Johnny Hallyday - "Rivière Ouvre Ton Lit" (1969)

Originally known as “The French Elvis Presley” for his pompadour, chiseled sneer, and hip-swinging ability to make teenaged girls shriek, Johnny Hallyday (born Jean-Philippe Smet), arguably France’s biggest rock star, is stylistically much closer to a David Bowie or a Madonna: a show-biz lifer with the chameleon-like ability to stay relevant by updating his music with the times. Astute, talented, and enduring, Hallyday has enjoyed over five full decades of top-of-the-charts success with nary a commercial lull.

In the late 1960’s, while the King himself was still struggling to overcome a decade’s worth of artistically bankrupt movies and soundtracks, Hallyday was hitting yet another creative peak. Having already squeezed the juice out of rockabilly, Motown, and Beatles covers (his frenetic version of “Got To Get You Into My Life” is magnificent and worth checking out), Hallyday dove head-first into acid rock. He assembled a stellar group of his musician friends that included Peter Frampton (then still just ‘the guitarist from Humble Pie’) and the entirety of the Small Faces to record his farewell to the 60’s. The resulting album, “Rivière... Ouvre Ton Lit,” released in 1969, was an au courant kaleidoscope of psychedelic blues rock. Rhythm section Ronnie Lane (bass) and Kenney Jones (drums), in particular, destroy mightily throughout the album. Hallyday and company concoct a heavy, spacious sound that mirrored the nascent proto-metal that bands from the Jeff Beck Group to Deep Purple were simultaneously devising across the Channel.

Leading the turbulent charge is a very confident, excited-sounding Hallyday. His gruff voice is in fine youthful form, only beginning to betray the cracks that would deepen and mature his singing in the decades ahead. Placing himself front and center of the maelstrom from the first moments of the opening (and title) track, Hallyday sings himself into a froth within the first 30 seconds and never looks back. The band matches his bubbling-over passion in breathless simpatico. By the time Hallyday finally unleashes a falsetto whoop at the song’s finale over Jones’ triumphant cymbal crashes, the sense of hard-won closure is palpable—and that's only the first track. Goodbye 60’s; hello future.

click the image below to listen to song previews or buy the album:

Trust - "La Grande Illusion" (1981)

They were pals with original AC/DC vocalist Bon Scott; they collaborated with British punks Sham 69; they had a significant influence on the British New Wave of heavy metal; and they were wildly, wildly popular. They were, of course, Trust: one of France’s biggest heavy metal acts of the 1980’s.

Formed in the late 70’s during the genre’s worldwide flirtation with boogie (think Thin Lizzy meets AC/DC), Trust, led by imminent national heroes Bernard “Bernie” Bonvoisin (vocals) and Norbert “Nono” Krief (guitar), embraced a tough-minded socialist stance that paralleled the Clash’s earnest sloganeering: hitting the right targets (greedy corporations, apathetic citizens, the KGB) but ultimately valuing the music more than nuanced commentary. That said, compared to their American metal contemporaries (Van Halen, Quiet Riot) who were then just beginning to conquer MTV, Trust’s songs certainly do flex some intellectual muscle alongside Bonvoisin’s snarling vocal caterwauls and Krief’s up-the-neck guitar pyrotechnics.

Trust never rocked harder than they did in 1981, when their killer lineup also boasted the legendary Nicko McBrain (who would leave Trust in 1982 to join Britain’s Iron Maiden in time to work on their amazing “Piece Of Mind” album). Trust’s 1981 release, “Marche Ou Crève,” remains a start-to-finish thrill ride with at least three enduring classics: the proto-thrash title track, thundering closer “Ton Dernier Acte,” and opening salvo “La Grande Illusion.”

“La Grande Illusion” is no Dennis DeYoung fruity synthesizer foppery. Crafting a double-pronged attack on France’s corrupt politicians as well as the listless populous who would cede them power, Bonvoisin delivers his vocals with typical guttural passion. My favorite lyric translates roughly as “my bulldozer is the symbol of a youth that denies all your political skullduggery,” which sounds like a mouthful but is delivered with a sly, Phil Lynott-style swagger. McBrain pummels the daylights out of his kit while Krief shreds flaming sparks out of his guitar. The song’s closing mantra reminds everyone of the power of their own voice: “Vote! Vote! Vote! Vote!”

In fact, once Socialist Party representative François Mitterrand was elected Prime Minister of France in 1981 and reversed 23 years of Conservative government, Trust’s anti-establishment agenda no longer seemed as relevant. Plus, the band couldn’t hold onto a drummer. Rather than devolve into the type of bombastic cartoons that much of heavy metal was morphing into at that time (Bon Jovi, Def Leppard), Trust wisely called it a day in the mid-80’s.

click the image below to listen to song previews or buy the album:

Coeur de Pirate - "Corbeau" (2008)

Those fricative r’s may sound poetic, but even in the lilting rhythms of French, the emotional musings of the young, confessional singer-songwriter are stubbornly prosaic: the soaring highs of new love; the endless crushing pain of a stomped-upon heart; the easily-defined, impossible-to-uphold sense of morality; the desperate pleas to be truly understood; the incongruent obsession with death.

Now 20 years old, Québécoise pianist Béatrice Martin, performing since 2008 as Coeur de Pirate, pours such post-adolescent sentiments—age-appropriate intensity intact—all over her pseudonymously self-titled debut. Romantic partners die at night. Breaths choke half-formed in throats, never to convey the life-saving messages they contain. Dancing equals life equals love equals fear.

The complete 21st-century package, Martin boasts doe-eyed, tousled-waif looks, more arm tattoos than Tommy Lee (honestly), and a success arc that owes some of its velocity to an adorable 2009 viral video featuring a toddler playing with his toys set to Coeur de Pirate’s music. From there, it wasn’t long before Martin was bestowed with both a fanboy rave from Perez Hilton and a Francophone Album of the Year nomination from Canada’s esteemed Juno Awards.

Coeur de Pirate (the album) is worth the hype—although it is somewhat less convincing when it embraces the typical sonic emblems of francophone pop (sidewalk café accordions, sprightly waltzes) and much more persuasively laudable in its wrenching ballads. Martin demonstrates a lightness of touch in her piano playing rare among her ilk; her assured voicings recall Regina Spektor’s playful trills and artfully counterbalance the occasional formulaic arrangements and lyrics.

“Corbeau” is one such beautiful highlight. Built around an uncomplicated two-chord pattern, the song conveys Martin’s feelings, rather than describes them in Dear Diary detail. The descending chorus twirls delicately around itself, mirroring the song’s image of two lovers looking at each other and seeing strangers. Martin leaves telling spaces between words and picks at her piano like she’s trying to remember an old phone number. The quiet loveliness of “Corbeau” makes me eager to hear what Béatrice Martin is going to do next.

click the image below to listen to song previews or buy the album:

Prototypes - "Un Gars Fragile" (2004)

Not to get all meta on only the second post in, but it’s easy to imagine that the male singer of Prototypes’ exuberant “Un Gars Fragile” is precisely the kind of self-aware pretty boy who simply doesn’t turn Yelle’s crank in “Tu Es Beau.” Taken from Prototypes’ self-titled US debut—which was cobbled together out of tracks from the band’s first two French full-lengths—“Un Gars Fragile” is, quite simply, catchy electro-pop delivered with blazing confidence. Which kinda belies the lyrics. Which is kinda the point. The message? Never believe a guy who’s falling all over himself to tell you how “sensitive” he is. Even if he smothers his new wave-flavored entreaties in crisp, Gang of Four snare hits and Split Enz-via-the Strokes squashed, processed guitars—and everything sounds absolutely perfect. Still. Don’t trust him.

Prototypes are a Parisian three-piece: Stephane Bodin (bass, synths—clearly the instrumental powerhouse of the group), Isabelle Le Doussal (vocals), and François Marche (guitar). Normally Le Doussal sings with a winning Terry Bozzio meets Karen O gum-cracking yelp. I’m not sure if it’s Bodin or Marche—or another guy altogether—who sang on “Gars,” but whoever handled these vocals executed them with a lovely, showy élan, tumbling over the fast-moving syllables like a saucer-eyed Plastic Bertrand.

In 2008, Prototypes released their third album (their second stateside), Synthétique, and toured the US. Despite their earlier marketing successes (a ubiquitous iPod Shuffle ad, some high-end Mitsubishi & BMW commercials), Synthétique, unfortunately, failed to broaden the group’s audience. The Prototypes website hasn’t been updated in a while. Here’s hoping they release some new music in 2010. Until then, “Un Gars Fragile” reminds us of those heady days when the Prototypes were so self-assured that could admit to being sensitive.

click the image below to listen to song previews or buy the album:

Yelle - "Tu Es Beau" (2007)

In which GrandMarnier and Tepr establish an unassailable Chic-style groove within the song’s first four seconds, then step back and let Yelle have her way with the vocals. She coos with a laid-back flow that recalls young LL Cool J at his most risin’ surprisin’ on his behind-the-beat return trip to Cali, and in a similar honeyed way, Yelle delivers one of the sweetest kiss-off songs I’ve ever heard.

“You’re beautiful,” purrs Yelle. “BUT…” And it’s that “but” that turns on its poor, tender head the hip-hop convention of female objectification. Yelle infuses her comprehensive put-down to her male companion with a combustive mixture of derision and desire: you’re no good at all, better get out of my bedroom, you’re just not my type of fella, by the way you sure are easy on the eyes.

The song’s beautifully loooong coda adds almost nothing instrumentally. Literally nothing. Ok, a three-note sax line turns up after Yelle stops singing. But that’s it. It’s gorgeous electro-pop minimalism at its most relaxed.

This is an exciting time for Yelle (the person) and Yelle (the groop, to which GrandMarnier and Tepr rightfully belong). The band’s 2007 debut “Pop-up” yielded two uptempo singles (“À cause des garcons” and “Je veux te voir”) that burned up international charts and even landed Yelle on Coachella’s second stage in 2008. Check out “Pop-up” and you won’t be disappointed. And stay tuned to pop de trop for any upcoming information on their highly-anticipated follow-up.

Happy 2010 everyone!

click the image below to listen to song previews or buy the album: