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C'est Extra, c'est les Gaulois à gogo by RUPERT BOTTENBERG
The soirée is called C'est Extra, and it's a nostalgic treat for francophone culture vultures because the musical menu is vintage '60s French gogo pop, or yéyé. "The term 'yéyé' was actually something of a put-down in the '60s," says Flipped Out, host of CKUT's retro roundup Subterranean Jungle. "Serious French composers and singers of the time looked down on artists like Jonny Halladay, France's answer to Elvis, because they were doing this bastardized take on American rock 'n' roll. Instead of singing 'yeah, yeah,' they were singing 'yé, yé.'"
Denis Lalonde, owner of Le Pick-Up record store on St-Denis, puts another yéyé star--a Gainsbourg protégé, in fact--at the top of his charts. France Gall, the teen queen of yéyé. "She was a young girl with the heart of a woman," sighs Lalonde. "She was the Lolita of the '60s--such an innocent voice."
But now, in these post-lounge kitsch days, yéyé is catching on big with English-speaking types on this side of the pond. For example, U.S. punk label Sympathy has its own yéyé starlet, a yank named April March who covers Gall and Bardot in both English and French. But Anglo Montrealers are still few at the increasingly popular C'est Extras. As Flipped Out explains, "Americans find French culture to be exotic. In Quebec, it's too familiar to have that feel for the English." But dancing shouldn't be a language thing. If you really can't do le twist to Gainsbourg and Gall, well... zut alors. C'est Extra pops up again on Saturday, June 14 at Cabaret, 9pm. $7, $5 with flyer |
One night each month or so this summer, you might notice a noisy lineup outside the Cabaret Music Hall on St-Laurent, often as early as nine o'clock. A horde of green-haired teens, off to dance the ants out of their pants at a rave? Actually, no. It's a reserved and respectable crowd of swank Québécois sophisticates, many of whom are over 30. And they're the ones getting ready to dance out the ants.
Flipped Out (a French native himself) reserves a corner of his heart for the yéyé stars of France, in particular the master of cool detachment, Serge Gainsbourg. "He was in his late '30s but he was the only one of his generation to appeal to the kids, because he had something special going for him. His songs are full of clever word play, uninhibited sexuality and suave decadence." Gainsbourg's romantic and artistic involvement with starlets such as Brigitte Bardot and Jane Birkin fuelled not only the gossip columns but also superior garage pop gems like "Harley Davidson" and "Je t'aime moi non plus."
"What I find remarkable," says Lalonde, "is that today Gall dismisses her recordings of the '60s. As far as I'm concerned, that was her best work." These songs, penned by Gainsbourg, were full of raunchy double entendres which shocked Gall once she was old enough to catch the drift. Dirty tricks, but then Gainsbourg was the archetypal dirty old man.