Next up on the Paris musing – shots from the Serge Gainsbourg/Jane Birkin house and museum, starting with a cool graffiti artwork from the facade. I really let my son Jude dictate whatever we were going to do on this Paris trek except I did push for this, although he is a fan and even plays a couple Serge songs on guitar as part of his repertoire. Anyway, Maison Gainsbourg just opened this past year and I literally had to get up at 5 a.m. Nashville time two months ahead of time, to get tickets as they were released.
After being there, it’s easy to see why it’s a tough ticket – the house is relatively small and visitors go in two at a time, As we waited to enter, I made small talk with two French women behind me, and as the gatekeeper gave us instructions, they graciously helped translate for me. Once inside, I was equipped with an English Language version of Charlotte Gainsbourg’s narration, as she whispered to me (us), room to room, recanting childhood memories and observations. Ever so quiet…come with me now, to the living room, she whispers, pointing out where she would stand next to the piano, as Serge composed for her – just like her mother before. It made her so proud. On the other end of the spectrum, we learn he never wore socks and often invited policemen into the house to hang out. Showers weren’t his thing and Jane’s main room is still closed.
The museum tour, which is really just as good, is more leisurely and easier re; tickets. Serge always kept pushing forward as an artist, changing like Dylan or Bowie, through French chanson to jazz to pop to reggae to dance. And like those artists, the change was always uniquely him. There was lots of music, and video from various points in both of their careers; childhood mementos, photo spreads, old 45s, lyrics, sheet music, and some bric a brac that could get censored were I to include pictures. The tour exits at the Gainsbourg lounge, where cocktail music versions of his work plays from the player piano and a bartender serves up drinks. No Gitanes that I could see.
The merch is plentiful and I picked up some hard to find Serge and Jane vinyl for our crib, baubles for Jude, and something for myself to wear. I said Bonjour and Parlez-vous francais? and the woman behind the counter slid into perfect English, let me try on a t-shirt in their dressing room, and even helped pick out he correct size. She used to work at a clothes store, and perhaps there is a song in this.
Beforehand, I told my son that I bet “J T’aime Moi Non Plus” would play over and over, in the same way you always hear “Suspicious Minds” or “Moody Blue” when you take the shuttle through Graceland’s gates. This wasn’t far from true, particularly, during the video of Serge and Jane delivering the song underneath the Eiffel Tower, their affection for each other in full bloom and full view. There was something beautiful and yet wistful listening in this context, seeing this time capsule that revealed two people very much in love, and destined to be together forever. Of course, they broke up eventually, but I still thought they were lucky, to have such a bond, for how long it lasted. It’s something most people don’t experience, and for a moment I was jealous, not of the success, but of this very thing.
Doug Hoekstra 