Serge Gainsbourg

Gainsbourg
percussions
 1

Joanna Joanna
Joanna est aussi grosse qu’un éléphant. Joanna’s as fat as an elephant.
C’est la plus grosse de toute la Nouvelle Orléans It’s the fattest elephant in all of New Orleans
Et pourtant — And yet —

(Joanna, Joanna, (Joanna, Joanna,

Joanna tu sais danser léger léger.) Joanna you know how to dance lightly lightly.)

Joanna est bien de la Louisiane. And Joanna’s from Louisiana.

Quand elle suit un régime c’est un régime de bananes When she goes on a diet, it’s a banana diet*
Et pourtant — And yet —

(Joanna, Joanna, (Joanna, Joanna,

Joanna tu sais danser léger léger.) Joanna you know how to dance lightly lightly.)

Elle danse — She’s dancing —

( — léger léger.) ( — lightly lightly.)
Elle saute — She’s swinging —
( — léger léger.) ( — lightly lightly.)
Elle tourne — She’s turning —
( — léger léger.) ( — lightly lightly.)
Elle s’envole — She’s taking off —
( — léger léger.) ( — lightly lightly.)

Joanna a un faible pour les tabourets. Joanna has a weak spot for barstools.
Elle en consomme deux ou trois dans la soirée She goes through two or three of them in the evening
Et pourtant — And yet —

*When she goes on a diet (régime = “regime”) it’s a banana

(Joanna, Joanna, (Joanna, Joanna,
Joanna tu sais danser léger léger.) Joanna you know how to dance lightly lightly.)

diet (un régime de bananes = “a banana republic”)

 2

Là-bas c’est naturel Down There It’s Natural

Là-bas c’est naturel, Down there it’s natural,
Là-bas au Kenya, Down there in Kenya,
Pour tous les naturels For all the nudists
C’est O.K. It’s O.K.
Chacune est en deux pièces moins une, Every woman’s in a two-piece minus one,
Chacun dans ce noir paradis en monokini. Every man in this dark paradise in a monokini.

Si nous allons un jour If we go one day

Là-bas au Kenya, Down to Kenya,
Je te dirai alors, I’ll say to you then,
“C’est O.K.” “It’s O.K.”
Aucune pudeur aucun souci No modesty, no worry,
Tu te cacheras si tu veux derrière tes cheveux. You hide, if you like, behind your hair.

Mais si nous n’allons pas But if we don’t go

Là-bas au Kenya, Down to Kenya,
Je te dirai quand même, Then I’ll say to you,
“C’est O.K.” “It’s O.K.”
Rien qu’une petite pièce moins l’autre, Nothing but one small piece minus the top,
Et pour l’amour en moins de deux And for love, in two-point-two,
En deux pièces moins deux. In a two-piece minus two.
 3
Pauvre Lola
Faut savoir s’étendre
Sans se répandre —
Pauvre Lola.
Faut savoir s’étendre,
Sans se répandre —
C’est délicat.
Ne pas la surprendre,
Pas l’entreprendre —
Pauvre Lola.
Ne pas la surprendre,
Pas l’entreprendre
De but en bas.
Il est des mots tendres
Qu’elle aime entendre,
Tendre Lola.
Oui quelques mots tendres
Devraient attendrir
Lola.
Ce que ça va rendre,
Ça va dépendre
Pauvre Lola.
Ce que ça va rendre,
Ça va dépendre
Un peu de toi.
On peut pas te prendre —
Tu dois t’en rendre
Compte Lola.
On peut pas te prendre
Jusqu’aux calendes grecques,
Lola.
Poor Lola
You’ve gotta know how to extend yourself
Without taking a spill —
Poor Lola.
You’ve gotta know how to extend yourself
Without taking a spill —
It’s delicate.
Don’t creep up on her,
Don’t tackle her —
Poor Lola.
Don’t creep up on her,
Don’t tackle
At the base of the goal.
It’s tender words
That she likes to hear,
Tender Lola.
Yes, some tender words
Are needed to soften
Lola up.
What you get back,
That’s gonna depend on
Poor Lola.
What you get back,
That’s gonna depend
A little on you.
We can’t take you back with us —
You have to understand
That, Lola.
We can’t take you back
Until the Greek kalends,
Lola.
 4

Quand mon 6,35 When My 6.35

me fait les yeux doux Gives Me the Doe-Eyes
Quand mon 6,35 me fait les yeux doux, When my 6.35 gives me the doe-eyes
C’est un vertige There’s a dizzyness
Que j’ai souvent I often get
Pour en finir — In setting it off —
Pan! pan! Pop! pop!

C’est une idée qui m’vient, There’s an idea that comes to me,
Je ne sais pas d’où. I don’t know from where,
Rien qu’un vertige, Nothing but a dizzyness,
J’aimerais tant I’d like so much
Comme ça pour rire — To be able to laugh like that —
Pan! pan! Pop! pop!

Aïe! mourir pour moi — Aye! for me to die, —

Me butter pourquoi? Why snuff myself out?
Histoire d’en finir Story of capping it off
Une bonne fois — Once and for all —
C’est une idée qui m’vient, There’s an idea that comes to me,
Je ne sais pas d’où, I don’t know from where,
Rien qu’un vertige que j’ai souvent Nothing but a dizzyness I often get
Comme ça pour rire — From laughing like that —
Pan! pan! Pop! pop!

Quand mon 6, 35 me fait les yeux doux When my 6.35 gives me the doe-eyes
C’est un vertige There’s a lightheadedness
Que j’ai souvent That I often get
Pour en finir — In setting it off —
Pan! pan! Pop! pop!

C’est une idée qui me vient, There’s an idea that comes to me,
Je ne sais pas d’où, I don’t know from where,
Rien qu’un vertige, Nothing but a dizzyness,
J’aimerais tant I’d like so much
Comme ça pour rire — To be able to laugh like that —
Pan! pan! Pop! pop!

Aïe! mourir pour moi — Aye! for me to die, —

Me butter pourquoi? Why snuff myself out?
Histoire d’en finir Story of capping it off
Avec toi — With you —
C’est une idée qui m’vient, There’s an idea that comes to me,
Je ne sais pas d’où, I don’t know from where,
Rien qu’un vertige que j’ai souvent — Nothing but a dizzyness I often get —
J’trouve ça assez I find it
Tentant... Tempting enough...
 5

Machins choses Thingamajigs

Avec Machine With What’s-Her-Name,
Moi Machin — Me, What’s His-Face —
On s’dit des choses des machins. We call each other all kinds of things.
Oh pas grand chose Oh no big deal,
Des trucs comme ça... This kind of stuff...

Entre Machine Between What’s-Her-Name

Et moi Machin, And me, What’s-His-Face,
C’est autre chose It’s something else,
Ces machins. These whatchamacallits.
Ça la rend chose, It makes her have her thing,
Tout ça. And everything.

Ce sont des trucs This is stuff

Qui ne s’expliquent pas.
Ces jolies choses
Qu’on s’dit tout bas,
Machins trucs choses,
Machins trucs très chouettes,
Ces choses qu’on s’dit
Machine et moi.
That can’t be explained.
These pretty things
We call each other in low tones,
All kinds of things,
Really handy sorts of stuff,
These things we call each other,
What’s-Her-Name and me.

Entre Machine Between What’s-Her-Name

Et moi Machin, And me, What’s-His-Face,
Il s’passe des choses des machins. All kinds of things pass back and forth.
C’est quelque chose, It’s something,
Ces machins-là. These whatchacallits.

Comme dit Machin, As What’s-His-Face said,

Comment déjà...? What did you just...?
Heu... y’a des choses Heh... there’re things
Qu’on n’dit pas, You don’t say,
Ou quelque chose Or something
Comme ça. Like that.
 6
Les Sambassadeurs
Les sambassadeurs sont venus en dansant —
Les sambassadeurs sont venus en dansant —
Armés de tubas jusqu’aux dents!
(Les sambassadeurs sont venus en dansant —)
(Les sambassadeurs sont venus en dansant —)
(Armés de tubas jusqu’aux dents!)
Y’a pas le feu pour s’faire casser la gueule —
Y’a pas le feu quand le ciel est bleu —
Mieux vaut danser, s’amuser —
S’amuser!
Les sambassadeurs sont venus en dansant —
Les sambassadeurs sont venus en dansant —
Armés de tubas jusqu’aux dents!
(Les sambassadeurs sont venus en dansant —)
(Les sambassadeurs sont venus en dansant —)
(Armés de tubas jusqu’aux dents!)
The Sambassadors
The sambassadors have arrived dancing —
The sambassadors have arrived dancing —
Armed to the teeth with tubas!
(The sambassadors have arrived dancing —)
(The sambassadors have arrived dancing —)
(Armed to the teeth with tubas!)
There’s no gunfire for opening your mouth —
There’s no gunfire when the sky is blue —
More worthwhile dancing, having fun —
Having fun!
The sambassadors have arrived dancing —
The sambassadors have arrived dancing —
Armed to the teeth with tubas!
(The sambassadors have arrived dancing —)
(The sambassadors have arrived dancing —)
(Armed to the teeth with tubas!)
 7

New York — U.S.A. New York — U.S.A.

J’ai vu New York — I’ve seen New York —
New York, U.S.A.! New York, U.S.A.!
J’ai vu New York — I’ve seen New York —
New York, U.S.A.! New York, U.S.A.!
J’ai jamais rien vu d’au— I’ve never seen anything s—
J’ai jamais rien vu d’aussi haut! I’ve never seen anything so high up!
Oh, c’est haut, c’est haut, New York — Oh, it’s high up, it’s high up, New York —
New York, U.S.A.! New York, U.S.A.!

J’ai vu New York — I’ve seen New York —

New York, U.S.A.! New York, U.S.A.!
J’ai vu New York — I’ve seen New York —
New York, U.S.A.! New York, U.S.A.!
J’ai jamais rien vu d’au— I’ve never seen anything s—
J’ai jamais rien vu d’aussi haut! I’ve never seen anything so high up!
Oh, c’est haut, c’est haut, New York — Oh, it’s high up, it’s high up, New York —
New York, U.S.A.! New York, U.S.A.!

Empire State Building! Empire State Building!

(Oh, c’est haut!) (Oh, it’s high up!)
Rockefeller Center! Rockefeller Center!
(Oh, c’est haut!) (Oh, it’s high up!)
International Building! International Building!
(Oh, c’est haut!) (Oh, it’s high up!)
Waldorf-Astoria! Waldorf-Astoria!
(Oh, c’est haut!) (Oh, it’s high up!)
Pan-American Building! Pan-American Building!
(Oh, c’est haut!) (Oh, it’s high up!)
Bank of Manhattan! Bank of Manhattan!
(Oh, c’est haut!) (Oh, it’s high up!)

J’ai vu New York — I’ve seen New York —

New York, U.S.A.! New York, U.S.A.!
J’ai vu New York — I’ve seen New York —
New York, U.S.A.! New York, U.S.A.!
J’ai jamais rien vu d’au— I’ve never seen anything s—
J’ai jamais rien vu d’aussi haut! I’ve never seen anything so high up!
Oh, c’est haut, c’est haut, New York — Oh, it’s high up, it’s high up, New York —
New York, U.S.A.! New York, U.S.A.!

Time and Life Building! Time and Life Building!

(Oh, c’est haut!) (Oh, it’s high up!)
American Hotel! American Hotel!
(Oh, c’est haut!) (Oh, it’s high up!)
CBS Building! CBS Building!
(Oh, c’est haut!) (Oh, it’s high up!)
RCA Building! RCA Building!
(Oh, c’est haut!) (Oh, it’s high up!)
First National Citibank! First National Citibank!
(Oh, c’est haut!) (Oh, it’s high up!)
 8
Couleur café
J’aime ta couleur café,
Tes cheveux café,
Ta gorge café.
J’aime quand pour moi tu danses.
Alors j’entends murmurer
Tous tes bracelets,
Jolis bracelets —
A tes pieds ils se balancent.
(Couleur café,)
(Que j’aime ta couleur café!)
C’est quand même fou, l’effet,
L’effet que ça fait
De te voir rouler
Ainsi des yeux et des hanches.
Si tu fais comme le café
Rien qu’à m’énerver,
Rien qu’à m’exciter,
Ce soir la nuit sera blanche.
(Couleur café,)
(Que j’aime ta couleur café!)
L’amour sans philosopher
C’est comme le café —
Très vite passé,
Mais que veux-tu que j’y fasse.
On en a marre de café,
Et c’est terminé —
Pour tout oublier
On attend que ça se tasse.
(Couleur café,)
(Que j’aime ta couleur café!)
Coffee Color
of vertiginous dizziness, given the double meaning of “l’effet” as “spin,” in the
*** “se tasse” = “pack (oneself) up”; a small pun rests here on the fact that “tasse”
* “L’effet” = “The impression”; the “impresion” here being in all likelihood one
I love your coffee color,
Your coffee hair,
** Gainsbourg here poetizes on cream added to coffee, ejaculation, and
Your coffee throat.
I love when you dance for me.
And so I hear the murmur
Of all your bracelets,
Pretty bracelets —
Dostoevsky’s novella (later Visconti’s film) ‘White Nights.’
They sway at your feet.
(Coffee color,)
(How I love your coffee color!)
It’s really crazy, the impression,
The impression* it creates
To see you rolling
Your eyes and hips like that.
If, like coffee, you do
Nothing but rile me up,
Nothing but excite me,
This evening the night will be white.**
(Coffee color,)
(How I love your coffee color!)
sense of “spinning balls.”
Without philosophizing, love
Is like coffee —
Gone by very quickly,
also means “cup.”
But you still want me to make it for you.
One gets sick of coffee,
And it’s all over —
In order to forget everything
You wait for it to get rid of itself.***
(Coffee color,)
(How I love your coffee color!)
 9

Marabout Marabout
Y en a marabout — There’s a marabout among us —
Y en a marabout — There’s a marabout among us —
Y en a marabout — There’s a marabout among us —
Y en a marabout — There’s a marabout among us —
Marabout, Marabout,
Marabout, Marabout,
Marabout, Marabout,
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marre, Is fed up with it here,
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marre, Is fed up with it here,
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marre, Is fed up with it here,
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marre, Is fed up with it here,
Marabout, Marabout,
Bout d’ficelle, End of his rope,
C’est la vie, That’s life,
Vie de chien, A dog’s life,
Chien de temps, Dogs up time,
Tant qu’à faire, Too much to do,
Faire les cons, Doing idiotic things
Qu’on se marre, You get sick of,
Marabout, Marabout,
Bout d’ficelle, End of his rope,
C’est la vie, That’s life,
Vie de chien, A dog’s life,
Chien de temps, Dogs up time
T’en fais pas You’re not spending with
Paméla... Paméla...

Y en a marabout — There’s a marabout among us —

Y en a marabout — There’s a marabout among us —
Y en a marabout — There’s a marabout among us —
Y en a marabout — There’s a marabout among us —
Marabout, Marabout,
Marabout, Marabout,
Marabout, Marabout,
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marre, Is fed up with it here,
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marre, Is fed up with it here,
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marre, Is fed up with it here,
Marabout Marabout
Y en a marre, Is fed up with it here,
Marabout, Marabout,
Bout d’ficelle, End of his rope,
C’est la vie, That’s life,
Vie de chien, A dog’s life,
Chien de temps, Dogs up time,
Tant qu’à faire, Too much to do,
Faire les cons, Doing idiotic things
Qu’on se marre, You get sick of,
Marabout, Marabout,
Bout d’ficelle, End of his rope,
C’est l’amour, That’s love,
Amour tendre Tender love
Entre nous, Between us,
N’oublie pas Don’t forget
Paméla... Paméla...
 10
Ces petits riens
Mieux vaut n’penser à rien
Que n’pas penser du tout —
Rien c’est déjà,
Rien c’est déjà beaucoup.
On se souvient de rien
Et puisqu’on oublie tout.
Rien c’est bien mieux,
Rien c’est bien mieux que tout.
Mieux vaut n’penser à rien
Que de penser à vous —
Ça n’me vaut rien,
Ça n’me vaut rien du tout,
Comme si de rien
N’était je pense à tous —
Ces petits riens
Qui me venaient de vous.
Si c’était trois fois rien
Trois fois rien entre nous
Evidemment
Çà ne fait pas beaucoup.
Ce sont ces petits riens
Que j’ai mis bout à bout,
Ces petits riens
Qui me venaient de vous.
Mieux vaut pleurer de rien
Que de rire de tout.
Pleurer pour un rien
C’est déjà beaucoup
Mais vous vous n’avez rien
Dans le coeur et j’avoue —
Je vous envie —
Je vous en veux beaucoup.
Ce sont ces petits riens
Qui me venaient de vous
Les voulez-vous?
Tenez! — Que voulez-vous?
Moi je ne veux pour rien,
Au monde plus rien de vous.
Pour être à vous
Faut être à moitié fou.
Those Little Nothings
Better not to think of anything
Than to think about everything —
Nothing is already,
Nothing is already so much.
We remember nothing
And then we forget everything.
Nothing is better,
Nothing is better than everything.
Better not to think of anything
Than to think of you —
It’s worth nothing to me,
It’s worth nothing at all to me,
As though nothing
Were all I think of —
Those little nothings
That came to me from you.
If it were three times nothing,
Three times nothing between us
Of course
That wouldn’t do much.
It’s those little nothings
That I place end to end,
Those little nothings
That came to me from you.
Better to cry at nothing
Than to laugh at everything.
To cry over a nothing
Is already so much.
But you yourself don’t have anything
In your heart and I know it ­—
I envy you —
I want you so much because of that.
It’s those little nothings
That came to me from you.
Do you want them?
Hold on to them! — What do you want?
Me, I don’t want anything,
Anything more in the world to do with you.
To be with you
I’d have to be half-crazy.
 11

Tatoué Jérémie Tattooed Jérémie

Parce qu’il avait cette fille dans la peau Because he had this girl in the flesh,
Et pour ne pas l’oublier, And so as not to forget her,
Il se l’était fait tatouer, He had her made into a tattoo,
Tatouer... Into a tattoo...
Juste à la place du coeur Right at the place of his heart,
(Tatoué Jérémie!) (Tattooed Jérémie!)
Il s’est fait tatouer un coeur. He got a tattoo of a heart.
(Jérémie.) (Jérémie.)
Tout l’monde en choeur! The whole world in chorus!
(Tatouer un coeur,) (Tattoo of a heart,)
(Tatoué Jérémie!) (Tattooed Jérémie!)
On peut lire à l’intérieur... You can read in the inside...
(Jérémie.) (Jérémie.)
De même sur les avant-bras... The same thing on his forearms...
(Tatoué Jérémie!) (Tattooed Jérémie!)
De même où ça n’se voit pas... The same thing where you can’t see...
(Jérémie.) (Jérémie.)
Encore une fois! One more time!
(Où ça n’se voit pas...) (Where you can’t see...)
(Tatoué Jérémie!) (Tattooed Jérémie!)
C’est-à-dire un peu plus bas... That is, a little bit lower...
(Jérémie) (Jérémie.)
Malheur de malheur maintenant qu’il n’l’aime plus! Horror of horrors that now he doesn’t love her anymore!
Comment faire pour effacer How to have erased
Ce qu’il a fait tatouer, What he had tattooed,
Tatouer... Tattooed...
Faudrait arracher ce coeur They’d have to tear out that heart
(Tatoué Jérémie!) (Tattooed Jérémie!)
Qu’est tatouté sur son coeur... That’s tattooed over his heart...
(Jérémie.) (Jérémie.)
Tout le monde en choeur! The whole world in chorus!
(Arraché ce coeur,) (Tore out that heart,)
(Tatoué Jérémie!) (Tattooed Jérémie!)
Avec c’qu’il y a à l’intérieur... Along with whatever’s on the inside...
(Jérémie.) (Jérémie.)
De même pour les avants-bras... The same for his forearms...
(Tatoué Jérémie!) (Tattooed Jérémie!)
Surtout où ça n’se voit pas... Everywhere you can’t see...
(Jérémie.) (Jérémie.)
Encore une fois! One more time!
(Où ça n’se voit pas,) (Where you can’t see,)
(Tatoué Jérémie!) (Tattooed Jérémie!)
C’est-à-dire un peu plus bas... That is, a little bit lower...
(Jé-ré-mie.) (Jé-ré-mie.)
 12

Coco and Co Coco and Co.

Ecoute — Listen —
Le gars qui jazz-hot, The guy who’s jazz-hot,

*Gainsbourg extends the “Au pia.....” to tease out a suggestion of “opium.”

T’entends, You hear,
Ah comme il saxote — Ah, making like he’s saxing it up —
Il est He is
Camé à zéro — Stoned to zero ­—
Coco and Co... Coco and Co....

Un de One of
Ses compatriotes His compatriots
Au pia......no* On the pia......no
C’ui qui pianote ­— The one who’s turning pink —
Comme lui c’est la coco. With him, it’s coke.
Coco and Co... Coco and Co....

A la On the
Basse, Bass,
C’ui qui croqu’note The one who’s crunched up —
C’est l’éther It’s ether
Lui qui lui botte That he’s on,
T’as pas You didn’t
Vu, il est K.O. Notice, he’s K.O.’d.
Coco and Co... Coco and Co....

Aux drums On drums

C’ui là qui tapote, The one who’s tapping it out,
C’est un There’s a
Crack, c’est un pote — Crack, and there’s his pal —
Lui c’est He’s
La fleur de pavot. The poppy-flower.
Coco and Co... Coco and Co....

C’ui qui The one who’s

Joue pas qui sirote — Not playing, who’s sipping ­—
C’est un Is one
Des gars du Blue Note. Of the guys from the Blue Note.
Mais lui But he
Ça s’rait plutôt la Would rather be on
Marijuana. Marijuana.
 Gainsbourg percussions
by Jean-François BRIEU

How is it not possible to see ‘Gainsbourg percussions’ as a sort of return-to-

sender addressed to the preceding album, that ‘Gainsbourg confidentiel’ which
wholly set forth an embargo on drums, drumsticks, and drummers? ‘Percussions’
means to strike where it’s bad, to beat out jazz till it gets hot. ‘Percussions,’ like
‘Confidentiel,’ is the sound of America, of man’s beating heart driven by the energy
of girls passing by. But the girl of ‘Percussions’ comes straight out of ‘West Side
Story,’ or maybe ‘Black Orpheus.’ She has amber skin, a piranha smile, a virgin
innocence, a rock-and-roll insolence. She gleams like a Hell’s Angel’s chopper.
‘Confidentiel’ was confined to a bar’s smoke-haze. ‘Percussions’ journeys into the
oblique regions that cut themselves off from us, the vertical structures that show
disdain for the sky, somewhere in Manhattan.

With this album, Gainsbourg replicates his era. One might find him at the service
of trends — as though he should produce, in the mid-sixties, an album from 1985.
With ‘Gainsbourg percussions,’ le beau Serge leaves his artist’s workshop, takes
his oeuvre back into the dark of night. He revisits “le grand air” with familiarity,
he latches onto buildings, he expresses himself in salvos. The sun comes up. The
hot brass spits out one last burst from its guts. Love, here, could be joyous, after
two or three Bloody Marys, and the shadowy tenant of the preceding albums, that
Nosferatu of Saint-Germain-des-caves, struck by the sunlight, suddenly crumbles
into dust.

The first “world” album of the French chanson, ‘Gainsbourg percussions’ comes
forth, in 1964, as part of the famous series launched by Jacques Canetti’s successor
at Philips: Claude Dejacques. The collection was entitled “Les grands auteurs-
compositeurs-interprètes.” In a year-and-a-half ’s time, the series occasioned
a memorable succession of rare works, among the most accomplished of their
authors’ oeuvres. It is projects such as these, borne by an epoch, which retain grace.
Claude Nougaro, Barbara, Félix Leclerc, Francis Lemarque, Pierre Louki, Ricet-
Barrier and, as we know well enough, Serge Gainsbourg, would all profit from this
dynamic.

‘Gainsbourg percussions’ opens on the exaggerated curves of “Joanna,” a female

specimen situated in New Orleans, large as the trunk of a baobab tree, but light as a
Gershwin swoop setting forth the outline of two or three dance-steps. From the very
start it’s clear that musical gradation is going to set the tone on this album. It could
be said to merit even more than the 25 centimeter ‘L’Etonnant Serge Gainsbourg’
(on which he takes back, in more ways than one, the record-sleeve cover) the label
“good for dancing.” Cosmopolitan, exotic and modern, the album no sooner turns its
back on the proven figures of traditional jazz, than the old demons (the obsession
with death) rise once more to the surface and recapture the author on his journey to
the land of jiggles and sambassadors.

“When my 6.35 gives me the doe-eyes

There’s a dizzyness
That I often get
In setting it off —
Pop! pop!”

In Gainsbourg, love — in the same way as art, alcohol or cigarettes — is, in any
case, only an ephemeral variation on the idea of suicide. At the time when Serge
concocted this love-at-33-rpms, his personal lovelife had run one time too many down
a dead-end street. The sense of divorce, and of a strong relationship, is in the air.
Man crosses over to the bad side of thirty. He gets older, he’s not an unknown, he’s
not a celebrity, he hasn’t found the woman of his life. And when he walks into the
studio in October to record twelve cuts for ‘Percussions,’ he is visibly immersed in
the scansions, the taps of the foot on the Charleston-pedal and the drum-rolls on
the toms — he’s caught up in his own head. ‘Gainsbourg percussions’ is a drunken
pact, a bender with tiny shocks, a smash-up with bings and bangs, an urge to jump
out the window only to escape into panther-claws in the jungle of the street. It’s
also an homage to João Gilberto’s girl from Ipanema, to James Brown’s over-sexed
vibrations, and to the wilfully obscene distortions of free-jazz in its infancy.

Skin, the epidermis, is the main business of this album with its orange-rind
color. Cowhide, the skin of toms and tablas, the coffee-tinted skin of the “petites
gainsbouriennes,” the tattooed arms of Jérémie;

“Horror of horrors that now he doesn’t love her anymore!

How to have erased
What he had tattooed...”

With ‘Percussions’ and most especially with “Couleur café,” Gainsbourg finally
gets onto the radio. With “New York - U.S.A.,” he elbows his way in, between
“Pénitencier” sung by Hallyday and The Beatles’ “A Hard Day’s Night,” to the ears
of... close friends. In a moment when the wind blows from London, it’s the American
East Coast that interests him. Another flop! The SLC generation doesn’t keep him
in their attention, and works his “Oh, c’est haut!” gimmick into their recess games
without going so far as to buy his albums.

A current runs between Gainsbourg and youth-culture, but the voltage is a bit too
strong for the little “mecs” and their little “boudins.” Gainsbourg touches upon sex,
with two years still to go before the liberalization brought about by the pill, and
four years before May ‘68’s immense schism. This cocktail with its strong flavor,
bubbling over with caffeine, puts its author in the “danger” category, alongside
Ferré, Aznavour, those piss-drunk men who make their way from the dancefloor to
the bedroom — and who make like they’re none the wiser.

Gainsbourg, then, has an impact upon a bit more than the French chanson with
this new LP. For the album’s sensuality, its extremely tactile quality, its dialectic
of the caress, of contact between epidermises over rhythms that themselves inter-
penetrate, prepare the Presley generation for the shock that will be “Satisfaction”
by the Stones. Satisfaction, or the encouragement upon boys to make it with girls
and incorporate certain delicate games that are no longer child’s-play.

But life as learned by Gainsbourg is to go forward masked, to disguise oneself.

Since no-one wants him as an idol at the start of the Sixties, he sidesteps the
obstacle. It’s familiar territory for him. When he was a child in occupied France,
he was very much obliged to learn to appear to be what he was not; it was that or
meet one’s end inbetween two uniforms.

Is it that strategy of survival that we find again in his work with France Gall,
in that desperate way in which he had to shove until the doors which never open
finally give way?

Let us risk the hypothesis. In any event, let us certify that this premeditated entry
starts to pay off, right in that year 1964 when consumption-rock begins taking
a back seat to the profits in a sort of small-claims rock, which will only grow
and become further embellished. France Gall is the surprise invite at Serge’s
‘Percussions.’ Her laugh underscores the contradictions in which “Pauvre Lola”
is enmeshed. And her voice carries, in tandem and across three occasions, on
three 45s, Gainsbourg’s opening couplets to the top of the charts where Adamo,
Claude François and Richard Anthony all triumph. “N’écoute pas les idoles,”
“Laisse tomber les filles,” and “Attend ou va-t-en” are three pop treats that stroll
cheerfully between “Vous les copains je n’vous oubliera jamais” and “Biche oh ma
biche.” A lovely result. Since the good people ignore Mister Gainsbourg, Doctor
Serge, hidden behind the blonde visage of Madame Charlemagne, found the way
to disseminate the subjects he had no inclination to renounce: desire, disgust,
seduction, and the sublimation of bodies.

The ‘Percussions’ album has no other subjects. Isn’t banging (in the new sense of
the word) a slightly rude way to penetrate someone by means of a certain rhythm
which, under the delicious guise of a certain euphoria, can really do quite a lot of
damage...?
•••