Edith Piaf
Apr. 18th, 2010 09:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fpbEdith Piaf is generally remembered as the singer of dozens of passionate and often unhappy love ballads. She certainly was that. But how many of us think of her as the grandmother of hard rock and heavy metal?
Listen. In 1955, that two-man hit machine, Leiber and Stoller, who did more than anyone else including Buddy Holly and Elvis Presley to establish rock music, came up with yet another fine and original song. It was a hit for Vaughn Monroe:
Then for a band called the Cheers:
and in swift succession for another, called the Diamonds:
And then it fell out of the repertory. Zip. Zero. Nada. Nobody else has ever had a hit with the original - surely a unique phenomenon in the Leiber & Stoller songbook.
That is because nobody dares. In 1956, it had been translated into French and taken on by the Mighty Sparrow. Not that the Leiber-Stoller estate minds:
Since then, nobody has ever touched the English version.
Some of the merit certainly belongs to the author of the splendid French translation. It not only keeps almost everything from the original where the original has it, it improves on it. Nobody who knows both languages can deny that Car tout le monde savait bien qu'il aimait entre tout/ sa chienne de moto bien davantage! is a decided improvement on And everybody pitied her, 'cause everybody knew/ he loved that dog-gone motorcycle best!. Here the French and the English original say exactly the same thing, but the French translation says it better. What is more, it affords Piaf the chance for a little extra touch - the barely perceived but effective growl on the word "chienne" - that the twee expression "dog-gone" would likely not have.
But at the end of the day, it all comes down to the thunder and lightning in the little lady's throat. Pavarotti described tenor singing as "controlled screaming", and, my goodness, she had the secret. What is particularly striking is the way that, having started at what seems like the top, she still has some extra power and resonance and tone when she reaches the climax, with the fiery-eyed devil of the roads racing to his death.
This is not only great singing: it is singing without parallel and without possible imitation. The song has become a French rather than an American classic, but no other French singer, in spite not only of her magnificent example but also of the long experience of hard rock and heavy metal, even came close to match her power:
This is less than fair especially to Vaughn Monroe, whose original version was well arranged and beautifully sung. But there is no use: it is like comparing a comfortable house fire to a bolt of lightning. In the end, Edith is Edith alone, and there will never be another.
Listen. In 1955, that two-man hit machine, Leiber and Stoller, who did more than anyone else including Buddy Holly and Elvis Presley to establish rock music, came up with yet another fine and original song. It was a hit for Vaughn Monroe:
Then for a band called the Cheers:
and in swift succession for another, called the Diamonds:
And then it fell out of the repertory. Zip. Zero. Nada. Nobody else has ever had a hit with the original - surely a unique phenomenon in the Leiber & Stoller songbook.
That is because nobody dares. In 1956, it had been translated into French and taken on by the Mighty Sparrow. Not that the Leiber-Stoller estate minds:
Since then, nobody has ever touched the English version.
Some of the merit certainly belongs to the author of the splendid French translation. It not only keeps almost everything from the original where the original has it, it improves on it. Nobody who knows both languages can deny that Car tout le monde savait bien qu'il aimait entre tout/ sa chienne de moto bien davantage! is a decided improvement on And everybody pitied her, 'cause everybody knew/ he loved that dog-gone motorcycle best!. Here the French and the English original say exactly the same thing, but the French translation says it better. What is more, it affords Piaf the chance for a little extra touch - the barely perceived but effective growl on the word "chienne" - that the twee expression "dog-gone" would likely not have.
But at the end of the day, it all comes down to the thunder and lightning in the little lady's throat. Pavarotti described tenor singing as "controlled screaming", and, my goodness, she had the secret. What is particularly striking is the way that, having started at what seems like the top, she still has some extra power and resonance and tone when she reaches the climax, with the fiery-eyed devil of the roads racing to his death.
This is not only great singing: it is singing without parallel and without possible imitation. The song has become a French rather than an American classic, but no other French singer, in spite not only of her magnificent example but also of the long experience of hard rock and heavy metal, even came close to match her power:
This is less than fair especially to Vaughn Monroe, whose original version was well arranged and beautifully sung. But there is no use: it is like comparing a comfortable house fire to a bolt of lightning. In the end, Edith is Edith alone, and there will never be another.
