This is a concept album, using - and in some cases reworking - the songs of French poet and musician Serge Gainsbourg. Serge is described in the information accompaning the recording as "Notorious for his facial stubble, ponderous poses with cigarettes and pop hits with explicit sexual themes, Gainsbourg was a hero to many French people."
While the songs have been chosen from his entire career, they could also describe a year in the life of the writer, since most songs are narrated in the first person. Opening with a song sounding like the soundtrack accompaning the animated Saub (automobile) commercial that ran here in the States, the one where the guy's encouraged to quite his job and stop putting up with corperate bullshit - but still keep the Saub...
But, I digress. This melodic style is central to the first song, "69 Erotic Year," which sets the scene. "They're in love and they're sailing free/For one whole year at sea/He will pardon her caprice/Till 1970... 69, Year of Love." The album then seems to follow the "hero" for the next year, as his life spirals slowly out of control. Intoxicated by alchohol and sex, never really connected to the world, the character of Gainsbourg seems lost and lonely. Unable to connect emotionally with his lovers or his life, he drifts alone through the year. Lines like, "...And if I die tonight/It's my destiny and my right/I think less well of life/Than of my motorbike" from "Harley Davidson" illustrate my point.
Or the verse from "Intoxicated Man," the title song, "You sigh/and tell me what you're thinking./You're like,/a violet that is shrinking,/into the patterened left lapel,/of my dressing gown./Spinning on the carousel,/of my living room." Then there's his outrage at being betrayed by his lover in "Sex Shop," where he angrily demands, "Come, you little harlot, tell to me/How was it between his sheets/Was it better than with me?/But, you little bitch, you're waiting still/For me to swollow this bitter pill/I swear I never will."
This is contrasted with "the Song of Slurs," where his lover screams, "YOU ARE VILE, YOU ARE VAGUE, YOU ARE VAIN/YOU'RE DEVIOUS AND ENVIOUS, YOU'RE INSIDE." To which he replies, "Evelyn don't say that, Evelyn I pray to thee/Evelyn you once loved me, don't you see." I don't believe his words, and neither does his lover, apparently.Especially when you hear his blow off in "I Have Come to Tell You That it's Goodbye." This was the song that convinced me the narrator was a loser, "Now the hour is nigh/Yeah I regret/To tell you it's goodbye/But I can't bear to hear you cry." What an asshole... but that's just my opinion.
Then there's the song about suicide, "The Barrel of My 45." "Aye, if I were to die/Blow myself sky high/To finish the story/With out you/This idea came to me, God knows where from/just a desire/I often have/I find it tempting." No kidding! His life is so empty of meaning, it's no surpise he's bored and unhappy and eager to die. But wait, there's more... In "Jazz in the Ravine," the camera pans in on a sports car, racing through the south of France... "Listen/Listen to that baby-doll/Hear that/My favorite part of all/So turn the music up full blast/And don't worry honey, I always drive this fast/ And then, just before Monte Carlo/It happened, well that's the final blow/The Jaguar left the bitumen/and somersaulted into a ditch with them/And while they lay there racked with pain/The radio kept blaring out this refrain/At dawn/They'll use a spoon/To scrape up their remains."
You get the idea. Mick Harvey's translations of the lyrics and arranging of the music, along with Anita Lane's haunting vocals, make this an interesting study in contrasts - a beautiful, romantic portrait of a piece 'o shit loser. A difficult tasked, brilliantly executed.
