.
I recently wrote to Les Costa (their email is available through their website) just to tell them I had this early 45 and how much I loved it. They wrote back in less than 24 hours, thanking me for writing. They said my email made them happy and that this was their first record and the beginning of their “musical adventures”. As short and sweet a correspondence as it was, it made me smile to know that people can openly write to them, even if only to say “bonjour” and that they take the time to respond, with a smile and a “merci”. Now that’s class!
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