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Concert
Review by Nick Morgan |
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JANE
BIRKIN
The Roundhouse, London
March 1st 2008
Well,
Serge, as you know, I’ve been away for a
while, so missed the opportunity to make facile
jokes at your expense about the great victory
of our yeoman English warriors over your French
cavalry at your Stade de France. Another Azincourt
all over again – or so I’m told. Distinguished
readers might also like to note that I also missed
concerts by Steve Earle at the Roundhouse and
(unlikely I know) Megadeth at the Brixton Academy
– so that’s two reviews you won’t
be reading. But back to the rugby, score 13-24
if I recall correctly. |
| Having
suffered your wonderful Blues thrashing Scotland
at Murrayfield a few weeks ago I can understand
how much pain this shameful defeat must have caused
in the hearts of your countrymen, the humiliation,
the sense of having no purpose in life. And I can
imagine the appetite for vengeance that must be
burning deep in your breasts. But please Serge,
tell me, is that any excuse for you to send us back
Jane
Birkin? Surely revenge must have its
limits? |
| Ms
Birkin, readers will recall, is forever famous as
the other half of the couple who scandalised the
world in 1969 with the now much parodied 'Je t'aime
moi non plus' – which we last heard being
given the treatment by the wonderful Ukulele
Orchestra of Great Britain in December. Her
partner was Serge
Gainsbourg, described by Birkin (she was actually
quoting Francois Mitterrand, ‘though she didn’t
tell us that) as “our Baudelaire, our Apollinaire”.
In France, the breathless Ms Birkin told us to cheers
from the audience, people talk about “avant
Serge, et après Serge”, such was this
epoch making giant’s impact on his nation’s
culture. That’s one view. Sadly, in retrospect,
it’s not difficult to dismiss him as a drunken
sleazebag with an opportunistic ear for a good tune,
and an eye for a pretty girl. |
 |
| But
of course it’s important for some that his
myth be maintained, not least Ms Birkin, for whom
it has defined much of her life, and her very reason
for being. And strangely much of the crowd around
us seem to share this view. But then they are mostly
French (I can’t talk for the crowd in the
balcony, who looked like the well-heeled literary
set from up the hill in Hampstead) – itself
a telling comment on the durability of Gainsbourg’s
legacy outside his native France. Serge who? |
 |
And
it’s a poor turn out for a Saturday. The seats
look fairly crowded but downstairs you could easily
swing several cats, or should I say chats, in the
half-full auditorium. We’re not just here
to hear Ms Birkin sing as the evening is also supporting
Anno’s
Africa, a non-profit making organisation dedicated
to working with children in Africa, and named after
Ms Birkin’s nephew, Anno Birkin, who was killed
in a car accident in 2001. It’s just one of
hatful of good causes that Ms Birkin supports with
all the fervour of a late nineteenth-century English
matron – another is detained Burmese opposition
leader Aung San Suu
Kyi, in whose name we receive a rather patronising,
and like everything else in the evening, somewhat
over-dramatic lecture with a song to follow. |
| I
could be wrong but I think it was during this one
that the lady next to me started crying –
her child, sitting disconsolately on the cold concrete
floor had of course been crying for about an hour
to go home, but that didn’t seem to matter.
And once you’ve heard Ms Birkin sing you can
understand why she brings tears to the eye –
her lyrics are mostly half-spoken in the tone (in
both English and her very deliberately unusual French)
of a 1950’s BBC Radio presenter, but when
she reaches for a note she does so more in hope
than certainty, and more often than not the hope
remains unfulfilled. |
| It’s
a shame. She’s vivacious and charming with
a winning smile, engaging in a very upper-middle
class English sort of way, and trying very hard
(she even sings her way across the floor and up
to the seats early in the set). And her three-piece
band, covering piano and keyboards, violin, harp,
mandolin, guitar and percussion are pretty good.
But the material isn’t strong, whether it’s
Serge’s old stuff, newer songs written by
the likes of the Magic Numbers or Beth Gibbons,
or Ms Birkin’s own compositions, like her
1973 classic ‘Di doo dah’ (“o
di doo di doo dah, mélancolique et désabusée,
di doo di doo di dah, o di doo di doo dah …etc.etc.”).
But the larger part of the audience, certainly the
sans culottes around us, loved every minute of it,
and seemed happy, if not ecstatic, to be part of
this wildly nostalgic chansonnerie. |
 |
| But
I’d had enough, so cut and ran to get home
in time to catch North London’s favourite
French football team on the television. I wouldn’t
be surprised if Ms Birkin stayed up late with a
cup of camomile tea watching Serge Gainsbourg movies.
Oh yes – and did I mention that Ms Birkin
is also a very famous handbag? If you don’t
believe me then go and have a look on eBay.
- Nick Morgan (concert photographs by Man Ray. I
mean, by Kate.) |
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the index of all reviews:
Nick's Concert Reviews
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