|
French or french? Arthur H. straightens us out by RUPERT BOTTENBERG
The son of Jacques Higelin, one of the founding fathers of French pop, Arthur H. shares his je ne sais quoi with Gainsbourg, the man who put the decadent elegance of Paris after dark into a pop context. Striking an artful balance of petulance and resignation, fanfare and fromagerie, H. invokes the suave, frosty charm of ol' Serge at his best. And with a combo like that, you can easily deduce that H is a master of all things keenly français. So we felt he'd be ideal to enlighten the francophonically challenged element of our readership on the distinctions between the french and the French, our pure laine and their praline. We've offered him a few off-the-cuff observations on the ways of the Québécois; he was gracious enough to respond to each with a French equivalent. Mirror: If Canada were a restaurant, Quebec would be the smoking section. Arthur H.: If Europe were a restaurant, France would be the kitchen. Of course, all the cooks would be Pakistani or Arab. M: The Québécois riot when they're happy. Take the Stanley Cup fiasco... H.: What makes the French happy is to chop off the heads of aristocrats and parade them around on stakes. Sadly, there are no aristocrats left, so we're rather bored lately. M: Quebec broke prog rock in North America and has since refused to let it go. H.: Progressive rock has progressed so far that no one in France can even see it anymore. It has progressed right off the planet, which is probably just as well. M: The Québécois love their sports; hockey and wrestling in particular. H.: The French prefer les sports à chambre [bedroom sports]. M: It's often remarked by out-of-towners that the women of Quebec are among the most beautiful in the world. In Quebec, one says "Quel beau pétard!" H.: We also say 'pétard' [firecracker], as well as 'canon' [cannon]. This is because we believe that every day should be the 14th of July. M: Québécois men, on the other hand, are guilty of frequent fashion violations. Take the province-wide prevalence of the monstrosity known as hockey hair (aka the mullet, the neckwarmer). H.: In France right now, all the men, including myself, have shaved heads. M: Presently, one of Quebec's great cultural offerings to the world is Céline Dion. H.: We gave the world Napoléon. M: Some Québécois, bent on being Euro, dress in black and chain-smoke Gitanes. H.: To appear North American, we listen to Céline Dion. Arthur H. commandeers the Spectrum, Thursday, Aug. 7 as part of FrancoFolies. 7pm, $26.50. 790-1245 |
The world which Arthur H. conjures up is a twilight cabaret, wherein the impish offspring of the poet's troubled heart lurk behind smoke-stained velvet curtains and weathered, flaking facades. Sinuous double bass and ghost-like strings sprawl across a tapestry of sampled synthetica. The music of Arthur H. is at once archaic and terribly au courant.