Charlotte, the newest child of the Gainsbourg French pop music empire, just finished the record “IRM”.
Charlotte, the newest child of the Gainsbourg French pop music empire, just finished the record “IRM”.
The garment of “Gainsbourg”—the family, the music and the repute—can be both a robe and a shroud in the same year and still look good on the whole family.
Last year saw the reissue of Serge Gainsbourg’s 1971 recording, “Histoire De Melody Nelson.” On the coat-tails of a too-hot-for-radio hit (banned in five European countries for erotic risqué), the Frenchman recorded an equally controversial concept album with young actress Jane Birkin. Its funky bass and sweeping string arrangements accompanied a spoken-word dialogue between its two characters: a Rolls Royce man and a nymphet, sung by real life counterpart Jane. The semi-autobiographical record is considered one of the most important of the 70’s and the French catalogue. It’s also the fabric with which daughter Charlotte’s record is woven.
Ironically, though, her album and life run perpendicular to her family history. In the leading role of the disputed, explicit film “Antichrist,” she supposedly keeps her clothes off like ma and pa. However, whereas her parents express blissful sexuality, the film depicts its violent sadistic form—so much so that a number of “godless” critics have judged it “unwatchable.”
Furthermore, while her parents were more or less making music about making life, this record is more concerned with death and deterioration. And, again, there’s a personal story behind it: Charlotte’s near-disastrous brain hemorrhage in 2007. If you wondered what the album title was about, it’s essentially “MRI” in its French acronym. The title track actually uses the machine’s deranged sounds to cleverly imitate the paranoia of a doctor visit, or traumatic fear in general.
Beck, who wrote and produced the record, sort of hems the tradition of Serge and the content of Charlotte. It’s something familiar for him, in part; “Sea Change,” was a similarly sad breakup album. Interestingly, it owed at least one track to Melody Nelson’s arrangements.
And, despite my possibly misleading introduction, “IRM” retains a couple of basic things from the father’s masterpiece. First of all, this is accessible pop music. Tracks like “Heaven Can Wait” and “Master’s Hands” are catchy as heck, breathable despite the claustrophobic fit of the subject matter. Charlotte also follows suite in her unchallenging vocal range. As is typical of Beck, the hooks often occur in the minor key. The effect is realistic. Charlotte sounds exhausted at times (“Vanities”). In “Me and Jane Doe,” she has the flat aggression of Guyville-era Liz Phair. Likewise with “Greenwich,” although I’m reminded more of M.I.A. In the bluesy “Dandelion,” she is whispering upbeat remarks to whatever’s left of her after death.
One track bares more intentional similarity to Serge’s work. “Le Chat Du Café Des Artistes” follows the same pace and structure with a noirish twist and cryptic lyrics (I don’t have an official translation, but I’m pretty sure she’s describing something close to her body being dissected and organs eaten). The intimacy matches Serge.
It’s likewise tantalizing. The heavy chords in “Trick Pony” are sweaty, the swaying of “In the End” and “La Collectionneuse” sound fit for the bedside. But you wouldn’t know it from any lyrical analysis. This is because the brilliance of the record’s its earthy middle, demonstrated most in a lyrical centerpiece, “Heaven can wait/ And hell’s too far to go/ Somewhere between what you need/ And what you know.” It’s a gorgeous and dismal place, dressed up appropriately.
It’s yet to see whether Charlotte can hold her own in her debut, she collaborated with Frenchies, Air, as most of the musical variety should be attributed to Beck on this release. But, in my opinion, as long as other people can dress her up, she’ll be quite the musical model.