....infectious nonsense? Or just nonsense?
On any list of the things I miss about France, karaoke would come a long way down. Not because French pop music is all as bad as one singer, Benjamin Biolay, told me it was ( but then, he is difficult to please; he already had Catherine Deneuve's daughter, Chiara Mastroianni, as a wife only to move on soon after we spoke to Virginie Ledoyen).
It is just that mention of the two words - French and karaoke - in close proximity reminds me of some of the more excruciating performances of the more excruciating pop songs I witnessed on visits to the Goëland bar in Le Lavandou.
Here's my list of five of the worst
Oh, Champs Elysées Joe Dassin...always reminds me of the lady who wrote in to the Telegraph Paris blog to rebuke me for saying I quite liked the Champs Elysées. She was right.
Pour que tu m'aimes encore Celine Dion...after you've heard this five times, from different wannabe Dions, in one evening, suicide seems attractive.
Alexandrie Alexandra Claude François.....a jolly singalong chorus with lots of Aas and Aaahs. Gruesome.
Sur la route de Memphis Eddy Mitchell.. How could Eddy be omitted from a list of this sort?
Mon mec et moi Patricia Kaas..."he talks about love like he talks about cars" is one of its lines. Ça suffit?
But there were saving graces. Some French standards are delicious, and occasionally a very good singer would turn up at the Goëland and sing them.And then there was Rudy Liétot, the witty and talented MC, who would always plead with me to have yet another go at Don't You Want Me (often enough, faute de mieux, him doing the girl parts). Needless to say, my attempt at being the bloke from Human League should more properly and honestly appear in the first list, but the second was running short and, as more than one of you has pointed out, most songs could probably slot easily into either Best or Worst category, depending on mood.......
Les Lacs de Connemara Michel Sardou...gloriously naive politics, great tune and pace.
Sous les sunlight des tropiques Gilbert Montagné..absolute nonsense, but infectiously so.
Comme d'habitude Claude François Claude gets a foot in both camps as a reward; this is where My Way began life, somehow in French it erases memories of a million Anglo-Saxons singing what it became, badly, and pretending to be Ol' Blue Eyes.
Sea, sex and sun Serge Gainsbourg ....well, he had to there somewhere and I have never seen anyone attempt Je t'aime, moi non plus in public.
Don't You Want Me? Colin Randall and Rudy Liétot...on a good night.
And your responses to this will be taken as entries in the same competition as announced in nick Hornby's formula and pretend it's your own. Responses here or by e-mail.
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