Protest songs in Saint-Cyr-sur-Morin, Seine-et-Marne (77)

A room in Le Musée de la Seine-et-Marne is dedicated to protest songs – not familiar songs of the 1960s, but more modern ones. The earliest song I noted, apart from the obvious 'Le Temps des cerises', was Renaud's 'Miss Maggie'. GiedRé, because of her youth and therefore ignorance of the atrocities Margaret Thatcher perpetrated on the British public, of how Thatcher's shadow continues to destroy Britain, can perhaps (but only perhaps) be excused her criticisms of this song. And although Renaud may in part have intended 'Miss Maggie', after the deaths in the Heysel stadium in Brussels, as a criticism of macho behaviour as opposed to feminine sagacity, this is a violent and well-aimed indictment of Thatcher's tyranny:

Ten years later Francis Cabrel launched an attack on bull fighting, denouncing the brutality of the corrida. For a French person at the time to attack the mindless slaughter of bulls in the name not of sport but of art was perhaps a little bold, but in the L214 generation, any cruelty to animals is considered by many as murder. 'Est-ce que ce monde est sérieux ?'

Coming before the #MeToo / #BalanceTonPorc phenomenon, Jeanne Cherhal's 'Quand c'est non, c'est non' strikes a modern chord: 'No means no'. Unwelcomed sexual advances are not welcome: t'as pigé, connard ? Protest songs must never die, never be diluted. 'Pisser debout' as a protest song? Well, some things never change unless you get really radical.

Pierre Desproges: Fonds de tiroir (1990)

Fonds de tiroir is a posthumous publication, findings of his humorous writings collected and put into a vague alphabetical order. The quotation on the back cover illustrates the nature of the content: 'Il n'est pas vrai que je ne respecte rien : j'ai le plus profond respect pour le mépris que j'ai des hommes': ('It's untrue that I have no respect for anything: I've the deepest respect for the contempt that I have for men.')

There's some funny material here, some mediocre, and unfortunately some that seems to be merely filling space, sort of, er, scraping the barrel. Ironically, though, the best part of this book I found in the Preface, in which his friend Renaud says that he initiated the comedian into fishing, whereas the comedian initiated the singer into golf – although he's not about to write anything like 'I was a mate of Desproges, blablabla, and the proof: we shared the same holes!'

In Père-Lachaise, the tomb of Pierre Desproges (1939–88).

Renaud Séchan: Comme un enfant perdu : Autobiographie (2016)

Being unable at present to scan the cover of this book (which translates as 'Like a lost child' and is a line from his song 'Lucille' from 1969, and which incidentally has a band round it announcing 'Enfin le premier livre de Renaud' ('At last, Renaud's first book')), I use an image of Renaud's drinking place in L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue': Le Bouchon, the French word for a (wine) stopper, among other meanings. It might seem an appropriate title for someone known as a great drinker, although by far his favourite tipple was the screw-topped 'la jaune', the yellow colour of pastis, more particularly Ricard, of which Renaud once drank about a litre a day for many years. Until, that is, he was persuaded into going teetotal after deciding that he didn't want to die, and his doctor certainly knew that he had a near fatal level of potassium in his body. The slammer Grand Corps Malade also persuaded him to come back to life and record a new album with original songs after so many years of absence, but all those thousands of letters, mostly just addressed to 'Renaud, L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue', had a particularly strong effect on the man.

One can seek for comparisons between Renaud and other singers, particularly Francophone ones. He only mentions Jacques Brel once, but it's obvious that Georges Brassens – some of whose songs he's recorded – has been a tremendous influence. While reading this autobiography I also I found it unavoidable to make comparisons with Morrissey, who shares as many similarities with Renaud as he does differences: the never-changing left-wing stance,  the champion of human rights, the hatred of authority, the defiant anarchism, the wonderful humour and observation, the brilliant lyrics, the self-derision (Morrissey writes of a nation gagging at his nakedness, Renaud calls himself 'as fat as an SNCF sandwich': irony,  of course); but on the other hand Renaud may hate animal abuse but he isn't vegetarian like Morrissey, he champions the joys of fatherhood unlike Morrissey, and oh, the coyness of Morrissey's language as opposed to Renaud's.

So far this is a very roundabout way of talking about an autobiography of Renaud, but somehow it doesn't seem right to approach it conventionally, unconventional as he is. Blanche Cabanel-Seo wrote a very silly but nevertheless fascinating little book last year called Plouc toujours, a title I can only imagine best translated as 'Forever Uncool', although many years ago 'Forever a Square' would have been very appropriate, but does anyone use the word 'square' in such a context these days? Anyway, the poche version of Cabanel-Seo's book bears on the front cover a crazily-patterned pullover with reindeer: the sort of thing any remotely fashionably-minded person (OK, any normal kid) would squirm with embarrassment at the thought of wearing. And her book is full of uncool expressions, uncool behaviour, etc. But the message is in fact that we're all uncool at heart, and Cabanel-Seo is obviously in love with Renaud's words, as she borrows thirteen lines of his 'Marche à l'ombre', a song from the late seventies, and uses them on the page before the Table of Contents.

And what a song! It's not as brilliant as 'Dans mon HLM', which lists the supercool, the uncool, the spongers, the communists (sorry, I mean Trotskyists), the eccentrics who live in the narrator's HLM. No, not as brilliant, but Marche à l'ombre gives a wonderful view of Renaud at the height of his power: this song is crammed with slang, marvellous word-play, and this is Renaud's forte. It's not for nothing that Renaud, the (apparent) troubadour of the sleazy bars, the guy who writes about gangs, petty theft, the speaker of verlan (backslang), even the inventor of slang words and expressions, appears in the prestigious Petit Robert dictionary, a kind of French lexical Bible. Renaud's language is in some ways a sort of update of San-Antonio (aka Frédéric Dard) or Auguste le Breton.

But Renaud's success killed his father, or rather killed the great book that the writer Olivier Séchan believed he had in him: he was incapable of writing it. Renaud, a school drop-out without even his BEPC, had somehow captivated the youth of France, had it eating out of his hand, his words were everywhere, his face was everywhere, he was carving out his own (very exaggerated, of course) myth of Renaud the loubard, the yob of the périphérique, the cool mobylette-riding (yes, that translates as a kind of moped) nobody who is paradoxically a somebody because he's a nobody.

I'm not too sure how much influence the writer Lionel Duroy had on this book, but it's certainly not ghost-written, although at the end Renaud thanks him for following all the stages of the book's progress. And it's a hell of a story, of a kid born with a paternal grandfather who was a professor of Greek at the Sorbonne, and a maternal grandfather who was a staunch communist (and the self-confessed anarchist always had something of a soft spot for communism, as indeed the communist daily L'Humanité has, I believe, always had a soft spot for Renaud). The autobiography takes us through his marriage to Dominique and their child Lolita (or Lola), through his totally irrational belief that the KGB was after his blood, his guilt feelings, the subsequent heavy drinking and Dominique leaving him, through his second marriage to Romane Serda and their child Malone, his lapse back into alcoholism and Romane leaving him, through to (let's hope) permanent cure.

Throughout, Renaud guides us through his songs along and his life, explains the genesis of his work. What we're left with is a glorious story of a man with faults, but a real human being. OK, he might occasionally brag a bit, such as telling us that the French voted his song 'Mistral Gagnant' the all-time best French song, beating even Brel and Barbara, but so what? He's only telling the truth, and who can blame him for being proud of a lovely song? Now he's on his feet again, telling the world he's not dead and buried according to the vicious internet rumour some jerk started, but yes, there's a change. Renaud was a good friend of the people behind Charlie Hebdo, the people who were mindlessly assassinated by two no-hopers prostituting the name of Islam, so is it so surprising that the man who once called France a nation of cops, a hundred on each street corner who kill people without being punished, should, er, make a song about hugging a cop during the huge display of fraternity and defence of free speech (OK, certainly some heads of state just shouldn't have been there, but...) that the Charlie murders created?

Renaud has given many of his earnings away, and Gérard Depardieu has apparently teased him for being a fool for this, but then Depardieu is the kind person willing to change nationality when he believes he's paying too much tax, etc. Renaud doesn't criticise Depardieu because he's of course Renaud, who was in turn criticised for leaving France for London for a short time due to tax reasons, but Renaud insists that he paid via the French tax system because he has no problems contributing towards schools, roads, the general infrastructure of the country. And who can disbelieve a man whose name will certainly never appear in the Panama Papers?

Long live Renaud: a tremendous, very honest, and very generous guy.

ADDENDUM: Now (with great regrets) home in England and here's the front cover of the book: 

Thierry Séchan: Le Roman de Renaud (1988)

Le Roman de Renaud is written by the singer Renaud's elder brother Thierry Séchan, who understandably writes 'FIN'at the end, although the whole book is full of comments by Renaud himself reproduced in his original handwriting, and after 'FIN' he even more understandably suggests that Thierry ought to have instead written 'À SUIVRE', ('To be continued'): the book ends in 1988, and there were many more years of Renaud to follow, and indeed his brother published another Roman de Renaud in 2006. And after a number of years without any new releases Renaud returns this spring with a new album called 'Toujours debout' ('Still Standing'), the title of which defiantly indicates Renaud's comeback, and the already released eponymous single of which is a harsh stab at all the 'arseholes' ('trous du cul') and 'fuckers' ('enfoirés') who said he was finished.

On his paternal side Renaud comes from a line of writers: his grandfather Louis Séchan (1882–1968) was a Hellenist who wrote a number of books and taught at the Université de Paris, his father Olivier Séchan (1911–2006) wrote novels and children's books and his brother Thierry (born 1949) is a writer and journalist. Renaud's daughter Lolita is also a writer of children's books.

I'm uncertain of Renaud's present relations with Thierry Séchan because there has been a serious rift, although obviously that was many years after this book was written. The 'Not to be borrowed' mark on the cover was originally put there by staff at Leeds University Library (Music section), UK, where it was shelved before being sold: it bears no signs of being read, and it would rather surprise me if many people at the university had heard of Renaud, let alone understood him – his hallmark is many expressions of (sometimes obscure, even self-invented) slang, and even young French people have had trouble understanding some of the things he says. So it's not for nothing that he's been included (honoured, in fact) in the Petit Robert dictionary.

Thierry Séchan's book traces he and his brother's Parisian roots in the 14^e arrondissement and the Montrouge area, the familial cultural mix – staunch middle class on the paternal side, staunch working-class on the maternal side: Renaud wrote a song about his coalminer grandfather Oscar in the song of the same name – gives an explanation of many of the songs, and concludes that Renaud is still a person who has never grown up.

This idea of eternal youth is evidently still present in Renaud's latest single, and has certainly still been there throughout his musical career, and can perhaps be said to be his main strength. It was recognised by the equally ageless (and at the time sixty-year-old) writer Frédéric Dard (1921–2000) (alias San-Antonio); it's in France's favourite song Mistral Gagnant (a former confectionery) which the video clip shows Renaud singing to Lolita – isn't parenthood very much a re-visitation of childhood? As people age they generally become more conservative, more resigned, but Renaud? Never!

The anarchism has nuanced, OK, but it's very much still there, as are the insults to the forces that govern us, the faceless, moronic nonentities that would have us follow them into non-life, into accepting their mindless violence, their supremely arrogant theft from the public, their conning the public that we live in a free world, live in a democracy, which is so much hideous bullshit, and which Renaud understood and still understands. Renaud tried to believe, supported Mitterand until he realised he was playing the same war game as the others, and he adapted Vian's 'Le Deserteur' to the times, inviting the president to smoke a pétard (joint) with him, the pipe of peace.

Going beyond the time of the book now, 'Dans le jungle' ('In the Jungle') isn't about the mess that is Calais, but about the kidnapping of the Franco-Columbian ecologist politician Ingrid Betancourt (between 2002 and 2008): this was by Marxist guerrillas, but was in no way supported by the always left-thinking Renaud because he believes in freedom and the kidnapping itself, and the fact that the group FARC was also involved in drug trafficking, made this an obscenity.

Coming back to the time of Le Roman de Renaud, and of course back into international politics, it is heart-warming to be reminded of Renaud's 'Miss Maggie', a song which is a celebration of women throughout the world because they aren't violent, don't declare war, they are civilised human beings: with the exception, of course, of Margaret Thatcher. Yes, this is an important song full of delicious humour: how could I have forgotten to include it in my list of anti-Thatcher songs?

There are many things in this book that testify not only to the importance of Renaud as a French singer, but to the importance of his words to the world. An equal to Brassens, or Brel, or Ferré? Yes, definitely.

The Voice of Charlie Hebdo (and J.B. Bullet, and Renaud)

The full-page announcement in the press reads 'Ils veulent nous réduire au silence. Ils n'auront obtenu qu'une minute' ('They want to reduce us to silence. They only got one minute'.) In smaller writing underneath are the words 'Nous sommes Charlie' and 'Reporters sans Frontières: Pour la liberté de l'information'.

Below, a link to J. B. Bullet singing 'Je suis Charlie', a protest song that has gone viral. Two chorus lines read:

'Un coup d'Kalach pour un coup de crayon
Tu salis ta religion'

This refers to the work of a pencil being replied to by a Kalashnikov, and states that the perpetrator is soiling his religion. The music recalls a much earlier song: Renaud's 'Hexagone'. This was a very different kind of protest song though: on Sunday the police were applauded as their vans went carefully  through the crowd, whereas Renaud's protest was very different indeed. Times change. (Renaud, incidentally, once declared that Charlie Hebdo is the first paper that made him laugh.)

Links to both songs:

J. B. Bullet: Je suis Charlie
Renaud: Hexagone

Olivier Séchan: Cimetière du Montparnasse #16

'OLIVIER SÉCHAN

Homme de Lettres

1911 – 2006'

Olivier Séchan was a writer of crime and young adult novels. Fluent in German, English and Dutch, he translated most of Anthony Buckeridge's Jennings series of novels (changed to Bennett in French). He was the father of the singer Renaud.

This post numerically follows on from the last of my second series of posts on the Cimetière du Montparnasse on 14 November 2013. The following link is to my first – and very long – post on the cemetery:

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Montparnasse Cemetery / Cimetière du Montparnasse