A modern language mixed with an old-fashioned finesse. This is how, last Tuesday on France Inter, Charlotte Gainsbourg evoked the music of her father. This March 2, it was thirty years since Serge was found dead, a month before his 63rd birthday, at 5 bis, rue de Verneuil. In this mansion that has become a mausoleum for his family and is about to become a museum.
In these times of cancel culture, erasing what disturbs, because it is easier than to contextualize, but what an illusion, many wonder how Gainsbourg would be welcomed today, this erotomaniac poet doubled as an alcoholic provocateur. Frankly, does it matter? Gainsbourg died three decades ago, his work remains, immense, inexhaustible, sublime. You have to listen again and again to his 17 studio albums, immerse yourself completely in these absolute masterpieces that are Melody Nelson story and The Cabbage-Headed Man, to measure his melodic genius. No one has and ever will have this talent to embrace music in its entirety, to start from song and classical training to mingle with pop, rock, jazz, blues, funk, disco. and reggae.